From thy throne of light above
Stoop to help us, deign to take
Our spirits to thee for the sake
Of this song, which speaks the fears
Of all who weep with Radha's tears._
But love is strong to pardon, slow to part,
And still the Lady, in her fancies, sang--
Wind of the Indian stream!
A little--oh! a little--breathe once more
The fragrance like his mouth's! blow from thy shore
One last word as he fades into a dream;
Bodiless Lord of love!
Show him once more to me a minute's space,
My Krishna, with the love-look in his face,
And then I come to my own place above;
I will depart and give
All back to Fate and her: I will submit
To thy stern will, and bow myself to it,
Enduring still, though desolate, to live:
If it indeed be life,
Even so resigning, to sit patience-mad,
To feel the zephyrs burn, the sunlight sad,
The peace of holy heaven, a restless strife.
Haho! what words are these?
How can I live and lose him? how not go
Whither love draws me for a soul loved so?
How yet endure such sorrow?--or how cease?
Wind of the Indian wave!
If that thou canst, blow poison here, not nard;
God of the five shafts! shoot thy sharpest hard,
And kill me, Radha,--Radha who forgave!
Or, bitter River,
Yamûn! be Yama's sister! be Death's kin!
Swell thy wave up to me and gulf me in,
Cooling this cruel, burning pain for ever.
_Ah! if only visions stir
Grief so passionate in her,
What divine grief will not take,
Spirits in heaven for the sake
Of those who miss love? Oh, be wise!
Mark this story of the skies;
Meditate Govinda ever,
Sitting by the sacred river,
The mystic stream, which o'er his feet
Glides slow, with murmurs low and sweet,
Till none can tell whether those be
Blue lotus-blooms, seen veiledly
Under the wave, or mirrored gems
Reflected from the diadems
Bound on the brows of mighty Gods,
Who lean from out their pure abodes,
And leave their bright felicities
To guide great Krishna to his sides._
(_Here ends that Sarga of the Gîta Govinda entitled_
VIPRALABDHAVARNANE NAGARANARAYANO.)
_SARGA THE EIGHTH._
KHANDITAVARNANE VILAKSHALAKSHMIPATI.
THE REBUKING OF KRISHNA.
For when the weary night had worn away
In these vain fears, and the clear morning broke,
Lo, Krishna! lo, the longed-for of her soul
Came too!--in the glad light he came, and bent
His knee, and clasped his hands; on his dumb lips
Fear, wonder, joy, passion, and reverence
Strove for the trembling words, and Radha knew
Peace won for him and her; yet none the less
A little time she eluded him, and sang:
(_What follows is to the Music_ BHAIRAVÎ _and the Mode_ YATI)
Krishna!--then thou hast found me!--and thine eyes
Heavy and sad and stained, as if with weeping!
Ah! is it not that those, which were thy prize,
So radiant seemed that all night thou wert keeping
Vigils of tender wooing?--have thy Love!
Here is no place for vows broken in making;
Thou Lotus-eyed! thou soul for whom I strove!
Go! ere I listen, my just mind forsaking.
Krishna! my Krishna with the woodland-wreath!
Return, or I shall soften as I blame;
The while thy very lips are dark to the teeth
With dye that from her lids and lashes came,
Left on the mouth I touched. Fair traitor! go!
Say not they darkened, lacking food and sleep
Long waiting for my face; I turn it--so--
Go! ere I half believe thee, pleading deep;
But wilt thou plead, when, like a love-verse printed
On the smooth polish of an emerald,
I see the marks she stamped, the kisses dinted
Large-lettered, by her lips? thy speech withheld
Speaks all too plainly; go,--abide thy choice!
If thou dost stay, I shall more greatly grieve thee;
Not records of her victory?--peace, dear voice!
Hence with that godlike brow, lest I believe thee.
For dar'st thou feign the saffron on thy bosom
Was not implanted in disloyal embrace?
Or that this many-coloured love-tree blossom
Shone not, but yesternight, above her face?
Comest thou here, so late, to be forgiven,
O thou, in whose eyes Truth was made to live?
O thou, so worthy else of grace and heaven?
