MADANA.
107
Vainly o'er thine aching brow
Droops the incense-breathing bough,
Not the cooling[1] Lotus leaf
Gives to hurt like thine relief;
To thy throbbing temples prest,
Bound upon thy burning breast;
Vainly! still through pulse and vein
Glows the dull unceasing pain;
Vainly, vainly! still the smart
Rankles in thy stricken heart.
Therefore from the earth a sound,
Hushed, and dream-like, and profound,
Gathers—warning whispers rise,
Murmurs, thick, mysterious sighs!
Therefore all the haunted air
Trembles—Madana is there!
Droops the incense-breathing bough,
Not the cooling[1] Lotus leaf
Gives to hurt like thine relief;
To thy throbbing temples prest,
Bound upon thy burning breast;
Vainly! still through pulse and vein
Glows the dull unceasing pain;
Vainly, vainly! still the smart
Rankles in thy stricken heart.
Therefore from the earth a sound,
Hushed, and dream-like, and profound,
Gathers—warning whispers rise,
Murmurs, thick, mysterious sighs!
Therefore all the haunted air
Trembles—Madana is there!
- ↑ The flower and leaf of the lotus are used by Hindu writers as the type of all grace and beauty, and they suppose the latter to possess a peculiar efficacy in allaying any mental disquietude.
