Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Thierry Alberto, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net INDIAN POETRY CONTAINING "_THE INDIAN SONG OF SONGS," FROM THE SANSKRIT OF THE GÃTA GOVINDA OF JAYADEVA TWO BOOKS FROM "THE ILIAD OF INDIA" (MAHÃBHÃRATA) "PROVERBIAL WISDOM" FROM THE SHLOKAS OF THE HITOPADEÅA, AND OTHER ORIENTAL POEMS_ BY SIR EDWIN ARNOLD, M.A., K.C.I.E., C.S.I. _Author of "The Light of Asia"_ OFFICER OF THE WHITE ELEPHANT OF SIAM THIRD CLASS OF THE IMPERIAL ORDER OF THE MEDJIDIE FELLOW OF THE ROYAL ASIATIC AND ROYAL GEOGRAPHICAL SOCIETIES HONORARY MEMBER OF THE SOCIETÃ DE GEOGRAPHIE, MARSEILLES, ETC. ETC. FORMERLY PRINCIPAL OF THE DECCAN COLLEGE, POONA AND FELLOW OF THE UNIVERSITY OF BOMBAY EIGHTH IMPRESSION LONDON KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, TRUBNER & CO. L^TD DRYDEN HOUSE, GERRARD STREET, W. 1904 * * * * * CONTENTS. PAGE THE INDIAN SONG OF SONGS-- Introduction 1 Hymn to Vishnu 3 Sarga the First--The Sports of Krishna 9 Sarga the Second--The Penitence of Krishna 22 Sarga the Third--Krishna troubled 31 Sarga the Fourth--Krishna cheered 37 Sarga the Fifth--The Longings of Krishna 44 Sarga the Sixth--Krishna made bolder 54 Sarga the Seventh--Krishna supposed false 59 Sarga the Eighth--The Rebuking of Krishna 75 Sarga the Ninth--The End of Krishna's Trial 79 Sarga the Tenth--Krishna in Paradise 83 Sarga the Eleventh--The Union of Radha and Krishna 88 MISCELLANEOUS ORIENTAL POEMS-- The Rajpoot Wife 101 King Saladin 113 The Caliph's Draught 132 Hindoo Funeral Song 137 Song of the Serpent Charmers 138 Song of the Flour-Mill 140 Taza ba Taza 142 The Mussulman Paradise 146 Dedication of a Poem from the Sanskrit 150 The Rajah's Ride 151 TWO BOOKS FROM THE "ILIAD OF INDIA" 159 The Great Journey 172 The Entry into Heaven 192 THE NIGHT OF SLAUGHTER 210 THE MORNING PRAYER 216 PROVERBIAL WISDOM FROM THE SHLOKAS OF THE HITOPADESA 221 * * * * * THE INDIAN SONG OF SONGS. _INTRODUCTION._ OM! REVERENCE TO GANESHA! "The sky is clouded; and the wood resembles The sky, thick-arched with black TamÃ¢la boughs; O Radha, Radha! take this Soul, that trembles In life's deep midnight, to Thy golden house." So Nanda spoke,--and, led by Radha's spirit, The feet of Krishna found the road aright; Wherefore, in bliss which all high hearts inherit, Together taste they Love's divine delight. _He who wrote these things for thee, Of the Son of Wassoodee, Was the poet Jayadeva; Him Saraswati gave ever Fancies fair his mind to throng, Like pictures palace-walls along; Ever to his notes of love Lakshmi's mystic dancers move. If thy spirit seeks to brood On Hari glorious, Hari good; If it feeds on solemn numbers. Dim as dreams and soft as slumbers, Lend thine ear to Jayadev, Lord of all the spells that save. Umapatidhara's strain Glows like roses after rain; Sharan's stream-like song is grand, If its tide ye understand; Bard more wise beneath the sun Is not found than Govardhun; Dhoyi holds the listener still With his shlokes of subtle skill; But for sweet words suited well Jayadeva doth excel._ (_What follows is to the Music_ MÃLAVA _and the Mode_ RUPAKA.) HYMN TO VISHNU O thou that held'st the blessed Veda dry When all things else beneath the floods were hurled; Strong Fish-God! Ark of Men! _Jai!_ Hari, _jai!_ Hail, Keshav, hail! thou Master of the world! The round world rested on thy spacious nape; Upon thy neck, like a mere mole, it stood: O thou that took'st for us the Tortoise-shape, Hail, Keshav, hail! Ruler of wave and wood! The world upon thy curving tusk sate sure, Like the Moon's dark disc in her crescent pale; O thou who didst for us assume the Boar, Immortal Conqueror! hail, Keshav, hail! When thou thy Giant-Foe didst seize and rend, Fierce, fearful, long, and sharp were fang and nail; Thou who the Lion and the Man didst blend, Lord of the Universe! hail, Narsingh, hail! Wonderful Dwarf!--who with a threefold stride Cheated King Bali--where thy footsteps fall Men's sins, O Wamuna! are set aside: O Keshav, hail! thou Help and Hope of all! The sins of this sad earth thou didst assoil, The anguish of its creatures thou didst heal; Freed are we from all terrors by thy toil: Hail, Purshuram, hail! Lord of the biting steel! To thee the fell Ten-Headed yielded life, Thou in dread battle laid'st the monster low! Ah, Rama! dear to Gods and men that strife; We praise thee, Master of the matchless bow! With clouds for garments glorious thou dost fare, Veiling thy dazzling majesty and might, As when Yamuna saw thee with the share, A peasant--yet the King of Day and Night. Merciful-hearted! when thou earnest as Boodh-- Albeit 'twas written in the Scriptures so-- Thou bad'st our altars be no more imbrued With blood of victims: Keshav! bending low-- We praise thee, Wielder of the sweeping sword, Brilliant as curving comets in the gloom, Whose edge shall smite the fierce barbarian horde; Hail to thee, Keshav! hail, and hear, and come, And fill this song of Jayadev with thee, And make it wise to teach, strong to redeem, And sweet to living souls. Thou Mystery! Thou Light of Life! Thou Dawn beyond the dream! Fish! that didst outswim the flood; Tortoise! whereon earth hath stood; Boar! who with thy tush held'st high The world, that mortals might not die; Lion! who hast giants torn; Dwarf! who laugh'dst a king to scorn; Sole Subduer of the Dreaded! Slayer of the many-headed! Mighty Ploughman! Teacher tender! Of thine own the sure Defender! Under all thy ten disguises Endless praise to thee arises. (_What follows is to the Music_ GURJJARÃ _and the Mode_ NIHSÃRA.) Endless praise arises, O thou God that liest Rapt, on Kumla's breast, Happiest, holiest, highest! Planets are thy jewels, Stars thy forehead-gems, Set like sapphires gleaming In kingliest anadems; Even the great gold Sun-God, Blazing through the sky, Serves thee but for crest-stone, _Jai, jai!