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20 And stayed his awful penance, that had hurled Flames, death, and ruin o'er the subject World. When that great warrior battles for his life, O, who may conquer in the deadly strife, Save one of seed? He is the Light, Eeigning supreme beyond the depths of night; Nor I, nor Vishnu, his full power may share, Lo, where he dwells in solitude and prayer!— Go, seek the Hermit in the grove alone. And to the God be Uma's beauty shown; Perchance, the Mountain-child, with magnet's force, May turn the iron from its steadfast course, Bride of the mighty God—for only she Can bear to Him as Water bears to me; Then from their love a mighty Child shall rise, And lead to war the armies of the skies: Freed by his hand, no more the heavenly Maids Shall twine their glittering hair in mournful braids."

He spake, and vanished from their wondering sight— And they sped homeward to their world of light ; But, still on words intent. To dwelling-place his footsteps bent ; Swiftly he came—the yearning of his will Made lightning course more speedy still; The, armed with flowers divinely sweet, In lowly homage bowed before his feet,— Around his neck, where bright love-tokens clung, Arched like a maiden's brow, his Bow was hung, And blooming, his constant follower, bore The Mango twig, his weapon famed of yore.