  A thousand years had thus flown by When all the Gods within the sky, Eager that he the fruit might gain Of fervent rite and holy pain, Approached the great ascetic, now Bathed after toil and ended vow. Then BrahmÁ speaking for the rest With sweetest words the sage addressed: “Hail, Saint! This high and holy name Thy rites have won, thy merits claim.” Thus spoke the Lord whom Gods revere, And sought again his heavenly sphere. But Vi?vÁmitra, more intent, His mind to sterner penance bent. So many a season rolled away, When MenakÁ, fair nymph, one day Came down from Paradise to lave Her perfect limbs in Pushkar's wave, The glorious son of Ku?ik saw That peerless shape without a flaw Flash through the flood's translucent shroud Like lightning gleaming through a cloud. He saw her in that lone retreat, Most beautiful from head to feet, And by Kandarpa's243 might subdued He thus addressed her as he viewed: “Welcome, sweet nymph! O deign, I pray, In these calm shades awhile to stay. To me some gracious favour show, For love has set my breast aglow.” He spoke. The fairest of the fair Made for awhile her dwelling there, While day by day the wild delight Stayed vow austere and fervent rite There as the winsome charmer wove Her spells around him in the grove, And bound him in a golden chain, Five sweet years fled, and five again. Then Vi?vÁmitra woke to shame, And, fraught with anguish, memory came For quick he knew, with anger fired, That all the Immortals had conspired [pg 075]To lap his careless soul in ease, And mar his long austerities. “Ten years have past, each day and night Unheeded in delusive flight. So long my fervent rites were stayed, While thus I lay by love betrayed.” As thus long sighs the hermit heaved, And, touched with deep repentance, grieved, He saw the fair one standing nigh With suppliant hands and trembling eye. With gentle words he bade her go, Then sought the northern hills of snow. With firm resolve he vowed to beat The might of love beneath his feet. Still northward to the distant side Of Kau?ikÍ244, the hermit hide, And gave his life to penance there With rites austere most hard to bear. A thousand years went by, and still He laboured on the northern hill With pains so terrible and drear That all the Gods were chilled with fear, And Gods and saints, for swift advice, Met in the halls of Paradise. “Let Ku?ik's son,” they counselled, “be A Mighty saint by just decree.” His ear to hear their counsel lent The Sire of worlds, omnipotent. To him enriched by rites severe He spoke in accents sweet to hear: “Hail, Mighty Saint! dear son, all hail! Thy fervour wins, thy toils prevail. Won by thy vows and zeal intense I give this high preËminence.” He to the General Sire replied, Not sad, nor wholly satisfied: “When thou, O BrahmÁ, shalt declare The title, great beyond compare, Of BrÁhman saint my worthy meed, Hard earned by many a holy deed, The
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