Indian Poetry Part 6

A little--oh! a little--breathe once more The fragrance like his mouth's! blow from thy sh.o.r.e One last word as he fades into a dream;

Bodiless Lord of love!

Show him once more to me a minute's s.p.a.ce, My Krishna, with the love-look in his face, And then I come to my own place above;

I will depart and give All back to Fate and her: I will submit To thy stern will, and bow myself to it, Enduring still, though desolate, to live:

If it indeed be life, Even so resigning, to sit patience-mad, To feel the zephyrs burn, the sunlight sad, The peace of holy heaven, a restless strife.

Haho! what words are these?

How can I live and lose him? how not go Whither love draws me for a soul loved so?

How yet endure such sorrow?--or how cease?

Wind of the Indian wave!

If that thou canst, blow poison here, not nard; G.o.d of the five shafts! shoot thy sharpest hard, And kill me, Radha,--Radha who forgave!

Or, bitter River, Yamun! be Yama's sister! be Death's kin!

Swell thy wave up to me and gulf me in, Cooling this cruel, burning pain for ever.

_Ah! if only visions stir Grief so pa.s.sionate in her, What divine grief will not take, Spirits in heaven for the sake Of those who miss love? Oh, be wise!

Mark this story of the skies; Meditate Govinda ever, Sitting by the sacred river, The mystic stream, which o'er his feet Glides slow, with murmurs low and sweet, Till none can tell whether those be Blue lotus-blooms, seen veiledly Under the wave, or mirrored gems Reflected from the diadems Bound on the brows of mighty G.o.ds, Who lean from out their pure abodes, And leave their bright felicities To guide great Krishna to his sides._

(_Here ends that Sarga of the Gita Govinda ent.i.tled_ VIPRALABDHAVARNANE NAGARANARAYANO.)

_SARGA THE EIGHTH._

KHANDITAVARNANE VILAKSHALAKSHMIPATI.

THE REBUKING OF KRISHNA.

For when the weary night had worn away In these vain fears, and the clear morning broke, Lo, Krishna! lo, the longed-for of her soul Came too!--in the glad light he came, and bent His knee, and clasped his hands; on his dumb lips Fear, wonder, joy, pa.s.sion, and reverence Strove for the trembling words, and Radha knew Peace won for him and her; yet none the less A little time she eluded him, and sang:

(_What follows is to the Music_ BHAIRAVi _and the Mode_ YATI)

Krishna!--then thou hast found me!--and thine eyes Heavy and sad and stained, as if with weeping!

Ah! is it not that those, which were thy prize, So radiant seemed that all night thou wert keeping Vigils of tender wooing?--have thy Love!

Here is no place for vows broken in making; Thou Lotus-eyed! thou soul for whom I strove!

Go! ere I listen, my just mind forsaking.

Krishna! my Krishna with the woodland-wreath!

Return, or I shall soften as I blame; The while thy very lips are dark to the teeth With dye that from her lids and lashes came, Left on the mouth I touched. Fair traitor! go!

Say not they darkened, lacking food and sleep Long waiting for my face; I turn it--so-- Go! ere I half believe thee, pleading deep;

But wilt thou plead, when, like a love-verse printed On the smooth polish of an emerald, I see the marks she stamped, the kisses dinted Large-lettered, by her lips? thy speech withheld Speaks all too plainly; go,--abide thy choice!

If thou dost stay, I shall more greatly grieve thee; Not records of her victory?--peace, dear voice!

Hence with that G.o.dlike brow, lest I believe thee.

For dar'st thou feign the saffron on thy bosom Was not implanted in disloyal embrace?

Or that this many-coloured love-tree blossom Shone not, but yesternight, above her face?

Comest thou here, so late, to be forgiven, O thou, in whose eyes Truth was made to live?

O thou, so worthy else of grace and heaven?

O thou, so nearly won? Ere I forgive,

Go, Krishna! go!--lest I should think, unwise, Thy heart not false, as thy long lingering seems, Lest, seeing myself so imaged in thine eyes, I shame the name of Pity--turn to dreams The sacred sound of vows; make Virtue grudge Her praise to Mercy, calling thy sin slight; Go therefore, dear offender! go! thy Judge Had best not see thee to give sentence right.

_But may he grant us peace at last and bliss Who heard,--and smiled to hear,--delays like this, Delays that dallied with a dream come true, Fond wilful angers; for the maid laughed too To see, as Radha ended, her hand take His dark role for her veil, and[2] Krishna make The word she spoke for parting kindliest sign He should not go, but stay. O grace divine, Be ours too! Jayadev, the Poet of love, Prays it from Hari, lordliest above._

(_Here ends that Sarga of the Gita Govinda ent.i.tled_ KHANDITAVARNANE VILAKSHALAKSHMIPATI.)

[Footnote 2: The text here is not closely followed.]

_SARGA THE NINTH._

KALAHANTARITAVARNANE MUGDHAMUKUNDO.

THE END OF KRISHNA'S TRIAL.

Yet not quite did the doubts of Radha die, Nor her sweet brows unbend; but she, the Maid-- Knowing her heart so tender, her soft arms Aching to take him in, her rich mouth sad For the comfort of his kiss, and these fears false-- Spake yet a little in fair words like these:

_(What follows is to the Music_ GURJJARi _and the Mode_ YATI.)

The lesson that thy faithful love has taught him He has heard; The wind of spring, obeying thee, hath brought him At thy word; What joy in all the three worlds was so precious To thy mind?

_Ma kooroo manini manamaye_,[3]

Ah, be kind!

[Footnote 3: My proud one! do not indulge in scorn.]

No longer from his earnest eyes conceal Thy delights; Lift thy face, and let the jealous veil reveal All his rights; The glory of thy beauty was but given For content; _Ma kooroo manini manamaye_, Oh, relent!

Remember, being distant, how he bore thee In his heart; Look on him sadly turning from before thee To depart; Is he not the soul thou lovedst, sitting lonely In the wood?

_Ma kooroo manini manamaye_, 'Tis not good!

He who grants thee high delight in bridal-bower Pardons long; What the G.o.ds do love may do at such an hour Without wrong; Why weepest thou? why keepest thou in anger Thy lashes down?

_Ma kooroo manini manamaye_, Do not frown!

Lift thine eyes now, and look on him, bestowing, Without speech; Let him pluck at last the flower so sweetly growing In his reach; The fruit of lips, of loving tones, of glances That forgive; _Ma kooroo manini manamaye_, Let him live!

Let him speak with thee, and pray to thee, and prove thee All his truth; Let his silent loving lamentation move thee Asking ruth; How knowest thou? All, listen, dearest Lady, He is there; _Ma kooroo manini manamaye_, Thou must hear!

_O rare voice, which is a spell Unto all on earth who dwell!

O rich voice, of rapturous love, Making melody above!

Krishna's, Hari's--one in two, Sound these mortal verses through!