Page:Ancient Ballads and Legends of Hindustan.djvu/66

30 All things but that; ah! pity me,
 * A woman frail, too sorely tried!

And let me, let me follow thee,
 * O gracious god,—whate'er betide.

By all things sacred, I entreat,
 * By Penitence that purifies,

By prompt Obedience, full, complete,
 * To spiritual masters, in the eyes

Of gods so precious, by the love
 * I bear my husband, by the faith

That looks from earth to heaven above,
 * And by thy own great name O Death,

And all thy kindness, bid me not
 * To leave thee, and to go my way,

But let me follow as I ought
 * Thy steps and his, as best I may.

I know that in this transient world
 * All is delusion,—nothing true;

I know its shows are mists unfurled
 * To please and vanish. To renew

Its bubble joys, be magic bound
 * In Maya's network frail and fair,

Is not my aim! The gladsome sound
 * Of husband, brother, friend, is air