Page:TheBirth of the War-God.djvu/64

52 His crest, the glory of the evening skies, His bride, the moonlight of our wondering eyes! Deformed is he—his ancestry unknown, By vilest garb his poverty is shown; fawn-eyed Lady, how should gain That heart for which the glorious strive in vain? No charms hath he to win a maiden's eye, Cease from thy Penance, hush the fruitless sigh! Unmeet is he thy faithful heart to share. Child of the Mountain, Maid of beauty rare! Not mid the gloomy tombs do Sages raise The holy altar of their prayer and praise."

Impatient listened; the quick blood Rushed to her temples in an angry flood; Her quivering lip, her darkly-flashing eye Told that the tempest of her wrath was nigh; Proudly she spoke:—" How couldst thou tell aright Of one like Siva, perfect, infinite! 'Tis ever thus, the Mighty and the Just Are scorned by souls that grovel in the dust; Their lofty goodness and their motives wise Shine all in vain before such blinded eyes; Say who is greater, he who strives for power, Or he who succours in misfortune's hour? Refuge of Worlds, how should Siva deign To look on men enslaved to paltry gain? The spring of wealth himself, he careth nought For the vile treasures that mankind have sought; His dwelling-place amid the tombs may be. Yet Monarch of the three great worlds is he;