Indian Poetry Part 5

Fatal shadow--foolish mock!

When the great love shone confessed;-- _Yami he kam sharanam!_ Krishna's lotus loads my breast;

'Tis too heavy, lacking him; Like a broken flower I am-- Necklets, jewels, what are ye?

_Yami he kam sharanam!_

_Yami he kam sharanam!_ The sky is still, the forest sleeps; Krishna forgets--he loves no more; He fails in faith, and Radha weeps.

_But the poet Jayadev-- He who is great Hari's slave, He who finds asylum sweet Only at great Hari's feet; He who for your comfort sings All this to the Vina's strings-- Prays that Radha's tender moan In your hearts be thought upon, And that all her holy grace Live there like the loved one's face._

Yet, if I wrong him! (sang she)--can he fail?

Could any in the wood win back his kisses?

Could any softest lips of earth prevail To hold him from my arms? any love-blisses

Blind him once more to mine? O Soul, my prize!

Art thou not merely hindered at this hour?

Sore-wearied, wandering, lost? how otherwise Shouldst thou not hasten to the bridal-bower?

But seeing far away that Maiden come Alone, with eyes cast down and lingering steps, Again a little while she feared to hear Of Krishna false; and her quick thoughts took shape In a fine jealousy, with words like these--

Something then of earth has held him From his home above, Some one of those slight deceivers-- Ah, my foolish love!

Some new face, some winsome playmate, With her hair untied, And the blossoms tangled in it, Woos him to her side.

On the dark orbs of her bosom-- Pa.s.sionately heaved-- Sink and rise the warm, white pearl-strings, Oh, my love deceived!

Fair? yes, yes! the rippled shadow Of that midnight hair Shows above her brow--as clouds do O'er the moon--most fair:

And she knows, with wilful paces, How to make her zone Gleam and please him; and her ear-rings Tinkle love; and grown

Coy as he grows fond, she meets him With a modest show; Shaming truth with truthful seeming, While her laugh--light, low--

And her subtle mouth that murmurs.

And her silken cheek, And her eyes, say she dissembles Plain as speech could speak.

Till at length, a fatal victress, Of her triumph vain, On his neck she lies and smiles there:-- Ah, my Joy!--my Pain!

_But may Radha's fond annoy, And may Krishna's dawning joy, Warm and waken love more fit-- Jayadeva prayeth it-- And the griefs and sins a.s.suage Of this blind and evil age._

O Moon! (she sang) that art so pure and pale, Is Krishna wan like thee with lonely waiting?

O lamp of love! art thou the lover's friend, And wilt not bring him, my long pain abating?

O fruitless moon! thou dost increase my pain O faithless Krishna! I have striven in vain.

And then, lost in her fancies sad, she moaned--

(_What follows is to the Music_ GURJJARi _and the Mode_ EKATaLi)

In vain, in vain!

Earth will of earth! I mourn more than I blame; If he had known, he would not sit and paint The tilka on her smooth black brow, nor claim Quick kisses from her yielded lips--false, faint-- False, fragrant, fatal! Krishna's quest is o'er By Jumna's sh.o.r.e!

Vain--it was vain!

The temptress was too near, the heav'n too far; I can but weep because he sits and ties Garlands of fire-flowers for her loosened hair, And in its silken shadow veils his eyes And buries his fond face. Yet I forgave By Jumna's wave!

Vainly! all vain!

Make then the most of that whereto thou'rt given, Feign her thy Paradise--thy Love of loves; Say that her eyes are stars, her face the heaven, Her bosoms the two worlds, with sandal-groves Full-scented, and the kiss-marks--ah, thy dream By Jumna's stream!

It shall be vain!

And vain to string the emeralds on her arm, And hang the milky pearls upon her neck, Saying they are not jewels, but a swarm Of crowded, glossy bees, come there to suck The rosebuds of her breast, the sweetest flowers Of Jumna's bowers.

That shall be vain!

Nor wilt thou so believe thine own blind wooing, Nor slake thy heart's thirst even with the cup Which at the last she brims for thee, undoing Her girdle of carved gold, and yielding up, Love's uttermost: brief the poor gain and pride By Jumna's tide

Because still vain Is love that feeds on shadow; vain, as thou dost, To look so deep into the phantom eyes For that which lives not there; and vain, as thou must, To marvel why the painted pleasure flies, When the fair, false wings seemed folded for ever By Jumna's river.

And vain! yes, vain!

For me too is it, having so much striven, To see this slight snare take thee, and thy soul Which should have climbed to mine, and shared my heaven, Spent on a lower loveliness, whose whole Pa.s.sion of claim were but a parody Of that kept here for thee.

Ahaha! vain!

For on some isle of Jumna's silver stream He gives all that they ask to those hard eyes, While mine which are his angel's, mine which gleam With light that might have led him to the skies-- That almost led him--are eclipsed with tears Wailing my fruitless prayers.

But thou, good Friend, Hang not thy head for shame, nor come so slowly, As one whose message is too ill to tell; If thou must say Krishna is forfeit wholly-- Wholly forsworn and lost--let the grief dwell Where the sin doth,--except in this sad heart, Which cannot shun its part.

_O great Hari! purge from wrong The soul of him who writes this song; Purge the souls of those that read From every fault of thought and deed; With thy blessed light a.s.suage The darkness of this evil age!

Jayadev the bard of love, Servant of the G.o.ds above, Prays it for himself and you-- Gentle hearts who listen!--too._

Then in this other strain she wailed his loss--

(_What follows is to the Music_ DESHAVARaDi _and the Mode_ RUPAKA.)

She, not Radha, wins the crown Whose false lips seemed dearest; What was distant gain to him When sweet loss stood nearest?

Love her, therefore, lulled to loss On her fatal bosom; Love her with such love as she Can give back in the blossom.

Love her, O thou rash lost soul!

With thy thousand graces; Coin rare thoughts into fair words For her face of faces; Praise it, fling away for it Life's purpose in a sigh, All for those lips like flower-leaves, And lotus-dark deep eye.

Nay, and thou shalt be happy too Till the fond dream is over; And she shall taste delight to hear The wooing of her lover; The breeze that brings the sandal up From distant green Malay, Shall seem all fragrance in the night, All coolness in the day.

The crescent moon shall seem to swim Only that she may see The glad eyes of my Krishna gleam, And her soft glances he: It shall be as a silver lamp Set in the sky to show The rose-leaf palms that cling and clasp, And the breast that beats below.

The thought of parting shall not lie Cold on their throbbing lives, The dread of ending shall not chill The glow beginning gives; She in her beauty dark shall look-- As long as clouds can be-- As gracious as the rain-time cloud Kissing the shining sea.

And he, amid his playmates old, At least a little while, Shall not breathe forth again the sigh That spoils the song and smile; Shall be left wholly to his choice, Free for his pleasant sin, With the golden-girdled damsels Of the bowers I found him in.

For me, his Angel, only The sorrow and the smart, The pale grief sitting on the brow, The dead hope in the heart; For me the loss of losing, For me the ache and dearth; My king crowned with the wood-flowers!

My fairest upon earth!

_Hari, Lord and King of love!

From thy throne of light above Stoop to help us, deign to take Our spirits to thee for the sake Of this song, which speaks the fears Of all who weep with Radha's tears._

But love is strong to pardon, slow to part, And still the Lady, in her fancies, sang-- Wind of the Indian stream!