_ Hari, _jai!_ As that Lord of day After night brings morrow, Thou dost charm away Life's long dream of sorrow. As on Mansa's water Brood the swans at rest, So thy laws sit stately On a holy breast. O, Drinker of the poison! Ah, high Delight of earth! What light is to the lotus-buds, What singing is to mirth, Art thou--art thou that slayedst Madhou and Narak grim; That ridest on the King of Birds, Making all glories dim. With eyes like open lotus-flowers, Bright in the morning rain, Freeing by one swift piteous glance The spirit from Life's pain: Of all the three Worlds Treasure! Of sin the Putter-by! O'er the Ten-Headed Victor! _Jai_ Hari! Hari! _jai!_ Thou Shaker of the Mountain! Thou Shadow of the Storm! Thou Cloud that unto Lakshmi's face Comes welcome, white, and warm! O thou,--who to great Lakshmi Art like the silvery beam Which moon-sick chakors feed upon By Jumna's silent stream,-- To thee this hymn ascendeth, That Jayadev doth sing, Of worship, love, and mystery High Lord and Heavenly King! And unto whoso hears it Do thou a blessing bring-- Whose neck is gilt with yellow dust From lilies that did cling Beneath the breasts of Lakshmi, A girdle soft and sweet, When in divine embracing The lips of Gods did meet; And the beating heart above Of thee--Dread Lord of Heaven!-- She left that stamp of love-- By such deep sign be given Prays Jayadev, the glory And the secret and the spells Which close-hid in this story Unto wise ears he tells. END OF INTRODUCTION. _SARGA THE FIRST._ SAMODADAMODARO. THE SPORTS OF KRISHNA. Beautiful Radha, jasmine-bosomed Radha, All in the Spring-time waited by the wood For Krishna fair, Krishna the all-forgetful,-- Krishna with earthly love's false fire consuming-- And some one of her maidens sang this song:-- (_What follows is to the Music_ VASANTA _and the Mode_ YATI.) I know where Krishna tarries in these early days of Spring, When every wind from warm Malay brings fragrance on its wing; Brings fragrance stolen far away from thickets of the clove, In jungles where the bees hum and the Koil flutes her love; He dances with the dancers of a merry morrice one, All in the budding Spring-time, for 'tis sad to be alone. I know how Krishna passes these hours of blue and gold When parted lovers sigh to meet and greet and closely hold Hand fast in hand; and every branch upon the Vakul-tree Droops downward with a hundred blooms, in every bloom a bee; He is dancing with the dancers to a laughter-moving tone, In the soft awakening Spring-time, when 'tis hard to live alone. Where Kroona-flowers, that open at a lover's lightest tread, Break, and, for shame at what they hear, from white blush modest red; And all the spears on all the boughs of all the Ketuk-glades Seem ready darts to pierce the hearts of wandering youths and maids; Tis there thy Krishna dances till the merry drum is done, All in the sunny Spring-time, when who can live alone? Where the breaking forth of blossom on the yellow Keshra-sprays Dazzles like Kama's sceptre, whom all the world obeys; And PÃ¢tal-buds fill drowsy bees from pink delicious bowls, As Kama's nectared goblet steeps in languor human souls; There he dances with the dancers, and of Radha thinketh none, All in the warm new Spring-tide, when none will live alone. Where the breath of waving MÃ¢dhvi pours incense through the grove, And silken Mogras lull the sense with essences of love,-- The silken-soft pale Mogra, whose perfume fine and faint Can melt the coldness of a maid, the sternness of a saint-- There dances with those dancers thine other self, thine Own, All in the languorous Spring-time, when none will live alone. Where--as if warm lips touched sealed eyes and waked them--all the bloom Opens upon the mangoes to feel the sunshine come; And Atimuktas wind their arms of softest green about, Clasping the stems, while calm and clear great Jumna spreadeth out; There dances and there laughs thy Love, with damsels many an one, In the rosy days of Spring-time, for he will not live alone. _Mark this song of Jayadev! Deep as pearl in ocean-wave Lurketh in its lines a wonder Which the wise alone will ponder: Though it seemeth of the earth. Heavenly is the music's birth; Telling darkly of delights In the wood, of wasted nights, Of witless days, and fruitless love, And false pleasures of the grove, And rash passions of the prime, And those dances of Spring-time; Time, which seems so subtle-sweet, Time, which pipes to dancing-feet, Ah! so softly--ah! so sweetly-- That among those wood-maids featly Krishna cannot choose but dance, Letting pass life's greater chance._ Yet the winds that sigh so As they stir the rose, Wake a sigh from Krishna Wistfuller than those; All their faint breaths swinging The creepers to and fro Pass like rustling arrows Shot from Kama's bow: Thus among the dancers What those zephyrs bring Strikes to Krishna's spirit Like a darted sting. And all as if--far wandered-- The traveller should hear The bird of home, the Koil, With nest-notes rich and clear; And there should come one moment A blessed fleeting dream Of the bees among the mangoes Beside his native stream; So flash those sudden yearnings, That sense of a dearer thing, The love and lack of Radha Upon his soul in Spring. Then she, the maid of Radha, spake again; And pointing far away between the leaves Guided her lovely Mistress where to look, And note how Krishna wantoned in the wood Now with this one, now that; his heart, her prize, Panting with foolish passions, and his eyes Beaming with too much love for those fair girls-- Fair, but not so as Radha; and she sang: (_What follows is to the Music_ RÃMAGIRÃ _and the Mode_ YATI.) See, Lady! how thy Krishna passes these idle hours Decked forth in fold of woven gold, and crowned with forest-flowers; And scented with the sandal, and gay with gems of price-- Rubies to mate his laughing lips, and diamonds like his, eyes;-- In the company of damsels,[1] who dance and sing and play, Lies Krishna, laughing, toying, dreaming his Spring away. [Footnote 1: It will be observed that the "Gopis" here personify the five senses. Lassen says, "_Manifestum est puellis istis nil aliud significar quam res sensiles_."] One, with star-blossomed champÃ¢k wreathed, wooes him to rest his head On the dark pillow of her breast so tenderly outspread; And o'er his brow with, roses blown she fans a fragrance rare, That falls on the enchanted sense like rain in thirsty air, While the company of damsels wave many an odorous spray, And Krishna, laughing, toying, sighs the soft Spring away. Another, gazing in his face, sits wistfully apart, Searching it with those looks of love that leap from heart to heart; Her eyes--afire with shy desire, veiled by their lashes black-- Speak so that Krishna cannot choose but send the message back, In the company of damsels whose bright eyes in a ring Shine round him with soft meanings in the merry light of Spring. The third one of that dazzling band of dwellers in the wood-- Body and bosom panting with the pulse of youthful blood-- Leans over him, as in his ear a lightsome thing to speak, And then with leaf-soft lip imprints a kiss below his cheek; A kiss that thrills, and Krishna turns at the silken touch To give it back--ah, Radha! forgetting thee too much. And one with arch smile beckons him away from Jumna's banks, Where the tall bamboos bristle like spears in battle-ranks, And plucks his cloth to make him come into the mango-shade, Where the fruit is ripe and golden, and the milk and cakes are laid: Oh! golden-red the mangoes, and glad the feasts of Spring, And fair the flowers to lie upon, and sweet the dancers sing. Sweetest of all that Temptress who dances for him now With subtle feet which part and meet in the RÃ¢s-measure slow, To the chime of silver bangles and the beat of rose-leaf hands, And pipe and lute and cymbal played by the woodland bands; So that wholly passion-laden--eye, ear, sense, soul o'ercome-- Krishna is theirs in the forest; his heart forgets its home. _Krishna, made for heavenly things, 'Mid those woodland singers sings; With those dancers dances featly, Gives back soft embraces sweetly; Smiles on that one, toys with this, Glance for glance and kiss for kiss; Meets the merry damsels fairly, Plays the round of folly rarely, Lapped in milk-warm spring-time weather, He and those brown girls together._ _And this shadowed earthly love In the twilight of the grove, Dance and song and soft caresses, Meeting looks and tangled tresses, Jayadev the same hath writ, That ye might have gain of it, Sagely its deep sense conceiving And its inner light believing; How that Love--the mighty Master, Lord of all the stars that cluster In the sky, swiftest and slowest, Lord of highest, Lord of lowest-- Manifests himself to mortals, Winning them towards the portals Of his secret House, the gates Of that bright Paradise which waits The wise in love. Ah, human creatures! Even your phantasies are teachers. Mighty Love makes sweet in seeming Even Krishna's woodland dreaming; Mighty Love sways all alike From self to selflessness. Oh! strike From your eyes the veil, and see What Love willeth Him to be Who in error, but in grace, Sitteth with that lotus-face, And those eyes whose rays of heaven Unto phantom-eyes are given;_ _Holding feasts of foolish mirth With these Visions of the earth; Learning love, and love imparting; Yet with sense of loss upstarting:--_ _For the cloud that veils the fountains Underneath the Sandal mountains, How--as if the sunshine drew All its being to the blue-- It takes flight, and seeks to rise High into the purer skies, High into the snow and frost, On the shining summits lost! Ah! and how the Koil's strain Smites the traveller with pain,-- When the mango blooms in spring, And "Koohoo," "Koohoo," they sing-- Pain of pleasures not yet won, Pain of journeys not yet done, Pain of toiling without gaining, Pain, 'mid gladness, of still paining._ But may He guide us all to glory high Who laughed when Radha glided, hidden, by, And all among those damsels free and bold Touched Krishna with a soft mouth, kind and cold; And like the others, leaning on his breast, Unlike the others, left there Love's unrest; And like the others, joining in his song, Unlike the others, made him silent long. (_Here ends that Sarga of the GÃ®ta Govinda entitled_ SAMODADAMODARO.) _SARGA THE SECOND._ KLESHAKESHAVO. THE PENITENCE OF KRISHNA. Thus lingered Krishna in the deep, green wood, And gave himself, too prodigal, to those; But Radha, heart-sick at his falling-off, Seeing her heavenly beauty slighted so, Withdrew; and, in a bower of Paradise-- Where nectarous blossoms wove a shrine of shade, Haunted by birds and bees of unknown skies-- She sate deep-sorrowful, and sang this strain, (_What follows is to the Music_ GURJJARÃ _and the Mode_ YATI.) Ah, my Beloved! taken with those glances, Ah, my Beloved! dancing those rash dances, Ah, Minstrel! playing wrongful strains so well; Ah, Krishna! Krishna with the honeyed lip! Ah, Wanderer into foolish fellowship! My Dancer, my Delight!