Translations of Shakuntala and Other Works

Where the river-breeze at dawn, with fragrant gain From friendly lotus-blossoms, lengthens out The clear, sweet passion-warbling of the crane, To cure the women's languishing, and flout With a lover's coaxing all their hesitating doubt.

Enriched with odours through the windows drifting From perfumed hair, and greeted as a friend By peacock pets their wings in dances lifting, On flower-sweet balconies thy labour end, Where prints of dear pink feet an added glory lend.

especially its famous shrine to Shiva, called Mahakala;

Black as the neck of Shiva, very God, Dear therefore to his hosts, thou mayest go To his dread shrine, round which the gardens nod When breezes rich with lotus-pollen blow And ointments that the gaily bathing maidens know.

Reaching that temple at another time, Wait till the sun is lost to human eyes; For if thou mayest play the part sublime Of Shiva's drum at evening sacrifice, Then hast thou in thy thunders grave a priceless prize.

The women there, whose girdles long have tinkled In answer to the dance, whose hands yet seize And wave their fans with lustrous gems besprinkled, Will feel thine early drops that soothe and please, And recompense thee from black eyes like clustering bees.

and the black cloud, painted with twilight red, is bidden to serve as a robe for the god, instead of the bloody elephant hide which he commonly wears in his wild dance.

Clothing thyself in twilight's rose-red glory, Embrace the dancing Shiva's tree-like arm; He will prefer thee to his mantle gory And spare his grateful goddess-bride's alarm, Whose eager gaze will manifest no fear of harm.

Where women steal to rendezvous by night Through darkness that a needle might divide, Show them the road with lightning-flashes bright As golden streaks upon the touchstone's side— But rain and thunder not, lest they be terrified.

On some rich balcony where sleep the doves, Through the dark night with thy beloved stay, The lightning weary with the sport she loves; But with the sunrise journey on thy way— For they that labour for a friend do not delay.

The gallant dries his mistress' tears that stream When he returns at dawn to her embrace— Prevent thou not the sun's bright-fingered beam That wipes the tear-dew from the lotus' face; His anger else were great, and great were thy disgrace.

the cloud is besought to travel to Deep River.

Thy winsome shadow-soul will surely find An entrance in Deep River's current bright, As thoughts find entrance in a placid mind; Then let no rudeness of thine own affright The darting fish that seem her glances lotus-white.

But steal her sombre veil of mist away, Although her reeds seem hands that clutch the dress To hide her charms; thou hast no time to stay, Yet who that once has known a dear caress Could bear to leave a woman's unveiled loveliness?

Thence to Holy Peak,

The breeze 'neath which the breathing acre grants New odours, and the forest figs hang sleek, With pleasant whistlings drunk by elephants Through long and hollow trunks, will gently seek To waft thee onward fragrantly to Holy Peak.

the dwelling-place of Skanda, god of war, the child of Shiva and Gauri, concerning whose birth more than one quaint tale is told.

There change thy form; become a cloud of flowers With heavenly moisture wet, and pay the meed Of praise to Skanda with thy blossom showers; That sun-outshining god is Shiva's seed, Fire-born to save the heavenly hosts in direst need.

God Skanda's peacock—he whose eyeballs shine By Shiva's moon, whose flashing fallen plume The god's fond mother wears, a gleaming line Over her ear beside the lotus bloom— Will dance to thunders echoing in the caverns' room.

Thence to Skin River, so called because it flowed forth from a mountain of cattle carcasses, offered in sacrifice by the pious emperor Rantideva.

Adore the reed-born god and speed away, While Siddhas flee, lest rain should put to shame The lutes which they devoutly love to play; But pause to glorify the stream whose name Recalls the sacrificing emperor's blessed fame.

Narrow the river seems from heaven's blue; And gods above, who see her dainty line Matched, when thou drinkest, with thy darker hue, Will think they see a pearly necklace twine Round Earth, with one great sapphire in its midst ashine.

The province of the Ten Cities.