Page:TheBirth of the War-God.djvu/41

Bright flowers of Spring, in every lovely hue,
Around the Lady's form rare beauty threw,
Some clasped her neck like strings of purest pearls,
Some shot their glory through her wavy curls.
Bending her graceful head as half-oppressed
With swelling charms even too richly blest,
Fancy might deem that beautiful young maiden
Some slender tree with its sweet flowers o'erladen.
⁠From time to time her gentle hand replaced
The flowery girdle slipping from her waist:
It seemed that Love could find no place more fair.
So hung his newest, dearest bowstring there.
A greedy bee kept hovering round to sip
The fragrant nectar of her blooming lip—
She closed her eyes in terror of the thief.
And beat him from her with a Lotus leaf.
⁠The angry curl of Reti's lip confessed
The shade of envy that stole o'er her breast,
Through Káma's soul fresh hope and courage flew,
As that sweet vision blessed his eager view—
So bright, so fair, so winning soft was she,
Who could not conquer in such company?

⁠Now Uma came, fair Maid, his destined bride,
With timid steps approaching Siva's side;
In contemplation will he brood no more,
He sees the Godhead, and his task is o'er;
He breathes, he moves, the Earth begins to rock,
The Snake, her bearer, trembling at the shock.
⁠Due homage then his own dear servant paid,
And told him of the coming of the Maid;