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8
THE BIRTH OF THE WAR-GOD.

Her hidden beauties though no tongue may tell,
Yet Siva's love will aid the fancy well;
No other maid could deem her boasted charms
Worthy the clasp of such a husband's arms.
Between the partings of fair Uma's vest
Came hasty glimpses of a lovely breast:
So closely there the kissing hillocks rose,
Scarce could the Lotus in the vale repose;
And if her loosened zone e'er slipped below,
All was so bright beneath the mantle's flow.
So dazzling bright, as if the maid had braced
A band of gems to sparkle round her waist;
While the dear dimples of her downy skin
Seemed fitting couch for Love to revel in.
Her arms were softer than the flowery dart,
Young Káma's arrow, that subdues the heart;
For vain his strife with Siva, till at last
He chose those chains to bind his conqueror fast.
E'en the new Moon poured down a paler beam
When her long fingers flashed their rosy gleam,
And brighter than Asoka's rich leaves threw
A glory round, like summer's evening hue.
The strings of pearl across her bosom thrown
Increased its beauty, and enhanced their own,—
Her breast, her jewels seeming to agree,
The adorner now, and now the adorned to be.
When Beauty gazes on the fair full Moon,
No Lotus charms her, for it blooms at noon:
If on that flower she feed her raptured eye,
No Moon is shining from the mid-day sky;
She looked on Uma's face, more heavenly fair,
And found their glories both united there.