O thou, so nearly won? Ere I forgive,
Go, Krishna! go!--lest I should think, unwise,
Thy heart not false, as thy long lingering seems,
Lest, seeing myself so imaged in thine eyes,
I shame the name of Pity--turn to dreams
The sacred sound of vows; make Virtue grudge
Her praise to Mercy, calling thy sin slight;
Go therefore, dear offender! go! thy Judge
Had best not see thee to give sentence right.
_But may he grant us peace at last and bliss
Who heard,--and smiled to hear,--delays like this,
Delays that dallied with a dream come true,
Fond wilful angers; for the maid laughed too
To see, as Radha ended, her hand take
His dark role for her veil, and[2] Krishna make
The word she spoke for parting kindliest sign
He should not go, but stay. O grace divine,
Be ours too! Jayadev, the Poet of love,
Prays it from Hari, lordliest above._
(_Here ends that Sarga of the Gîta Govinda entitled_
KHANDITAVARNANE VILAKSHALAKSHMIPATI.)
[Footnote 2: The text here is not closely followed.]
_SARGA THE NINTH._
KALAHANTARITAVARNANE MUGDHAMUKUNDO.
THE END OF KRISHNA'S TRIAL.
Yet not quite did the doubts of Radha die,
Nor her sweet brows unbend; but she, the Maid--
Knowing her heart so tender, her soft arms
Aching to take him in, her rich mouth sad
For the comfort of his kiss, and these fears false--
Spake yet a little in fair words like these:
_(What follows is to the Music_ GURJJARÎ _and the Mode_ YATI.)
The lesson that thy faithful love has taught him
He has heard;
The wind of spring, obeying thee, hath brought him
At thy word;
What joy in all the three worlds was so precious
To thy mind?
_Mâ kooroo mânini mânamayè_,[3]
Ah, be kind!
[Footnote 3: My proud one! do not indulge in scorn.]
No longer from his earnest eyes conceal
Thy delights;
Lift thy face, and let the jealous veil reveal
All his rights;
The glory of thy beauty was but given
For content;
_Mâ kooroo mânini mânamayè_,
Oh, relent!
Remember, being distant, how he bore thee
In his heart;
Look on him sadly turning from before thee
To depart;
Is he not the soul thou lovedst, sitting lonely
In the wood?
_Mâ kooroo mânini mânamayè_,
'Tis not good!
He who grants thee high delight in bridal-bower
Pardons long;
What the gods do love may do at such an hour
Without wrong;
Why weepest thou? why keepest thou in anger
Thy lashes down?
_Mâ kooroo mânini mânamayè_,
Do not frown!
Lift thine eyes now, and look on him, bestowing,
Without speech;
Let him pluck at last the flower so sweetly growing
In his reach;
The fruit of lips, of loving tones, of glances
That forgive;
_Mâ kooroo mânini mânamayè_,
Let him live!
Let him speak with thee, and pray to thee, and prove thee
All his truth;
Let his silent loving lamentation move thee
Asking ruth;
How knowest thou? All, listen, dearest Lady,
He is there;
_Mâ kooroo mânini mânamayè_,
Thou must hear!
_O rare voice, which is a spell
Unto all on earth who dwell!
O rich voice, of rapturous love,
Making melody above!
Krishna's, Hari's--one in two,
Sound these mortal verses through!
Sound like that soft flute which made
Such a magic in the shade--
Calling deer-eyed maidens nigh,
Waking wish and stirring sigh,
Thrilling blood and melting breasts,
Whispering love's divine unrests,
Winning blessings to descend,
Bringing earthly ills to end;--
Me thou heard in this song now
Thou, the great Enchantment, thou!_
(_Here ends that Sarga of the Gîta Govinda entitled_
KALAHANTARITAVARNANE MUGDHAMUKUNDO.)
_SARGA THE TENTH._
MANINIVARNANE CHATURACHATURBHUJO.
KRISHNA IN PARADISE.
But she, abasing still her glorious eyes,
And still not yielding all her face to him,
Relented; till with softer upturned look
She smiled, while the Maid pleaded; so thereat
Came Krishna nearer, and his eager lips
Mixed sighs with words in this fond song he sang:
(_What follows is to the Music_ DESHÎYAVARÂDÎ _and the Mode_
ASHTATÂLÎ.)
