Page:TheBirth of the War-God.djvu/88

Each palace dome, each pinnacle and height
Catching new lustre from his crest of light.
On swept the pageant,—on the God alone
The eager glances of the dames were thrown;
On his bright form they fed the rapturous gaze,
And only turned to marvel and to praise: —
"Oh, well and wisely, such a Lord to gain
The Mountain- Maid endured the toil and pain;
To be his slave were joy—but Oh, how blest
The wife—the loved one—lying on his breast!
Surely in vain, had not the Lord of Life
Matched this fond bridegroom and this loving wife,
Had been his wish to give the Worlds a mould
Of perfect beauty!—falsely have they told
How the young Flower-armed God was burnt by fire
At the red flash of Siva's vengeful ire—
No,—jealous Love a fairer form confessed
And cast away his own, no more the loveliest.
How glorious is the Mountain King, how proud
Earth's stately pillar, girt about with cloud!
Now will he lift his lofty head more high
Knit close to Siva by this holy tie."

Such words of praise from many a bright-eyed dame
On Siva's ear with soothing witchery came:
Through the broad streets mid loud acclaim he rode,
And reached the palace where the King abode;
As leaves the Sun a cloud at eventide,
There he descended from his monster's side.
Leaning on Vishnu's arm he passed the door
Where mighty Brahma entered in before: