Page:Little Clay Cart (Ryder 1905).djvu/118

82 See, Vasantasenā, see!

The clouds hang drooping to the mountain peaks,

Like a maiden's heart, that distant lover seeks:

The peacocks startle, when the thunder booms,

And fan the heaven with all their jeweled plumes.

And again:

Mud-stained, and pelted by the streaming rain,

To drink the falling drops the frogs are fain;

Full-throated peacocks love's shrill passion show,

And nīpa flowers like brilliant candles glow;

Unfaithful clouds obscure the hostage moon,

Like knaves, unworthy of so dear a boon;

Like some poor maid of better breeding bare,

The impatient lightning rests not anywhere.

Vasantasenā. Sir, what you say is most true. For

The night, an angry rival, bars my way;

Her thunders fain would check and hinder me:

Fond fool! with him I love thou shalt not stay,

'Tis I, 'tis I, he loves," she seems to say,

Nor from my swelling bosom shall he flee."

Courtier. Yes, yes. That is right. Scold the night.

Vasantasenā. And yet, sir, why scold one who is so ignorant of woman's nature? For you must remember:

The clouds may rain, may thunder ne'er so bold,

May flash the lightning from the sky above;

That woman little recks of heat or cold,

Who journeys to her love.

Courtier. But see, Vasantasenā! Another cloud,

Sped by the fickle fury of the air—

A flood of arrows in his rushing streams,

His drum, the roaring thunder's mighty blare,

His banner, living lightning's awful gleams—