Translations Of Shakuntala And Other Works Part 48

And one thing more: thou layest once asleep, Clasping my neck, then wakening with a scream; And when I wondered why, thou couldst but weep A while, and then a smile began to beam: "Rogue! Rogue! I saw thee with another girl in dream."

XLIX

This memory shows me cheerful, gentle wife; Then let no gossip thy suspicions move: They say the affections strangely forfeit life In separation, but in truth they prove Toward the absent dear, a growing bulk of tenderest love.'"

L

_The Yaksha then begs the cloud to return with a message of comfort_.

Console her patient heart, to breaking full In our first separation; having spoken, Fly from the mountain ploughed by Shiva's bull; Make strong with message and with tender token My life, so easily, like morning jasmines, broken.

LI

I hope, sweet friend, thou grantest all my suit, Nor read refusal in thy solemn air; When thirsty birds complain, thou givest mute The rain from heaven: such simple hearts are rare, Whose only answer is fulfilment of the prayer.

LII

_and dismisses him, with a prayer for his welfare_.

Thus, though I pray unworthy, answer me For friendship's sake, or pity's, magnified By the sight of my distress; then wander free In rainy loveliness, and ne'er abide One moment's separation from thy lightning bride.

THE SEASONS

_The Seasons_ is an unpretentious poem, describing in six short cantos the six seasons into which the Hindus divide the year. The t.i.tle is perhaps a little misleading, as the description is not objective, but deals with the feelings awakened by each season in a pair of young lovers. Indeed, the poem might be called a Lover's Calendar.

Kalidasa's authorship has been doubted, without very cogent argument.

The question is not of much interest, as _The Seasons_ would neither add greatly to his reputation nor subtract from it.

The whole poem contains one hundred and forty-four stanzas, or something less than six hundred lines of verse. There follow a few stanzas selected from each canto.

SUMMER

Pitiless heat from heaven pours By day, but nights are cool; Continual bathing gently lowers The water in the pool; The evening brings a charming peace: For summer-time is here When love that never knows surcease, Is less imperious, dear.

Yet love can never fall asleep; For he is waked to-day By songs that all their sweetness keep And lutes that softly play, By fans with sandal-water wet That bring us drowsy rest, By strings of pearls that gently fret Full many a lovely breast.

The sunbeams like the fires are hot That on the altar wake; The enmity is quite forgot Of peac.o.c.k and of snake; The peac.o.c.k spares his ancient foe, For pluck and hunger fail; He hides his burning head below The shadow of his tail.

Beneath the garland of the rays That leave no corner cool, The water vanishes in haze And leaves a muddy pool; The cobra does not hunt for food Nor heed the frog at all Who finds beneath the serpent's hood A sheltering parasol.

Dear maiden of the graceful song, To you may summer's power Bring moonbeams clear and garlands long And breath of trumpet-flower, Bring lakes that countless lilies dot, Refreshing water-sprays, Sweet friends at evening, and a spot Cool after burning days.

THE RAINS

The rain advances like a king In awful majesty; Hear, dearest, how his thunders ring Like royal drums, and see His lightning-banners wave; a cloud For elephant he rides, And finds his welcome from the crowd Of lovers and of brides.

The clouds, a mighty army, march With drumlike thundering And stretch upon the rainbow's arch The lightning's flashing string; The cruel arrows of the rain Smite them who love, apart From whom they love, with stinging pain, And pierce them to the heart.

The forest seems to show its glee In flowering nipa plants; In waving twigs of many a tree Wind-swept, it seems to dance; Its ketak-blossom's opening sheath Is like a smile put on To greet the rain's reviving breath, Now pain and heat are gone.

To you, dear, may the cloudy time Bring all that you desire, Bring every pleasure, perfect, prime, To set a bride on fire; May rain whereby life wakes and shines Where there is power of life, The unchanging friend of clinging vines, Shower blessings on my wife.

AUTUMN

The autumn comes, a maiden fair In slenderness and grace, With nodding rice-stems in her hair And lilies in her face.

In flowers of gra.s.ses she is clad; And as she moves along, Birds greet her with their cooing glad Like bracelets' tinkling song.

A diadem adorns the night Of mult.i.tudinous stars; Her silken robe is white moonlight, Set free from cloudy bars; And on her face (the radiant moon) Bewitching smiles are shown: She seems a slender maid, who soon Will be a woman grown.

Over the rice-fields, laden plants Are shivering to the breeze; While in his brisk caresses dance The blossom-burdened trees; He ruffles every lily-pond Where blossoms kiss and part, And stirs with lover's fancies fond The young man's eager heart.

WINTER

The bloom of tenderer flowers is past And lilies droop forlorn, For winter-time is come at last, Rich with its ripened corn; Yet for the wealth of blossoms lost Some hardier flowers appear That bid defiance to the frost Of sterner days, my dear.

The vines, remembering summer, shiver In frosty winds, and gain A fuller life from mere endeavour To live through all that pain; Yet in the struggle and acquist They turn as pale and wan As lonely women who have missed Known love, now lost and gone.

Then may these winter days show forth To you each known delight, Bring all that women count as worth Pure happiness and bright; While villages, with bustling cry, Bring home the ripened corn, And herons wheel through wintry sky, Forget sad thoughts forlorn.

EARLY SPRING

Now, dearest, lend a heedful ear And listen while I sing Delights to every maiden dear, The charms of early spring: When earth is dotted with the heaps Of corn, when heron-scream Is rare but sweet, when pa.s.sion leaps And paints a livelier dream.

When all must cheerfully applaud A blazing open fire; Or if they needs must go abroad, The sun is their desire; When everybody hopes to find The frosty chill allayed By garments warm, a window-blind Shut, and a sweet young maid.

Then may the days of early spring For you be rich and full With love's proud, soft philandering And many a candy-pull, With sweetest rice and sugar-cane: And may you float above The absent grieving and the pain Of separated love.

SPRING

A stalwart soldier comes, the spring, Who bears the bow of Love; And on that bow, the l.u.s.trous string Is made of bees, that move With malice as they speed the shaft Of blossoming mango-flower At us, dear, who have never laughed At love, nor scorned his power.

Their blossom-burden weights the trees; The winds in fragrance move; The lakes are bright with lotuses, The women bright with love; The days are soft, the evenings clear And charming; everything That moves and lives and blossoms, dear, Is sweeter in the spring.

The groves are beautifully bright For many and many a mile With jasmine-flowers that are as white As loving woman's smile: The resolution of a saint Might well be tried by this; Far more, young hearts that fancies paint With dreams of loving bliss.