Page:TheBirth of the War-God.djvu/60

48 Why should the cloud of grief obscure thy brow, Mid all thy kindred, who so loved as thou? Foes hast thou none—for what rash hand would dare From serpent's head the magic gem to tear? Why dost thou seek the Hermit's garb to try, Thy silken raiment and thy gems thrown by? As though the Sun his glorious state should leave, Rayless to harbour mid the shades of eve. Wouldst thou win Heaven by thy holy spells? Already with the Gods thy father dwells;— A husband, Lady?—forbear the thought, A priceless jewel seeks not, but is sought. Maiden, thy deep sighs tell me it is so, Yet, doubtful still, my spirit seeks to know Couldst thou e'er love in vain?—What heart so cold That hath not eagerly its worship told? Ah! could the cruel loved one, thou fair Maid, Look with indifference on that bright hair's braid? Thy locks are hanging loosely o'er thy brow. Thine ear is shaded by no Lotus now! See, where the Sun hath scorched that tender neck Which precious jewels once were proud to deck. Still gleams the line where they were wont to cling, As faintly shows the Moon's overshadowed ring. Now sure thy loved one, vain in beauty's pride, Dreamed of himself when wandering at thy side. Or he would count him blest to be the mark Of that dear eye, so soft, so lustrous dark! But, gentle, let thy labour cease, Turn to thy home, fair Saint, and rest in peace! By many a year of Penance hardly won Rich is my store of merits, beauteous one!