Page:TheBirth of the War-God.djvu/41

Rh Bright flowers of Spring, in every lovely hue, Around the Lady's form rare beauty threw, Some clasped her neck like strings of purest pearls, Some shot their glory through her wavy curls. Bending her graceful head as half-oppressed With swelling charms even too richly blest, Fancy might deem that beautiful young maiden Some slender tree with its sweet flowers o'erladen. From time to time her gentle hand replaced The flowery girdle slipping from her waist: It seemed that Love could find no place more fair. So hung his newest, dearest bowstring there. A greedy bee kept hovering round to sip The fragrant nectar of her blooming lip— She closed her eyes in terror of the thief. And beat him from her with a Lotus leaf. The angry curl of lip confessed The shade of envy that stole o'er her breast, Through soul fresh hope and courage flew, As that sweet vision blessed his eager view— So bright, so fair, so winning soft was she, Who could not conquer in such company?

Now came, fair Maid, his destined bride, With timid steps approaching side; In contemplation will he brood no more, He sees the Godhead, and his task is o'er; He breathes, he moves, the Earth begins to rock, The Snake, her bearer, trembling at the shock. Due homage then his own dear servant paid, And told him of the coming of the Maid;