Page:TheBirth of the War-God.djvu/15

There magic herbs that pour their streaming light
From mossy caverns through the darksome night,
Lend a bright torch to guide the trembling maid
Where waits her lover in the leafy shade.
Yet hath he caves within whose inmost cells
In tranquil rest the murky Darkness dwells,
And, like the night-bird, spreads the brooding wing
Safe in the shelter of the Mountain-king,
Unscorned, uninjured—for the good and great
Spurn not the suppliant for his lowly state.

Why lingers yet the Heavenly Minstrel's bride
On the wild path that skirts Himálaya's side?—
Cold to her tender feet—oh, cold—the snow,
Why are her steps—her homeward steps—so slow?
'Tis that her slender ancles scarce can bear
The weight of beauty that impedes her there;
Each rounded limb, and all her peerless charms,
That broad full bosom, those voluptuous arms.
E'en the wild kine that roam his forests bring
The royal symbols to the Mountain-king,—
With tails outspread, their bushy streaming hair
Flashes like moonlight through the parted air;
What monarch's fan more glorious might there be,
More meet to wave before such majesty?
There, when the Nymphs, within the cave's recess,
In modest fear their gentle limbs undress.
Descending clouds hang fondly round to shade
The blushing beauties of each mountain maid.
With pearly dew-drops Ganga loads the gale,
That waves the dark pines towering o'er the vale,