Page:TheBirth of the War-God.djvu/16

And breathes in welcome freshness o'er the face
Of wearied hunters when they quit the chase.
Spread on the tranquil pool so sweetly sleep
The Lotus-flowers upon Himálaya's steep,
That the bright Seven who star the northern sky
Cull each a blossom from their seats on high;
And when the Sun pours forth his morning glow
In streams of glory from his path below,
They gain new beauty as his kisses break
His darlings' slumber on the mountain lake.

Well might that ancient Hill by merit claim
The power and glory of a monarch's name—
Nurse of pure herbs that grace each holy rite,
Earth's meetest bearer of unyielding might;
The Lord of Life for this ordained him king,
And bade him share the sacred offering.
Gladly obedient to the law divine,
He chose a consort to prolong his line;
No child of earth, born of the Sages' will,
The fair nymph Mena pleased the sovran Hill;
To her he sued, nor was his prayer denied,
The Saints' beloved was the Mountain's bride;
Crowned with all bliss and beauty were the pair.
He passing glorious, she was heavenly fair;
Swiftly the seasons, winged with love, flew on,
And made her mother of a noble son—
The great Maináka, who in triumph led
His Serpent beauties to the bridal bed;
And once when Indra's might those pinions rent
That bare the swift Hills through the firmament.