Page:TheBirth of the War-God.djvu/87

So glorious was the sight,—wonder and shame,
When Siva bowed him, o'er the Monarch came;
He knew not he had bent his lofty crest
In reverent greeting to his heavenly guest.
Himálaya, joying in the festive day,
Before the immortal Bridegroom led the way
Where heaps of gay flowers burying half the feet
Lay breathing odours through the crowded street.
Careless of all beside, each Lady's eye
Must gaze on Siva as the troop sweeps by:
One dark-eyed beauty will not stay to bind
Her long black tresses, floating unconfined,
Save by her little hand; her flowery crown
Hanging; neglected and unfastened down.
One from her maiden tore her foot away
On which the dye, all wet and streaming, lay,
And o'er the chamber rushing in her haste.
Where'er she stepped, a crimson footprint traced.
Another at the window takes her stand;
One eye is dyed,—the pencil in her hand;
Here runs an eager maid, and running, holds
Loose and ungirt her flowing mantle's folds.
Whilst, as she strives to close the parting vest.
Its brightness gives new beauty to her breast.
Oh! what a sight! the crowded windows there
With eager faces! excellently fair.
Like honied lilies—for their dark eyes fling
Quick glances quivering like the wild bee's wing.

Onward in peerless glory Siva passed,
Gay banners o'er his way their shadows cast—