OR, THE FATAL RING.
55
tion; that she will suffer none to dispose of her but Canna, I too well know. Yet my heart can no more return to its former placid state, than water can re-ascend the steep, down which it has fallen.—O god of love, how can thy darts be so keen, since they are pointed with flowers?—Yes, I discover the reason of their keenness. They are tipped with the flames which the wrath of Hara kindled, and which blaze at this moment like the Bárava fire under the waves; how else couldst thou, who consumed even to ashes, be still the inflamer of our souls? By thee and by the moon, though each of you seems worthy of our confidence, we lovers are cruelly deceived. They who love as I do, ascribe flowery shafts to thee, and cool beams to the moon, with equal impropriety; for the moon sheds fire on them with her dewy rays, and thou pointest with sharp diamonds those arrows which seem to be barbed with blossoms. Yet this God, who bears a fish on his banners, and who wounds me to the soul, will give me real delight, if he destroy me with the aid of my beloved, whose eyes are large and beautiful as those of a roe. O powerful divinity when I even thus adore thy attributes, hast thou no compassion? Thy fire, O Love, is fanned into a blaze by a hundred of my vain thoughts. Does it become thee to draw thy bow even to thy ear, that the shaft aimed at my bosom may inflict a deeper wound? Where now can I recreate my afflicted soul by the permission of those
