Page:TheBirth of the War-God.djvu/59

Till like thy lip each ruddy tendril glows,
That lip which, faded, still outreds the rose?
With loving glance the timid fawns draw nigh.
Say dost thou still with joy their wants supply?
For thee, Lotus-eyed, their glances shine,
Mocking the brightness of each look of thine;
O Mountain-Lady, it is truly said
That heavenly charms to sin have never led.
For even Penitents may learn of thee
How pure, how gentle Beauty's self may be.
Bright Ganga falling with her heavenly waves,
Himálaya's head with sacred water laves.
Bearing those flowers, the seven great Sages fling,
To crown the forehead of the Mountain-King!—
Yet do thy deeds, bright-haired Maiden, shed
A richer glory round his awful head.
Purest of motives. Duty leads thy heart,
Interest and Pleasure there may claim no part;
noble Maiden, holy Sages tell—
Friendship may soon in gentle bosoms dwell.
Seven steps together bind the lasting tie,
Then bend on me, dear Saint, a gracious eye!
Fain, lovely Uma, would a Brahman learn
What noble guerdon would thy Penance earn;
Say, art thou toiling for a second birth,
Where dwells the great Creator?—o'er the earth
Resistless sway? Or fair as Beauty's Queen,
Peerless, immortal, shall thy form be seen?
The lonely soul by grief and anguish broken,
By Penance' aid may win some gracious token,
But what, faultless one, can move thy heart
To dwell in solitude and prayer apart?