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xii Kusha and kasha, by its new teeth clipped, Remind me of it, as they stand in lines Like pious boys who chant the Samga Veds Shorn by their vows of all their wealth of hair.' Thus passed the monarch-hermit's time; in joy, With smiles upon his lips, whenever near His little favourite; in bitter grief And fear, and trouble, when it wandered far. And he who had abandoned ease and wealth, And friends and dearest ties, and kingly power, Found his devotions broken by the love He had bestowed upon a little hind Thrown in his way by chance. Years glided on. . . And Death, who spareth none, approached at last The hermit-king to summon him away; The hind was at his side with tearful eyes Watching his last sad moments, like a child Beside a father. He too watched and watched His favourite through a blinding film of tears, And could not think of the Beyond at hand, So keen he felt the parting, such deep grief O'erwhelmed him for the creature he had reared. To it devoted was his last, last thought, Reckless of present and of future both!

Thus far the pious chronicle, writ of old By Brahman sage; but we, who happier live Under the holiest dispensation, know That God is Love, and not to be adored By a devotion born of stoic pride, Or with ascetic rites, or penance hard, But with a love, in character akin To His unselfish, all-including love. And therefore little can we sympathise With what the Brahman sage would fain imply As the concluding moral of his tale,