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THE BIRTH OF THE WAR-GOD.
She turned away, with fear and woe oppressed,
To hide her sorrow on her father's breast;
Then, in the fond arms of her pitying sire,
Closed her sad eyes for fear of Siva's ire—
Still in his grasp the weary maiden lay,
While he sped swiftly on his homeward way.
Thus have I seen the elephant stoop to drink,
And lift the lilies from the fountain's brink—
Thus, when he rears his mighty head on high.
Across his tusks I've seen those lilies lie.
