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A
little Indian temple in the Golden Age. Around it a garden; around
that the forest. Anashuya, the young priestess, kneelinq within the
temple. |
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Anashuya. |
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Send
peace on all the lands and flickering corn. — |
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O, may
tranquillity walk by his elbow |
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When
wandering in the forest, if he love |
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No other.
— Hear, and may the indolent flocks |
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Be
plentiful. — And if he love another, |
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May
panthers end him. — Hear, and load our king |
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With
wisdom hour by hour. — May we two stand, |
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When we
are dead, beyond the setting suns, |
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A little
from the other shades apart, |
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With
mingling hair, and play upon one lute. |
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Vijaya [entering
and throwing a lily at her]. |
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Hail!
hail, my Anashuya. |
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15 |
Anashuya. |
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No:
be still. |
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I,
priestess of this temple, offer up |
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prayers
for the land. |
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Vijaya. |
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I
will wait here, Amrita. |
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Anashuya. |
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By mighty
Brahma's ever-rustling robe, |
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Who is
Amrita? Sorrow of all sorrows! |
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Another
fills your mind. |
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25 |
Vijaya. |
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My
mother's name. |
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Anashuya [sings,
coming out of the temple]. |
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A sad,
sad thought went by me slowly: |
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Sigh, O
you little stars! O sigh and shake your blue apparel! |
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The sad,
sad thought has gone from me now wholly: |
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Sing, O
you little stars! O sing and raise your rapturous carol |
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To mighty
Brahma, he who made you many as the sands, |
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And laid
you on the gates of evening with his quiet hands. |
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[Sits
down on the steps of the temple.] |
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Vijaya, I
have brought my evening rice; |
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The sun
has laid his chin on the grey wood, |
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Weary,
with all his poppies gathered round him. |
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Vijaya. |
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The hour
when Kama, full of sleepy laughter, |
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Rises,
and showers abroad his fragrant arrows, |
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Piercing
the twilight with their murmuring barbs. |
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Anashuya. |
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See how
the sacred old flamingoes come, |
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Painting
with shadow all the marble steps: |
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Aged and
wise, they seek their wonted perches |
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Within
the temple, devious walking, made |
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To wander
by their melancholy minds. |
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Yon tall
one eyes my supper; chase him away, |
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Far, far
away. I named him after you. |
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He is a
famous fisher; hour by hour |
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He
ruffles with his bill the minnowed streams. |
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Ah! there
he snaps my rice. I told you so. |
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Now cuff
him off. He's off! A kiss for you, |
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Because
you saved my rice. Have you no thanks? |
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55 |
Vijaya [sings]. |
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Sing
you of her, O first few stars, |
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Whom
Brahma, touching with his finger, praises, for you hold |
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The van
of wandering quiet; ere you be too calm and old, |
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Sing,
turning in your cars, |
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Sing,
till you raise your hands and sigh, and from your car-heads
peer, |
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With all
your whirling hair, and drop many an azure tear. |
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Anashuya. |
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What know
the pilots of the stars of tears? |
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Vijaya. |
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Their
faces are all worn, and in their eyes |
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Flashes
the fire of sadness, for they see |
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The
icicles that famish all the North, |
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Where men
lie frozen in the glimmering snow; |
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And in
the flaming forests cower the lion |
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And
lioness, with all their whimpering cubs; |
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And, ever
pacing on the verge of things, |
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The
phantom, Beauty, in a mist of tears; |
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While we
alone have round us woven woods, |
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And feel
the softness of each other's hand, |
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Amrita,
while — |
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Anashuya [going
away from him]. |
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Ah
me! you love another, |
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[Bursting
into tears.] |
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And may
some sudden dreadful ill befall her! |
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Vijaya. |
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I loved
another; now I love no other. |
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Among the
mouldering of ancient woods |
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You live,
and on the village border she, |
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With her
old father the blind wood-cutter; |
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I saw her
standing in her door but now. |
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Anashuya. |
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Vijaya,
swear to love her never more. |
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Vijaya. |
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Ay,
ay. |
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90 |
Anashuya. |
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Swear
by the parents of the gods, |
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Dread
oath, who dwell on sacred Himalay, |
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On the
far Golden Peak; enormous shapes, |
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Who still
were old when the great sea was young; |
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On their
vast faces mystery and dreams; |
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Their
hair along the mountains rolled and filled |
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From year
to year by the unnumbered nests |
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Of
aweless birds, and round their stirless feet |
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The
joyous flocks of deer and antelope, |
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Who never
hear the unforgiving hound. |
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Swear! |
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Vijaya. |
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By
the parents of the gods, I swear. |
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Anashuya [sings.] |
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I have
forgiven, O new star! |
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Maybe you
have not heard of us, you have come forth so newly, |
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You
hunter of the fields afar! |
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Ah, you
will know my loved one by his hunter's arrows truly, |
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Shoot on
him shafts of quietness, that he may ever keep |
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A lonely
laughter, and may kiss his hands to me in sleep. |
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Farewell,
Vijaya. Nay, no word, no word; |
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I,
priestess of this temple, offer up |
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Prayers
for the land. |
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[Vijaya
goes.] |
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O
Brahma, guard in sleep |
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The merry
lambs and the complacent kine, |
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The flies
below the leaves, and the young mice |
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In the
tree roots, and all the sacred flocks |
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Of red
flamingoes; and my love, Vijaya; |
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And may
no restless fay with fidget finger |
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Trouble
his sleeping: give him dreams of me. |