--I love thee still. O Dancer! strip thy peacock-crown away, Rise! thou whose forehead is the star of day, With beauty for its silver halo set; Come! thou whose greatness gleams beneath its shroud Like Indra's rainbow shining through the cloud-- Come, for I love thee, my Beloved! yet. Must love thee--cannot choose but love thee ever, My best Beloved--set on this endeavor, To win thy tender heart and earnest eye From lips but sadly sweet, from restless bosoms, To mine, O Krishna with the mouth of blossoms! To mine, thou soul of Krishna! yet I sigh Half hopeless, thinking of myself forsaken, And thee, dear Loiterer, in the wood o'ertaken With passion for those bold and wanton ones, Who knit thine arms as poison-plants gripe trees With twining cords--their flowers the braveries That flash in the green gloom, sparkling stars and stones. My Prince! my Lotus-faced! my woe! my love! Whose broad brow, with the tilka-spot above, Shames the bright moon at full with fleck of cloud; Thou to mistake so little for so much! Thou, Krishna, to be palm to palm with such! O Soul made for my joys, pure, perfect, proud! Ah, my Beloved! in thy darkness dear; Ah, Dancer! with the jewels in thine ear, Swinging to music of a loveless love; O my Beloved! in thy fall so high That angels, sages, spirits of the sky Linger about thee, watching in the grove. I will be patient still, and draw thee ever, My one Beloved, sitting by the river Under the thick kadambas with that throng: Will there not come an end to earthly madness? Shall I not, past the sorrow, have the gladness? Must not the love-light shine for him ere long? _Shine, thou Light by Radha given, Shine, thou splendid star of heaven! Be a lamp to Krishna's feet, Show to all hearts secrets sweet, Of the wonder and the love Jayadev hath writ above. Be the quick Interpreter Unto wisest ears of her Who always sings to all, "I wait, He loveth still who loveth late."_ For (sang on that high Lady in the shade) My soul for tenderness, not blame, was made; Mine eyes look through his evil to his good; My heart coins pleas for him; my fervent thought Prevents what he will say when these are naught, And that which I am shall be understood. Then spake she to her maiden wistfully-- (_What follows is to the Music_ MÃLAVAGAUDA _and the Mode_ EKATÃLÃ.) Go to him,--win him hither,--whisper low How he may find me if he searches well; Say, if he will--joys past his hope to know Await him here; go now to him, and tell Where Radha is, and that henceforth she charms His spirit to her arms. Yes, go! say, if he will, that he may come-- May come, my love, my longing, my desire; May come forgiven, shriven, to me his home, And make his happy peace; nay, and aspire To uplift Radha's veil, and learn at length What love is in its strength. Lead him; say softly I shall chide his blindness, And vex him with my angers; yet add this, He shall not vainly sue for loving-kindness, Nor miss to see me close, nor lose the bliss That lives upon my lip, nor be denied The rose-throne at my side. Say that I--Radha--in my bower languish All widowed, till he find the way to me; Say that mine eyes are dim, my breast all anguish, Until with gentle murmured shame I see His steps come near, his anxious pleading face Bend for my pardoning grace. While I--what, did he deem light loves so tender, To tarry for them when the vow was made To yield him up my bosom's maiden splendour, And fold him in my fragrance, and unbraid My shining hair for him, and clasp him close To the gold heart of his Rose? And sing him strains which only spirits know, And make him captive with the silk-soft chain Of twinned-wings brooding round him, and bestow Kisses of Paradise, as pure as rain; My gems, my moonlight-pearls, my girdle-gold, Cymbaling music bold? While gained for ever, I shall dare to grow Life to life with him, in the realms divine; And--Love's large cup at happy overflow, Yet ever to be filled--his eyes and mine Will meet in that glad look, when Time's great gate Closes and shuts out Fate. _Listen to the unsaid things Of the song that Radha sings, For the soul draws near to bliss, As it comprehendeth this. I am Jayadev, who write All this subtle-rich delight For your teaching. Ponder, then, What it tells to Gods and men. Err not, watching Krishna gay, With those brown girls all at play; Understand how Radha charms Her wandering lover to her arms, Waiting with divinest love Till his dream ends in the grove._ For even now (she sang) I see him pause, Heart-stricken with the waste of heart he makes Amid them;--all the bows of their bent brows Wound him no more: no more for all their sakes Plays he one note upon his amorous lute, But lets the strings lie mute. Pensive, as if his parted lips should say-- "My feet with the dances are weary, The music has dropped from the song, There is no more delight in the lute-strings, Sweet Shadows! what thing has gone wrong? The wings of the wind have left fanning The palms of the glade; They are dead, and the blossoms seem dying In the place where we played. "We will play no more, beautiful Shadows! A fancy came solemn and sad, More sweet, with unspeakable longings, Than the best of the pleasures we had: I am not now the Krishna who kissed you; That exquisite dream,-- The Vision I saw in my dancing-- Has spoiled what you seem. "Ah! delicate phantoms that cheated With eyes that looked lasting and true, I awake,--I have seen her,--my angel-- Farewell to the wood and to you! Oh, whisper of wonderful pity! Oh, fair face that shone! Though thou be a vision, Divinest! This vision is done." (_Here ends that Sarga of the GÃ®ta Govinda entitled_ KLESHAKESHAVO.) _SARGA THE THIRD._ MUGDHAMADHUSUDANO. KRISHNA TROUBLED. Thereat,--as one who welcomes to her throne A new-made Queen, and brings before it bound Her enemies,--so Krishna in his heart Throned Radha; and--all treasonous follies chained-- He played no more with those first play-fellows: But, searching through the shadows of the grove For loveliest Radha,--when he found her not, Faint with the quest, despairing, lonely, lorn, And pierced with shame for wasted love and days, He sate by Jumna, where the canes are thick, And sang to the wood-echoes words like these: (_What follows is to the Music_ GURJJARÃ _and to the Mode_ YATI) Radha, Enchantress! Radha, queen of all! Gone--lost, because she found me sinning here; And I so stricken