O angel of my hope! O my heart's home!
My fear is lost in love, my love in fear;
This bids me trust my burning wish, and come,
That checks me with its memories, drawing near:
Lift up thy look, and let the thing it saith
End fear with grace, or darken love to death.
Or only speak once more, for though thou slay me,
Thy heavenly mouth must move, and I shall hear
Dulcet delights of perfect music sway me
Again--again that voice so blest and dear;
Sweet Judge! the prisoner prayeth for his doom
That he may hear his fate divinely come.
Speak once more! then thou canst not choose but show
Thy mouth's unparalleled and honeyed wonder
Where, like pearls hid in red-lipped shells, the row
Of pearly teeth thy rose-red lips lie under;
Ah me! I am that bird that woos the moon,
And pipes--poor fool! to make it glitter soon.
Yet hear me on--because I cannot stay
The passion of my soul, because my gladness
Will pour forth from my heart;--since that far day
When through the mist of all my sin and sadness
Thou didst vouchsafe--Surpassing One!--to break,
All else I slighted for thy noblest sake.
Thou, thou hast been my blood, my breath, my being;
The pearl to plunge for in the sea of life;
The sight to strain for, past the bounds of seeing;
The victory to win through longest strife;
My Queen! my crowned Mistress! my sphered bride!
Take this for truth, that what I say beside.
Of bold love--grown full-orbed at sight of thee--
May be forgiven with a quick remission;
For, thou divine fulfilment of all hope!
Thou all-undreamed completion of the vision!
I gaze upon thy beauty, and my fear
Passes as clouds do, when the moon shines clear.
So if thou'rt angry still, this shall avail,
Look straight at me, and let thy bright glance wound me;
Fetter me! gyve me! lock me in the gaol
Of thy delicious arms; make fast around me
The silk-soft manacles of wrists and hands,
Then kill me! I shall never break those bands.
The starlight jewels flashing on thy breast
Have not my right to hear thy beating heart;
The happy jasmine-buds that clasp thy waist
Are soft usurpers of my place and part;
If that fair girdle only there must shine,
Give me the girdle's life--the girdle mine!
Thy brow like smooth Bandhûka-leaves; thy cheek
Which the dark-tinted Madhuk's velvet shows;
Thy long-lashed Lotus eyes, lustrous and meek;
Thy nose a Tila-bud; thy teeth like rows
Of Kunda-petals! he who pierceth hearts
Points with thy lovelinesses all five darts.
But Radiant, Perfect, Sweet, Supreme, forgive!
My heart is wise--my tongue is foolish still:
I know where I am come--I know I live--
I know that thou art Radha--that this will
Last and be heaven: that I have leave to rise
Up from thy feet, and look into thine eyes!
And, nearer coming, I ask for grace
Now that the blest eyes turn to mine;
Faithful I stand in this sacred place
Since first I saw them shine:
Dearest glory that stills my voice,
Beauty unseen, unknown, unthought!
Splendour of love, in whose sweet light
Darkness is past and nought;
Ah, beyond words that sound on earth,
Golden bloom of the garden of heaven!
Radha, enchantress! Radha, the queen!
Be this trespass forgiven--
In that I dare, with courage too much
And a heart afraid,--so bold it is grown--
To hold thy hand with a bridegroom's touch,
And take thee for mine, mine own.[4]
_So they met and so they ended
Pain and parting, being blended
Life with life--made one for ever
In high love; and Jayadeva
Hasteneth on to close the story
Of their bridal grace and glory._
(_Here ends that Sarga of the Gîta Govinda entitled_
MANINIVARNANE CHATURACHATURBHUJO.)
[Footnote 4: Much here also is necessarily paraphrased.]
_SARGA THE ELEVENTH._
RADHIKAMILANE SANANDADAMODARO.
THE UNION OF RADHA AND KRISHNA.
Thus followed soft and lasting peace, and griefs
Died while she listened to his tender tongue,
Her eyes of antelope alight with love;
And while he led the way to the bride-bower
The maidens of her train adorned her fair
With golden marriage-cloths, and sang this song:
(_What follows is to the Music_ VASANTA _and the Mode_ YATI.)
