Whose countless wealth of natural gems is not
Too deeply blemished by the cruel snow;
One fault for many virtues is forgot,
The moon's one stain for beams that endless flow.
Where demigods enjoy the shade of clouds
Girding his lower crests, but often seek,
When startled by the sudden rain that shrouds
His waist, some loftier, ever sunlit peak.
Where bark of birch-trees makes, when torn in strips Third canto. The burning of Love.--Indra waits upon Love, who asks for his commands. Indra explains the matter, and asks Love to inflame Shiva with passion for Parvati. Love thereupon sets out, accompanied by his wife Charm and his friend Spring. When they reach the mountain where Shiva dwells, Spring shows his power. The snow disappears; the trees put forth blossoms; bees, deer, and birds waken to new life. The only living being that is not influenced by the sudden change of season is Shiva, who continues his meditation, unmoved. Love himself is discouraged, until he sees the beauty of Parvati, when he takes heart again. At this moment, Shiva chances to relax his meditation, and Parvati approaches to do him homage. Love seizes the lucky moment, and prepares to shoot his bewildering arrow at Shiva. But the great god sees him, and before the arrow is discharged, darts fire from his eye, whereby Love is consumed. Charm falls in a swoon, Shiva vanishes, and the wretched Parvati is carried away by her father. Fourth canto. The lament of Charm.--This canto is given entire. With breaking heart, with lovely bosom stained "Thy beauty slew the pride that maidens cherish; Where art thou gone? Thy love a moment only Thou never didst a thing to cause me anguish; Of playful chastisements art thou reminded, Heart-smitten by the accents of her grief And at the sight of him, she wept the more, Stifling, she cried: "Behold the mournful matter! Arise, O Love! For Spring knows no estranging, With such a friend, thy dart, on dainty pinion But Love is gone, far gone beyond returning, In slaying Love, fate wrought but half a slaughter, So then, fulfil for me the final mission As Charm prepared to end her mortal pain "O wife of Love! Thy lover is not lost Invisibly and thus mysteriously The wife of Love awaited thus the day, Fifth canto. The reward of self-denial.--Parvati reproaches her own beauty, for "loveliness is fruitless if it does not bind a lover." She therefore resolves to lead a life of religious self-denial, hoping that the merit thus acquired will procure her Shiva's love. Her mother tries in vain to dissuade her; her father directs her to a fit mountain peak, and she retires to her devotions. She lays aside all ornaments, lets her hair hang unkempt, and assumes the hermit's dress of bark. While she is spending her days in self-denial, she is visited by a Brahman youth, who compliments her highly upon her rigid devotion, and declares that her conduct proves the Twelfth canto. Kumara is made general.--Indra, with the other gods, waits upon Shiva, to ask that Kumara, now a youth, may be lent to them as their leader in the campaign against Taraka. The gods are graciously received by Shiva, who asks their errand. Indra prefers their request, where- upon Shiva bids his son assume command of the gods, and slay Taraka. Great is the joy of Kumara himself, of his mother Parvati, and of Indra. Thirteenth canto. Kumara is consecrated general.--Kumara takes an affectionate farewell of his parents, and sets out with the gods. When they come to Indra's paradise, the gods are afraid to enter, lest they find their enemy there. There is an amusing scene in which each courteously invites the others to precede him, until Kumara ends their embarrassment by leading the way. Here for the first time Kumara sees with deep respect the heavenly Ganges, Indra's garden and palace, and the heavenly city. But he becomes red- eyed with anger on beholding the devastation wrought by Taraka. He saw how crystal floors were gashed and torn
And streaked with mountain minerals that blend
To written words ’neath dainty finger-tips,
Such dear love-letters as the fairies send.
By cold embrace of earth, with flying hair,
She wept and to the forest world complained,
As if the forest in her grief might share.
Perfect its loveliness in every part;
I saw that beauty fade away and perish,
Yet did not die. How hard is woman's heart!
Endured, and I for ever need its power;
Gone like the stream that leaves the lily lonely,
When the dam breaks, to mourn her dying flower.
I never did a thing to work thee harm;
Why should I thus in vain affliction languish?
Why not return to bless thy grieving Charm?
Thy flirtings punished by my girdle-strands,
Thine eyes by flying dust of blossoms blinded,
Held for thy meet correction in these hands?
Like poisoned darts, soothing her fond alarm,
Incarnate Spring appeared, to bring relief
As friendship can, to sore-lamenting Charm.
And often clutched her throat, and beat her breast;
For lamentation finds an open door
In the presence of the friends we love the best.
In place of him thou seekest, what is found?
A something that the winds of heaven scatter,
A trace of dove-grey ashes on the ground.
Thy friend in lucky hap and evil lot;
Man's love for wife is ever doubtful, changing;
Man's love for man abides and changes not.
Of blossoms, shot from lotus-fibre string,
Reduced men, giants, gods to thy dominion--
The triple world has felt that arrow sting.
A candle snuffed by wandering breezes vain;
And see! I am his wick, with Love once burning,
Now blackened by the smoke of nameless pain.
For I am left. And yet the clinging vine
Must fall, when falls the sturdy tree that taught her
Round him in loving tenderness to twine.
Of him who undertakes a kinsman's part;
Commit me to the flames (my last petition)
And speed the widow to her husband's heart.
In fire, she heard a voice from heaven cry,
That showed her mercy, as the early rain
Shows mercy to the fish, when lakes go dry:
For evermore. This voice shall tell thee why
He perished like the moth, when he had crossed
The dreadful god, in fire from Shiva's eye.
The thoughts of Charm were turned away from death;
And Spring, believing where he might not see,
Comforted her with words of sweetest breath.
Though racked by grief, when fate should show its power,
As the waning moon laments her darkened ray
And waits impatient for the twilight hour.
Neglected, ruined, sad, of Indra's city,
As of a woman with a cowardly mate:
And all his inmost heart dissolved in pity.
By wanton tusks of elephants, were strewed
Have you forgot so soon the torture given
By shafts of mine that never miss their way?