with my foolish fall, I could not stay her out of shame and fear; She will not hear; In her disdain and grief vainly I call. And if she heard, what would she do? what say? How could I make it good that I forgot? What profit was it to me, night and day, To live, love, dance, and dream, having her not? Soul without spot! I wronged thy patience, till it sighed away. Sadly I know the truth. Ah! even now Remembering that one look beside the river, Softer the vexed eyes seem, and the proud brow Than lotus-leaves when the bees make them quiver. My love for ever! Too late is Krishna wise--too far art thou! Yet all day long in my deep heart I woo thee, And all night long with thee my dreams are sweet; Why, then, so vainly must my steps pursue thee? Why can I never reach thee, to entreat, Low at thy feet, Dear vanished Splendour! till my tears subdue thee? Surpassing One! I knew thou didst not brook Half-hearted worship, and a love that wavers; Haho! there is the wisdom I mistook, Therefore I seek with desperate endeavours; That fault dissevers Me from my heaven, astray--condemned--forsook! And yet I seem to feel, to know, thee near me; Thy steps make music, measured music, near: Radha! my Radha! will not sorrow clear me? Shine once! speak one word pitiful and dear! Wilt thou not hear? Canst thou--because I did forget--forsake me? Forgive! the sin is sinned, is past, is over; No thought I think shall do thee wrong again; Turn thy dark eyes again upon thy lover Bright Spirit! or I perish of this pain. Loving again! In dread of doom to love, but not recover. _So did Krishna sing and sigh By the river-bank; and I, Jayadev of Kinduvilva, Resting--as the moon of silver Sits upon the solemn ocean-- On full faith, in deep devotion; Tell it that ye may perceive How the heart must fret and grieve; How the soul doth tire of earth, When the love from Heav'n hath birth._ For (sang he on) I am no foe of thine, There is no black snake, Kama! in my hair; Blue lotus-bloom, and not the poisoned brine, Shadows my neck; what stains my bosom bare, Thou God unfair! Is sandal-dust, not ashes; nought of mine. Makes me like Shiva that thou, Lord of Love! Shouldst strain thy string at me and fit thy dart; This world is thine--let be one breast thereof Which bleeds already, wounded to the heart With lasting smart, Shot from those brows that did my sin reprove. Thou gavest her those black brows for a bow Arched like thine own, whose pointed arrows seem Her glances, and the underlids that go-- So firm and fine--its string? Ah, fleeting gleam! Beautiful dream! Small need of Kama's help hast thou, I trow, To smite me to the soul with love;--but set Those arrows to their silken cord! enchain My thoughts in that loose hair! let thy lips, wet With dew of heaven as bimba-buds with rain, Bloom precious pain Of longing in my heart; and, keener yet, The heaving of thy lovely, angry bosom, Pant to my spirit things unseen, unsaid; But if thy touch, thy tones, if the dark blossom Of thy dear face, thy jasmine-odours shed From feet to head, If these be all with me, canst thou be far--be fled? _So sang he, and I pray that whoso hears The music of his burning hopes and fears, That whoso sees this vision by the River Of Krishna, Hari, (can we name him ever?) And marks his ear-ring rubies swinging slow, As he sits still, unheedful, bending low To play this tune upon his lute, while all Listen to catch the sadness musical; And Krishna wotteth nought, but, with set face Turned full toward Radha's, sings on in that place; May all such souls--prays Jayadev--be wise To lean the wisdom which hereunder lies._ (_Here ends that Sarga of the GÃ®ta Govinda entitled_ MUGDHAMADHUSUDANO.) _SARGA THE FOURTH._ SNIGDHAMADHUSUDANO. KRISHNA CHEERED. Then she whom Radha sent came to the canes-- The canes beside the river where he lay With listless limbs and spirit weak from love;-- And she sang this to Krishna wistfully: (_What follows is to the Music_ KARNÃTA _and the Mode_ EKATÃLÃ.) Art thou sick for Radha? she is sad in turn, Heaven foregoes its blessings, if it holds not thee, All the cooling fragrance of sandal she doth spurn, Moonlight makes her mournful with radiance silvery; Even the southern breeze blown fresh from pearly seas, Seems to her but tainted by a dolorous brine; And for thy sake discontented, with a great love overladen, Her soul comes here beside thee, and sitteth down with thine. Her soul comes here beside thee, and tenderly and true It weaves a subtle mail of proof to ward off sin and pain; A breastplate soft as lotus-leaf, with holy tears for dew, To guard thee from the things that hurt; and then 'tis gone again To strew a blissful place with the richest buds that grace Kama's sweet world, a meeting-spot with rose and jasmine fair, For the hour when, well-contented, with a love no longer troubled, Thou shalt find the way to Radha, and finish sorrows there. But now her lovely face is shadowed by her fears; Her glorious eyes are veiled and dim like moonlight in eclipse By breaking rain-clouds, Krishna! yet she paints you in her tears With tender thoughts--not Krishna, but brow and breast and lips And form and mien a King, a great and godlike thing; And then with bended head she asks grace from the Love Divine, To keep thee discontented with the phantoms thou forswearest, Till she may win her glory, and thou be raised to thine. Softly now she sayeth, "Krishna, Krishna, come!" Lovingly she prayeth, "Fair moon, light him home." Yet if Hari helps not, Moonlight cannot aid; Ah! the woeful Radha! Ah! the forest shade! Ah! if Hari guide not, Moonlight is as gloom; Ah! if moonlight help not, How shall Krishna come? Sad for Krishna grieving In the darkened grove; Sad for Radha weaving Dreams of fruitless love! _Strike soft strings to this soft measure, If thine ear would catch its treasure; Slowly dance to this deep song, Let its meaning float along With grave paces, since it tells Of a love that sweetly dwells In a tender distant glory, Past all faults of mortal story._ (_What follows is to the Music_ DESHÃGA _and the Mode_ EKATÃLÃ.) Krishna, till thou come unto her, faint she lies with love and fear; Even the jewels of her necklet seem a load too great to bear. Krishna, till thou come unto her, all the sandal and the flowers Vex her with their pure perfection though they grow in heavenly bowers. Krishna, till thou come unto her, fair albeit those bowers may be, Passion burns her, and love's fire fevers her for lack of thee. Krishna, till thou come unto her, those divine lids, dark and tender, Droop like lotus-leaves in rain-storms, dashed and heavy in their splendour. Krishna, till thou come unto her, that rose-couch which she hath spread Saddens with its empty place, its double pillow for one head. Krishna, till thou come unto her, from her palms she will not lift The dark face hidden deep within them like the moon in cloudy rift. Krishna, till thou come unto her, angel though she be, thy Love Sighs and suffers, waits and watches--joyless 'mid those joys above. Krishna, till them come unto her, with the comfort of thy kiss Deeper than thy loss, O Krishna! must be loss of Radha's bliss. Krishna, while thou didst forget her--her, thy life, thy gentle fate-- Wonderful her waiting was, her pity sweet, her patience great. Krishna, come! 'tis grief untold to grieve her--shame to let her sigh; Come, for she is sick with love, and thou her only remedy. _So she sang, and Jayadeva Prays for all, and prays for ever. That Great Hari may bestow Utmost bliss of loving so On us all;--that one who wore The herdsman's form, and heretofore, To save the shepherd's threatened flock, Up from the earth reared the huge rock-- Bestow it with a gracious hand, Albeit, amid the woodland band, Clinging close in fond caresses Krishna gave them ardent kisses, Taking on his lips divine Earthly stamp and woodland sign._ (_Here ends that Sarga of the GÃ®ta Govinda entitled_ SNIGDHAMADHUSUDANO). _SARGA THE FIFTH._ SAKANDKSHAPUNDARIKAKSHO. THE LONGINGS OF KRISHNA. "Say I am here! oh, if she pardons me, Say where I am, and win her softly hither." So Krishna to the maid; and willingly She came again to Radha, and she sang: (_What follows is to the Music_ DESHIVARÃDÃ _and the Mode_ RUPAKA.) Low whispers the wind from Malaya Overladen with love; On the hills all the grass is burned yellow; And the trees in the grove Droop with tendrils that mock by their clinging The thoughts of the parted; And there lies, sore-sighing for thee, Thy love, altered-hearted. To him the moon's icy-chill silver Is a sun at midday; The fever he burns with is deeper Than starlight can stay: Like one who falls stricken by arrows, With the colour departed From all but his red wounds, so lies Thy love, bleeding-hearted. To the music the banded bees make him He closeth his ear; In the blossoms their small horns are blowing The honey-song clear; But as if every sting to his bosom Its smart had imparted, Low lies by the edge of the river, Thy love, aching-hearted. By the edge of the river, far wandered From his once beloved bowers, And the haunts of his beautiful playmates, And the beds strewn with flowers; Now thy name is his playmate--that only!-- And the hard rocks upstarted From the sand make the couch where he lies, Thy Krishna, sad-hearted. _Oh may Hari fill each soul, As these gentle verses roll Telling of the anguish borne By kindred ones asunder torn! Oh may Hari unto each All the lore of loving teach, All the pain and all the bliss; Jayadeva prayeth this!_ Yea, Lady! in the self-same spot he waits Where with thy kiss thou taught'st him utmost love, And drew him, as none else draws, with thy look; And all day long, and all night long, his cry Is "Radha, Radha," like a spell said o'er: And in his heart there lives no wish nor hope Save only this, to slake his spirit's thirst For Radha's love with Radha's lips; and find Peace on the immortal beauty of thy breast. (_What follows is to the Music_ GURJJARÃ _and the Mode_ EKATÃLÃ.) Mistress, sweet and bright and holy! Meet him in that place; Change his cheerless melancholy Into joy and grace; If thou hast forgiven, vex not; If thou lovest, go, Watching ever by the river, Krishna listens low: Listens low, and on his reed there Softly sounds thy name, Making even mute things plead there For his hope: 'tis shame That, while winds are welcome to him, If from thee they blow, Mournful ever by the river Krishna waits thee so! When a bird's wing stirs the roses, When a leaf falls dead, Twenty times he recomposes The flower-seat he has spread: Twenty times, with anxious glances Seeking thee in vain, Sighing ever by the river, Krishna droops again. Loosen from thy foot the bangle, Lest its golden bell, With a tiny, tattling jangle, Any false tale tell: If thou fearest that the moonlight Will thy glad face know, Draw those dark braids lower, Lady! But to Krishna go. Swift and still as lightning's splendour Let thy beauty come, Sudden, gracious, dazzling, tender, To his arms--its home. Swift as Indra's yellow lightning, Shining through the night, Glide to Krishna's lonely bosom, Take him love and light. Grant, at last, love's utmost measure, Giving, give the whole; Keep back nothing of the treasure Of thy priceless soul: Hold with both hands out unto him Thy chalice, let him drain The nectar of its dearest draught, Till not a wish remain. Only go--the stars are setting, And thy Krishna grieves; Doubt and anger quite forgetting, Hasten through the leaves: Wherefore didst thou lead him heav'nward But for this thing's sake? Comfort him with pity, Radha! Or his heart must break. _But while Jayadeva writes This rare tale of deep