Page:TheBirth of the War-God.djvu/29

The vengeful Tárak, in resistless mio-ht,
Like some dire Comet, gleaming wild affright,
O'er all the Worlds an evil influence sheds,
And, in thy favour strong, destruction spreads.
All bow before him;—on his palace wall
The Sun's first ray and parting splendour fall;
Ne'er could he waken with a lovelier glance
His own dear Lotus from her nightly trance;
For him, proud Fiend, the Moon no waning knows,
But with uuminished full-orbed lustre glows.
He would not brook its crescent glory set
Amid the blaze of Siva's coronet.
How fair his garden, where the obedient breeze
Dares steal no blossom from the slumbering trees!
The wild wind checks his blustering pinions there.
And gently whispering, fans the balmy air;
While through the inverted year the Seasons pour,
To win the Demon's grace, their flowery store.
For him, the River-god beneath the stream,
Marks the young pearl increase its silver gleam.
Until, its beauty and its growth complete,
He bears the offering to his master's feet.
The Serpents, led by Vásuki, their king,
Across his nightly path their lustre fling;
Bright as a torch, their flashing jewels blaze.
Nor wind, nor rain, can dim their dazzling rays.
E'en Indra, sovereign of the blissful skies,
To gain his love by flattering homage tries,
And sends him oft those flowers of wondrous hue
That on the Heavenly Tree in beauty grew;
Yet all these offerings brought from day to day—
This flattery—fail his ruthless hand to stay;