Follow, happy Radha! follow,--
In the quiet falling twilight--
The steps of him who followed thee
So steadfastly and far;
Let us bring thee where the banjulas
Have spread a roof of crimson,
Lit up by many a marriage-lamp
Of planet, sun, and star:
For the hours of doubt are over,
And thy glad and faithful lover
Hath found the road by tears and prayers
To thy divinest side;
And thou wilt not now deny him
One delight of all thy beauty,
But yield up open-hearted
His pearl, his prize, his bride.
Oh, follow! while we fill the air
With songs and softest music;
Lauding thy wedded loveliness,
Dear Mistress past compare!
For there is not any splendour
Of Apsarasas immortal--
No glory of their beauty rich--
But Radha has a share;
Oh, follow! while we sing the song
That fills the worlds with longing,
The music of the Lord of love
Who melts all hearts with bliss;
For now is born the gladness
That springs from mortal sadness,
And all soft thoughts and things and hopes
Were presages of this.
Then, follow, happiest Lady!
Follow him thou lovest wholly;
The hour is come to follow now
The soul thy spells have led;
His are thy breasts like jasper-cups,
And his thine eyes like planets;
Thy fragrant hair, thy stately neck,
Thy queenly sumptuous head;
Thy soft small feet, thy perfect lips,
Thy teeth like jasmine petals,
Thy gleaming rounded shoulders,
And long caressing arms,
Being thine to give, are his; and his
The twin strings of thy girdle,
And his the priceless treasure
Of thine utter-sweetest charms.
So follow! while the flowers break forth
In white and amber clusters,
At the breath of thy pure presence,
And the radiance on thy brow;
Oh, follow where the Asokas wave
Their sprays of gold and purple,
As if to beckon thee the way
That Krishna passed but now;
He is gone a little forward!
Though thy steps are faint for pleasure,
Let him hear the tattling ripple
Of the bangles round thy feet;
Moving slowly o'er the blossoms
On the path which he has shown thee,
That when he turns to listen
It may make his fond heart beat.
And loose thy jewelled girdle
A little, that its rubies
May tinkle softest music too,
And whisper thou art near;
Though now, if in the forest
Thou should'st bend one blade of Kusha
With silken touch of passing foot,
His heart would know and hear;
Would hear the wood-buds saying,
"It is Radha's foot that passes;"
Would hear the wind sigh love-sick,
"It is Radha's fragrance, this;"
Would hear thine own heart beating
Within thy panting bosom,
And know thee coming, coming,
His--ever,--ever--his!
"_Mine_! "--hark! we are near enough for hearing--
"_Soon she will come--she will smile--she will say
Honey-sweet words of heavenly endearing;
O soul! listen; my Bride is on her way!_"
Hear'st him not, my Radha?
Lo, night bendeth o'er thee--
Darker than dark Tamâla-leaves--
To list thy marriage-song;
Dark as the touchstone that tries gold,
And see now--on before thee--
Those lines of tender light that creep
The clouded sky along:
O night! that trieth gold of love,
This love is proven perfect!
O lines that streak the touchstone sky,
Plash forth true shining gold!
O rose-leaf feet, go boldly!
O night!--that lovest lovers--
Thy softest robe of silence
About these bridals fold!
See'st thou not, my Radha?
Lo, the night, thy bridesmaid,
Comes!--her eyes thick-painted
With soorma of the gloom--
The night that binds the planet-worlds
For jewels on her forehead,
And for emblem and for garland
Loves the blue-black lotus-bloom;
The night that scents her breath so sweet
With cool and musky odours,
That joys to spread her veil of shade
Over the limbs of love;
And when, with loving weary,
Yet dreaming love, they slumber,
Sets the far stars for silver lamps
To light them from above.
So came she where he stood, awaiting her
At the bower's entry, like a god to see,
With marriage-gladness and the grace of heaven.
The great pearl set upon his glorious head
Shone like a moon among the leaves, and shone
Like stars the gems that kept her gold gown close:
But still a little while she paused--abashed
At her delight, of her deep joy afraid--
And they that tended her sang once more this:
(_What follows is to the Music_ VARÂDI _and the Mode_ RUPAKA.)