delights-- Jayadev, whose heart is given Unto Hari, Lord in Heaven-- See that ye too, as ye read, With a glad and humble heed, Bend your brows before His face, That ye may have bliss and grace._ And then the Maid, compassionate, sang on-- Lady, most sweet! For thy coming feet He listens in the wood, with love sore-tried; Faintly sighing, Like one a-dying, He sends his thoughts afoot to meet his bride. Ah, silent one! Sunk is the sun, The darkness falls as deep as Krishna's sorrow; The chakor's strain Is not more vain Than mine, and soon gray dawn will bring white morrow. And thine own bliss Delays by this; The utmost of thy heaven comes only so When, with hearts beating And passionate greeting, Parting is over, and the parted grow. One--one for ever! And the old endeavour To be so blended is assuaged at last; And the glad tears raining Have nought remaining Of doubt or 'plaining; and the dread has passed. Out of each face, In the close embrace, That by-and-by embracing will be over; The ache that causes Those mournful pauses In bowers of earth between lover and lover: To be no more felt, To fade, to melt In the strong certainty of joys immortal; In the glad meeting, And quick sweet greeting Of lips that close beyond Time's shadowy portal. And to thee is given, Angel of Heaven! This glory and this joy with Krishna. Go! Let him attain, For his long pain, The prize it promised,--see thee coming slow, A vision first, but then-- By glade and glen-- A lovely, loving soul, true to its home; His Queen--his Crown--his All, Hast'ning at last to fall Upon his breast, and live there. Radha, come! _Come! and come thou, Lord of all, Unto whom the Three Worlds call; Thou, that didst in angry might, Kansa, like a comet, smite; Thou, that in thy passion tender, As incarnate spell and splendour, Hung on Radha's glorious face-- In the garb of Krishna's grace-- As above the bloom the bee, When the honeyed revelry Is too subtle-sweet an one Not to hang and dally on; Thou that art the Three Worlds' glory, Of life the light, of every story The meaning and the mark, of love The root and, flower, o' the sky above The blue, of bliss the heart, of those, The lovers, that which did impose The gentle law, that each should be The other's Heav'n and harmony._ (_Here ends that Sarga of the GÃ®ta Govinda entitled_ SAKANDKSILAPUNDARIKAKSHO.) _SARGA THE SIXTH._ DHRISHTAVAIKUNTO. KRISHNA MADE BOLDER. But seeing that, for all her loving will, The flower-soft feet of Radha had not power To leave their place and go, she sped again-- That maiden--and to Krishna's eager ears Told how it fared with his sweet mistress there. (_What follows is to the Music_ GONDAKIRÃ _and the Mode_ RUPAKA.) Krishna! 'tis thou must come, (she sang) Ever she waits thee in heavenly bower; The lotus seeks not the wandering bee, The bee must find the flower. All the wood over her deep eyes roam, Marvelling sore where tarries the bee, Who leaves such lips of nectar unsought As those that blossom for thee. Her steps would fail if she tried to come, Would falter and fail, with yearning weak; At the first of the road they would falter and pause, And the way is strange to seek. Find her where she is sitting, then, With lotus-blossom on ankle and arm Wearing thine emblems, and musing of nought But the meeting to be--glad, warm. To be--"but wherefore tarrieth he?" "What can stay or delay him?--go! See if the soul of Krishna comes," Ten times she sayeth to me so; Ten times lost in a languorous swoon, "Now he cometh--he cometh," she cries; And a love-look lightens her eyes in the gloom, And the darkness is sweet with her sighs. Till, watching in vain, she glideth again Under the shade of the whispering leaves; With a heart too full of its love at last To heed how her bosom heaves. _Shall not these fair verses swell The number of the wise who dwell In the realm of Kama's bliss? Jayadeva prayeth this, Jayadev, the bard of Love, Servant of the Gods above._ For all so strong in Heaven itself Is Love, that Radha sits drooping there, Her beautiful bosoms panting with thought, And the braids drawn back from her ear. And--angel albeit--her rich lips breathe Sighs, if sighs were ever so sweet; And--if spirits can tremble--she trembles now From forehead to jewelled feet. And her voice of music sinks to a sob, And her eyes, like eyes of a mated roe, Are tender with looks of yielded love, With dreams dreamed long ago; Long--long ago, but soon to grow truth, To end, and be waking and certain and true; Of which dear surety murmur her lips, As the lips of sleepers do: And, dreaming, she loosens her girdle-pearls, And opens her arms to the empty air, Then starts, if a leaf of the champÃ¢k falls, Sighing, "O leaf! Is he there?" Why dost thou linger in this dull spot, Haunted by serpents and evil for thee? Why not hasten to Nanda's House? It is plain, if thine eyes could see. _May these words of high endeavour-- Full of grace and gentle favour-- Find out those whose hearts can feel What the message did reveal, Words that Radha's messenger Unto Krishna took from her, Slowly guiding him to come Through the forest to his home, Guiding him to find the road Which led--though long--to Love's abode._ (_Here ends that Sarga of the GÃ®ta Govinda entitled_ DHRISHTAVAIKUNTO.) _SARGA THE SEVENTH._ VIPRALABDHAVARNANE NAGARANARAYANO. KRISHNA SUPPOSED FALSE. Meantime the moon, the rolling moon, clomb high, And over all VrindÃ¡vana it shone; The moon which on the front of gentle night Gleams like the chundun-mark on beauty's brow; The conscious moon which hath its silver face Marred with the shame of lighting earthly loves: And while the round white lamp of earth rose higher, And still he tarried, Radha, petulant, Sang soft impatience and half-earnest fears: (_What follows is to the Music_ MÃLAVA _and the Mode_ YATI.) 'Tis time!