Page:TheBirth of the War-God.djvu/76

His Messengers, great King, we crave the hand
Of thy fair davighter at the God's command;
At such blest union, as of Truth and Voice,
A father's heart should grieve not, but rejoice.
Her Lord is Father of the World, and she
Of all that liveth shall the Mother be;
Gods that adore him with the Neck of Blue
In homage bent shall hail the Lady too;
And give a glory to her feet with gems
That sparkle in their priceless diadems.
⁠Hear what a roll shall blazon forth thy line,—
Maid, Father, Suitor, Messengers divine!
Give him the chosen Lady, and aspire
To call thy Son the Universe's Sire —
He laudeth none but all mankind shall raise
To Him through endless time the songs of praise."

⁠Thus while he spake the Lady bent her head
To hide her cheek, now blushing rosy red.
And numbered o'er with seeming care the while
Her Lotus' petals in sweet maiden guile.
⁠With pride and joy Himálaya's heart beat high,
Yet ere he spake he looked to Mena's eye—
Full well he knew a mother's gentle care
Learns her child's heart and Love's deep secret there.
And this the hour, he felt, when fathers seek
Her eye for answer or her changing cheek.
His eager look Himálaya scarce had bent
When Mena's eye beamed back her glad assent—
O gentle Wives! your fondest wish is still
To have with him you love one heart, one will!