Enter, thrice-happy! enter, thrice-desired!
And let the gates of Hari shut thee in
With the soul destined to thee from of old.
Tremble not! lay thy lovely shame aside;
Lay it aside with thine unfastened zone,
And love him with the love that knows not fear,
Because it fears not change; enter thou in,
Flower of all sweet and stainless womanhood!
For ever to grow bright, for ever new;
Enter beneath the flowers, O flower-fair!
Beneath these tendrils, Loveliest! that entwine
And clasp, and wreathe and cling, with kissing stems;
Enter, with tender-blowing airs of heaven,
Soft as love's breath and gentle as the tones
Of lover's whispers, when the lips come close:
Enter the house of Love, O loveliest!
Enter the marriage-bower, most beautiful!
And take and give the joy that Hari grants,
Thy heart has entered, let thy feet go too!
Lo, Krishna! lo, the one that thirsts for thee!
Give him the drink of amrit from thy lips.
* * * * *
Then she, no more delaying, entered straight;
Her step a little faltered, but her face
Shone with unutterable quick love; and--while,
The music of her bangles passed the porch--
Shame, which had lingered in her downcast eyes,
Departed shamed[5] ... and like the mighty deep,
Which sees the moon and rises, all his life
Uprose to drink her beams.
(_Here ends that Sarga of the Gîta Govinda entitled_
RADHIKAMILANE SANANDADAMODARO.)
[Footnote 5: This complete anticipation (_salajjâ lajjâpi_) of the
line--
"Upon whose brow shame is ashamed to sit"
--occurs at the close of the Sarga, part of which is here perforce
omitted, along with the whole of the last one.]
* * * * *
Hari keep you! He whose might,
On the King of Serpents seated,
Flashes forth in dazzling light
From the Great Snake's gems repeated:
Hari keep you! He whose graces,
Manifold in majesty,--
Multiplied in heavenly places--
Multiply on earth--to see
Better with a hundred eyes
Her bright charms who by him lies.
_What skill may be in singing,
What worship sound in song,
What lore be taught in loving,
What right divined from wrong:
Such things hath Jayadeva--
In this his Hymn of Love,
Which lauds Govinda ever,--
Displayed; may all approve!_
THE END OF THE INDIAN SONG OF SONGS
_MISCELLANEOUS ORIENTAL POEMS._
_THE RAJPOOT WIFE._
Sing something, Jymul Rao! for the goats are gathered now,
And no more water is to bring;
The village-gates are set, and the night is gray as yet,
God hath given wondrous fancies to thee:--sing!
Then Jymul's supple fingers, with a touch that doubts and lingers,
Sets athrill the saddest wire of all the six;
And the girls sit in a tangle, and hush the tinkling bangle,
While the boys pile the flame with store of sticks.
And vain of village praise, but full of ancient days,
He begins with a smile and with a sigh--
"Who knows the babul-tree by the bend of the Ravee?"
Quoth Gunesh, "I!" and twenty voices, "I!"
"Well--listen! there below, in the shade of bloom and bough,
Is a musjid of carved and coloured stone;
And Abdool Shureef Khan--I spit, to name that man!--
Lieth there, underneath, all alone.
"He was Sultan Mahmoud's vassal, and wore an Amir's tassel
In his green hadj-turban, at Nungul.
Yet the head which went so proud, it is not in his shroud;
There are bones in that grave,--but not a skull!
"And, deep drove in his breast, there moulders with the rest
A dagger, brighter once than Chundra's ray;
A Rajpoot lohar whet it, and a Rajpoot woman set it
Past the power of any hand to tear away.
"'Twas the Ranee Neila true, the wife of Soorj Dehu,
Lord of the Rajpoots of Nourpoor;
You shall hear the mournful story, with its sorrow and its glory,
And curse Shureef Khan,--the soor!"
* * * * *
All in the wide Five-Waters was none like Soorj Dehu,
To foeman who so dreadful, to friend what heart so true?
Like Indus, through the mountains came down the Muslim ranks,
And town-walls fell before them as flooded river-banks;
But Soorj Dehu the Rajpoot owned neither town nor wall;
His house the camp, his roof-tree the sky that covers all;
His seat of state the saddle; his robe a shirt of mail;
His court a thousand Rajpoots close at his stallion's tail.
