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Rh Take then the half, thy secret purpose name, Nor in stern hardships wear thy tender frame!"

The holy Brahman ceased—but 's breast In silence heaved, by love and fear opprest; In mute appeal she turned her languid eye, Darkened with weeping, not with softening dye, To bid her maiden's friendly tongue declare The cherished secret of her deep despair:— "Hear, holy Father, if thou still wouldst know, Why her frail form endures this pain and woe— As the soft Lotus makes a screen to stay The noontide fury of the God of Day; Proudly disdaining all the Lords above. With heart and soul she seeks for Siva's love, For him alone, the Trident-wielding God, The thorny paths of Penance hath she trod; But since that mighty one hath slain. Vain every hope, and every effort vain; E'en as life fled, a keen but flowery dart Young Love, the Archer, aimed at Siva's heart; The God in anger hurled the shaft away, But deep in 's tender soul it lay; Alas, poor Maid! she knows no comfort now. Her soul's on fire—her wild locks hide her brow; She quits her father's halls, and frenzied roves The icy mountain and the lonely groves; Oft as the Maidens of the Minstrel throng To hymn great 's praises raised the song, The lovelorn Lady's sobs and deep-drawn sighs Drew tears of pity from their gentle eyes.