  (What follows is to the Music Vasanta and the Mode Yati.) Follow, happy Radha! follow,— In the quiet falling twilight— So steadfastly and far; Let us bring thee where the banjulas Have spread a roof of crimson, Lit up by many a marriage-lamp Of planet, sun, and star: For the hours of doubt are over, And thy glad and faithful lover Hath found the road by tears and prayers To thy divinest side; And thou wilt not now deny him One delight of all thy beauty, But yield up open-hearted His pearl, his prize, his bride. Oh, follow! while we fill the air With songs and softest music; Lauding thy wedded loveliness, Dear Mistress past compare! For there is not any splendour Of Apsarasas immortal— No glory of their beauty rich— But Radha has a share; That fills the worlds with longing, The music of the Lord of love Who melts all hearts with bliss; For now is born the gladness That springs from mortal sadness, And all soft thoughts and things and hopes Were presages of this. Then, follow, happiest Lady! Follow him thou lovest wholly; The hour is come to follow now The soul thy spells have led; His are thy breasts like jasper-cups, And his thine eyes like planets; Thy fragrant hair, thy stately neck, Thy queenly sumptuous head; Thy soft small feet, thy perfect lips, Thy teeth like jasmine petals, Thy gleaming rounded shoulders, And long caressing arms, Being thine to give, are his; and his The twin strings of thy girdle, Of thine utter-sweetest charms. So follow! while the flowers break forth In white and amber clusters, At the breath of thy pure presence, And the radiance on thy brow; Oh, follow where the Asokas wave Their sprays of gold and purple, As if to beckon thee the way That Krishna passed but now; He is gone a little forward! Though thy steps are faint for pleasure, Let him hear the tattling ripple Of the bangles round thy feet; Moving slowly o'er the blossoms On the path which he has shown thee, That when he turns to listen It may make his fond heart beat. And loose thy jewelled girdle A little, that its rubies May tinkle softest music too, And whisper thou art near; Thou should'st bend one blade of Kusha With silken touch of passing foot, His heart would know and hear; Would hear the wood-buds saying, "It is Radha's foot that passes;" Would hear the wind sigh love-sick, "It is Radha's fragrance, this;" Would hear thine own heart beating Within thy panting bosom, And know thee coming, coming, His—ever,—ever—his! "Mine! "—hark! we are near enough for hearing— "Soon she will come—she will smile—she will say Honey-sweet words of heavenly endearing; O soul! listen; my Bride is on her way!" Hear'st him not, my Radha? Lo, night bendeth o'er thee— Darker than dark TamÂla-leaves— To list thy marriage-song; Dark as the touchstone that tries gold, And see now—on before thee— The clouded sky along: O night! that trieth gold of love, This love is proven perfect! O lines that streak the touchstone sky, Plash forth true shining gold! O rose-leaf feet, go boldly! O night!—that lovest lovers— Thy softest robe of silence About these bridals fold! See'st thou not, my Radha? Lo, the night, thy bridesmaid, Comes!—her eyes thick-painted With soorma of the gloom— The night that binds the planet-worlds For jewels on her forehead, And for emblem and for garland Loves the blue-black lotus-bloom; The night that scents her breath so sweet With cool and musky odours, That joys to spread her veil of shade Over the limbs of love; And when, with loving weary, Yet dreaming love, they slumber, Sets the far stars for silver lamps To light them from above. So came she where he stood, awaiting her At the bower's entry, like a god to see, With marriage-gladness and the grace of heaven. The great pearl set upon his glorious head Shone like a moon among the leaves, and shone Like stars the gems that kept her gold gown close: But still a little while she paused—abashed At her delight, of her deep joy afraid— And they that tended her sang once more this: (What follows is to the Music VarÂdi and the Mode Rupaka.) Enter, thrice-happy! enter, thrice-desired! And let the gates of Hari shut thee in With the soul destined to thee from of old. Tremble not! lay thy lovely shame aside; Lay it aside with thine unfastened zone, And love him with the love that knows not fear, Because it fears not change; enter thou in, Flower of all sweet and stainless womanhood! For ever to grow bright, for ever new; Enter beneath the flowers, O flower-fair! Beneath these tendrils, Loveliest! that entwine And clasp, and wreathe and cling, with kissing stems; Enter, with tender-blowing airs of heaven, Soft as love's breath and gentle as the tones Of lover's whispers, when the lips come close: Enter the house of Love, O loveliest! Enter the marriage-bower, most beautiful! And take and give the joy that Hari grants, Thy heart has entered, let thy feet go too! Lo, Krishna! lo, the one that thirsts for thee! Give him the drink of amrit from thy lips. Then she, no more delaying, entered straight; Her step a little faltered, but her face Shone with unutterable quick love; and—while, The music of her bangles passed the porch— Shame, which had lingered in her downcast eyes, Departed shamed Which sees the moon and rises, all his life Uprose to drink her beams. (Here ends that Sarga of the GÎta Govinda entitled "Upon whose brow shame is ashamed to sit" —occurs at the close of the Sarga, part of which is here perforce omitted, along with the whole of the last one. Hari keep you! He whose might, On the King of Serpents seated, Flashes forth in dazzling light From the Great Snake's gems repeated: Hari keep you! He whose graces, Manifold in majesty,— Multiplied in heavenly places— Multiply on earth—to see Her bright charms who by him lies. What skill may be in singing, What worship sound in song, What lore be taught in loving, What right divined from wrong: Such things hath Jayadeva— In this his Hymn of Love, Which lauds Govinda ever,— Displayed; may all approve! THE END OF THE INDIAN SONG OF SONGS |
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