Not less was Soorj a Rajah because no crown he wore
Save the grim helm of iron with sword-marks dinted o'er;
Because he grasped no sceptre save the sharp tulwar, made
Of steel that fell from heaven,--for 'twas Indra forged that blade!
And many a starless midnight the shout of "Soorj Dehu"
Broke up with spear and matchlock the Muslim's "Illahu."
And many a day of battle upon the Muslim proud
Tell Soorj, as India's lightning falls from the silent cloud.
Nor ever shot nor arrow, nor spear nor slinger's stone,
Could pierce the mail that Neila the Ranee buckled on:
But traitor's subtle tongue-thrust through fence of steel can break;
And Soorj was taken sleeping, whom none had ta'en awake.
Then at the noon, in durbar, swore fiercely Shureef Khan
That Soorj should die in torment, or live a Mussulman.
But Soorj laughed lightly at him, and answered, "Work your will!
The last breath of my body shall curse your Prophet still."
With words of insult shameful, and deeds of cruel kind,
They vexed that Rajpoot's body, but never moved his mind.
And one is come who sayeth, "Ho! Rajpoots! Soorj is bound;
Your lord is caged and baited by Shureef Khan, the hound.
"The Khan hath caught and chained him, like a beast, in iron cage,
And all the camp of Islam spends on him spite and rage;
"All day the coward Muslims spend on him rage and spite;
If ye have thought to help him, 'twere good ye go to-night."
Up sprang a hundred horsemen, flashed in each hand a sword;
In each heart burned the gladness of dying for their lord;
Up rose each Rajpoot rider, and buckled on with speed
The bridle-chain and breast-cord, and the saddle of his steed.
But unto none sad Neila gave word to mount and ride;
Only she called the brothers of Soorj unto her side,
And said, "Take order straightway to seek this camp with me;
If love and craft can conquer, a thousand is as three.
"If love be weak to save him, Soorj dies--and ye return,
For where a Rajpoot dieth, the Rajpoot widows burn."
Thereat the Ranee Neila unbraided from her hair
The pearls as great as Kashmir grapes Soorj gave his wife to wear,
And all across her bosoms--like lotus-buds to see--
She wrapped the tinselled sari of a dancing Kunchenee;
And fastened on her ankles the hundred silver bells,
To whose light laugh of music the Nautch-girl darts and dwells.
And all in dress a Nautch-girl, but all in heart a queen,
She set her foot to stirrup with a sad and settled mien.
Only one thing she carried no Kunchenee should bear,
The knife between her bosoms;--ho, Shureef! have a care!
* * * * *
Thereat, with running ditty of mingled pride and pity,
Jymul Rao makes the six wires sigh;
And the girls with tearful eyes note the music's fall and rise,
And the boys let the fire fade and die.
* * * * *
All day lay Soorj the Rajpoot in Shureef's iron cage,
All day the coward Muslims spent on him spite and rage.
With bitter cruel torments, and deeds of shameful kind,
They racked and broke his body, but could not shake his mind.
And only at the Azan, when all their worst was vain,
They left him, like dogs slinking from a lion in his pain.
No meat nor drink they gave him through all that burning day,
And done to death, but scornful, at twilight-time he lay.
So when the gem of Shiva uprose, the shining moon,
Soorj spake unto his spirit, "The end is coming soon."
"I would the end might hasten, could Neila only know--
What is that Nautch-girl singing with voice so known and low?
"Singing beneath the cage-bars the song of love and fear
My Neila sang at parting!--what doth that Nautch-girl here?
"Whence comes she by the music of Neila's tender strain,
She, in that shameless tinsel?--O Nautch-girl, sing again!"
"Ah, Soorj!"--so followed answer--"here thine own Neila stands,
Faithful in life and death alike,--look up, and take my hands:
"Speak low, lest the guard hear us;--to-night, if thou must die,
Shureef shall have no triumph, but bear thee company."
So sang she like the Koil that dies beside its mate;
With eye as black and fearless, and love as hot and great.
Then the Chief laid his pale lips upon the little palm,
And sank down with a smile of love, his face all glad and calm;