--he comes not!--will he come? Can he leave me thus to pine? _Yami hÃª kam sharanam!_ Ah! what refuge then is mine? For his sake I sought the wood, Threaded dark and devious ways; _Yami hÃª kam sharanam!_ Can it be Krishna betrays? Let me die then, and forget Anguish, patience, hope, and fear; _Yami hÃª kam sharanam!_ Ah, why have I held him dear? Ah, this soft night torments me, Thinking that his faithless arms-- _Yami hÃª kam sharanam!_-- Clasp some shadow of my charms. Fatal shadow--foolish mock! When the great love shone confessed;-- _Yami hÃª kam sharanam!_ Krishna's lotus loads my breast; 'Tis too heavy, lacking him; Like a broken flower I am-- Necklets, jewels, what are ye? _Yami hÃª kam sharanam!_ _Yami hÃª kam sharanam!_ The sky is still, the forest sleeps; Krishna forgets--he loves no more; He fails in faith, and Radha weeps. _But the poet Jayadev-- He who is great Hari's slave, He who finds asylum sweet Only at great Hari's feet; He who for your comfort sings All this to the Vina's strings-- Prays that Radha's tender moan In your hearts be thought upon, And that all her holy grace Live there like the loved one's face._ Yet, if I wrong him! (sang she)--can he fail? Could any in the wood win back his kisses? Could any softest lips of earth prevail To hold him from my arms? any love-blisses Blind him once more to mine? O Soul, my prize! Art thou not merely hindered at this hour? Sore-wearied, wandering, lost? how otherwise Shouldst thou not hasten to the bridal-bower? But seeing far away that Maiden come Alone, with eyes cast down and lingering steps, Again a little while she feared to hear Of Krishna false; and her quick thoughts took shape In a fine jealousy, with words like these-- Something then of earth has held him From his home above, Some one of those slight deceivers-- Ah, my foolish love! Some new face, some winsome playmate, With her hair untied, And the blossoms tangled in it, Woos him to her side. On the dark orbs of her bosom-- Passionately heaved-- Sink and rise the warm, white pearl-strings, Oh, my love deceived! Fair? yes, yes! the rippled shadow Of that midnight hair Shows above her brow--as clouds do O'er the moon--most fair: And she knows, with wilful paces, How to make her zone Gleam and please him; and her ear-rings Tinkle love; and grown Coy as he grows fond, she meets him With a modest show; Shaming truth with truthful seeming, While her laugh--light, low-- And her subtle mouth that murmurs. And her silken cheek, And her eyes, say she dissembles Plain as speech could speak. Till at length, a fatal victress, Of her triumph vain, On his neck she lies and smiles there:-- Ah, my Joy!--my Pain! _But may Radha's fond annoy, And may Krishna's dawning joy, Warm and waken love more fit-- Jayadeva prayeth it-- And the griefs and sins assuage Of this blind and evil age._ O Moon! (she sang) that art so pure and pale, Is Krishna wan like thee with lonely waiting? O lamp of love! art thou the lover's friend, And wilt not bring him, my long pain abating? O fruitless moon! thou dost increase my pain O faithless Krishna! I have striven in vain. And then, lost in her fancies sad, she moaned-- (_What follows is to the Music_ GURJJARÃ _and the Mode_ EKATÃLÃ) In vain, in vain! Earth will of earth! I mourn more than I blame; If he had known, he would not sit and paint The tilka on her smooth black brow, nor claim Quick kisses from her yielded lips--false, faint-- False, fragrant, fatal! Krishna's quest is o'er By Jumna's shore! Vain--it was vain! The temptress was too near, the heav'n too far; I can but weep because he sits and ties Garlands of fire-flowers for her loosened hair, And in its silken shadow veils his eyes And buries his fond face. Yet I forgave By Jumna's wave! Vainly! all vain! Make then the most of that whereto thou'rt given, Feign her thy Paradise--thy Love of loves; Say that her eyes are stars, her face the heaven, Her bosoms the two worlds, with sandal-groves Full-scented, and the kiss-marks--ah, thy dream By Jumna's stream! It shall be vain! And vain to string the emeralds on her arm, And hang the milky pearls upon her neck, Saying they are not jewels, but a swarm Of crowded, glossy bees, come there to suck The rosebuds of her breast, the sweetest flowers Of Jumna's bowers. That shall be vain! Nor wilt thou so believe thine own blind wooing, Nor slake thy heart's thirst even with the cup Which at the last she brims for thee, undoing Her girdle of carved gold, and yielding up, Love's uttermost: brief the poor gain and pride By Jumna's tide Because still vain Is love that feeds on shadow; vain, as thou dost, To look so deep into the phantom eyes For that which lives not there; and vain, as thou must, To marvel why the painted pleasure flies, When the fair, false wings seemed folded for ever By Jumna's river. And vain! yes, vain! For me too is it, having so much striven, To see this slight snare take thee, and thy soul Which should have climbed to mine, and shared my heaven, Spent on a lower loveliness, whose whole Passion of claim were but a parody Of that kept here for thee. Ahaha! vain! For on some isle of Jumna's silver stream He gives all that they ask to those hard eyes, While mine which are his angel's, mine which gleam With light that might have led him to the skies-- That almost led him--are eclipsed with tears Wailing my fruitless prayers. But thou, good Friend, Hang not thy head for shame, nor come so slowly, As one whose message is too ill to tell; If thou must say Krishna is forfeit wholly-- Wholly forsworn and lost--let the grief dwell Where the sin doth,--except in this sad heart, Which cannot shun its part. _O great Hari! purge from wrong The soul of him who writes this song; Purge the souls of
{'title': 'Indian Poetry by Sir Edwin Arnold', 'source': 'Project Gutenberg', 'lang': 'en'}