Page:TheBirth of the War-God.djvu/21

The loveliest flower that ever opened yet
Laid in the fairest branch—a pearl that's set
In richest coral—with her smile might vie
Flashing through lips bright with their rosy dye.
And when she spoke—upon the maiden's tongue
Distilling nectar, such rare accents hung,
The sweetest note that e'er the Koil poured
Seemed harsh and tuneless as a jarring chord.
The melting glance of that soft Hquid eye,
Tremulous like lilies when the breezes sigh,
Which learnt it first—so winning and so mild—
The gentle fawn, or Mena's gentler child?
And oh, the arching of her brow! so fine
Was the rare beauty of its pencilled line—
Love gazed upon her forehead in despair
And spurned the bow he once esteemed so fair :
Her long bright tresses too might shame the pride
Of envious antelopes on the mountain-side.
Surely the Maker's care had been to cull
From all that's lovely the most beautiful,
As if the world's Creator would behold
All beauty centred in a single mould.

When holy Nárad—Saint who roams at will —
First saw the daughter of the royal Hill,
He hailed the bride whom Siva's love should own
Half of himself, and partner of his throne;
Himálaya listened, and the father's pride
Would yield the maiden for no other's bride;
To Fire alone of all bright things we raise
The holy hymn, the sacrifice of praise: