Page:TheBirth of the War-God.djvu/70

The Moon that crowned him poured a larger stream
Of living glory from that pearly gleam—
⁠"Ye know, great Sages of a race divine,
No selfish want e'er prompteth deed of mine;
Do not the Forms—eight varied Forms—I wear,
The truth of this to all the World declare?
⁠Now, as that thirsty bird that drinks the rain
Prays the kind clouds of Heaven to soothe its pain,
So the Gods pray me, trembling neath their foe.
To send a Child of mine and end their woe;
I seek the Mountain- Maiden as my bride,
Our hero Son shall tame the Demon's pride,—
Thus the Priest bids the holy Fire arise,
Struck from the wood to aid the Sacrifice.
⁠Go, ask Himálaya for the lovely Maid,
Blest are those bridals which the Holy aid;
So shall more glorious honours gild my name,
And win the father yet a prouder fame.
⁠Nor, O ye heavenly Sages, need I teach
What for the Maiden's hand shall be your speech.
For still the Wise in worthiest honour hold
The rules and precepts ye ordained of old,—
This Lady too shall aid your mission there,
Best for such task a skilful Matron's care.
⁠And now, my heralds, to your task away.
Where proud Himálaya holds his royal sway;
Then meet me where this mighty torrent raves
Down the steep channel with its headlong waves."

⁠Thus while that holiest One his love confessed,
The Hermits listened; from their saintly breast