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75

A HYMN TO SERESWATY.


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Sweet grace of Brehma's bed!
Thou, when thy glorious lord
Bade airy nothing breathe and bless his pow'r,
Satst with illumin'd head,
And, in sublime accord,
Sev'n sprightly notes, to hail th' auspicious hour,
Ledst from their secret bow'r:
They drank the air; they came
With many a sparkling glance,
And knit the mazy dance,
Like yon bright orbs, that gird the solar flame,
Now parted, now combin'd,
Clear as thy speech and various as thy mind.
Young Passions at the sound
In shadowy forms arose,
O'er hearts, yet uncreated, sure to reign;
Joy, that o'erleaps all bound,
Grief, that in silence grows,
Hope, that with honey blends the cup of pain,
Pale Fear, and stern Disdain,
Grim Wrath's avenging band,
Love, nurs'd in dimple smooth,
That ev'ry pang can soothe;
But, when soft Pity her meek trembling hand
Stretch'd, like a new-born girl,
Each sigh was music, and each tear a pearl.
Thee her great parent owns
All-ruling Eloquence,
That, like full Ganga, pours her stream divine
Alarming states and thrones:

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To fix the flying sense
Of words, thy daughters, by the varied line
(Stupendous art!) was Thine;
Thine, with pointed reed
To give primeval Truth
Th' unfading bloom of youth,
And paint on deathless leaves high Virtue's meed:
Fair Science, heav'n-born child,
And playful Fancy on thy bosom smil'd.
Who bids the fretted Vene
Start from his deep repose,
And wakes to melody the quiv'ring frame?
What youth with goldlike mien
O'er his bright shoulder throws
The verdant gourd, that swells with struggling flame?
Nared, immortal name!
He, like his potent Sire,
Creative spreads around
The mighty world of sound,
And calls from speaking wood ethereal fire;
While to th' accordant strings
Of boundless heav'ns and heav'nly deeds he sings.
But look! the jocund hours
A lovelier scene display,
Young Hindol sportive in his golden swing
High-canopied with flow'rs;
While Ràgny's ever gay
Toss the light cordage, and in cadence sing
The sweet return of Spring:
Here dark Viráwer stands;
There Rámcary divine
And fawn-eyed Lelit shine;
But stern Daysàsha leads her warring bands,
And slow in ebon clouds
Petmenjary her fading beauty shrouds.

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Ah! where has Deipec veil'd
His flame-encircled head?
Where flow his lays too sweet for mortal ears?
O loss how long bewail'd!
Is yellow Cámód fled?
And blythe Cárnàty vaunting o'er her peers?
Where stream Caydar's tears
Intent on scenes above,
A beauteous anchorite?
No more shall Daysa bright
With gentle numbers call her tardy love?
Has Netta, martial maid,
Lock'd in sad slumbers her sky-temper'd blade?
Once, when the vernal noon
Blaz'd with resistless glare,
The Sun's eye sparkled, and a God was born:
He smil'd; but vanish'd soon—
Then groan'd the northern air;
The clouds, in thunder mutt'ring sullen scorn,
Delug'd the thirsty corn.
But, earth-born artist, hold!
If e'er thy soaring lyre
To Deipec's notes aspire,
Thy strings, thy bow'r, thy breast with rapture bold,
Red lightning shall consume;
Nor can thy sweetest song avert the doom.
See sky-form'd Maygh descend
In fertilising rain,
Whilst in his hand a falchion gleams unsheath'd!
Soft nymphs his car attend,
And raise the golden grain,
Their tresses dank with dusky spikenard wreath'd:
(A sweeter gale ne'er breath'd)
Tenca with laughing eyes,
And Gujry's bloomy cheek,

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Melar with dimple sleek,
On whose fair front two musky crescents rise:
While Dayscar his rich neck
And mild Bhopaly with fresh jasmin deck.
Is that the King of Dread
With ashy musing face,
From whose moon-silver'd locks fam'd Ganga springs?
'Tis Bhairan, whose gay bed
Five blushing damsels grace,
And rouse old Autumn with immortal strings,
Till ev'ry forest rings;
Bengaly lotos-crown'd,
Vairaty like the morn,
Sindvy with looks of scorn,
And Bhairavy, her brow with Champa's bound;
But Medhumadha's eyes
Speak love, and from her breast pomegranates rise.
Sing loud, ye lucid spheres;
Ye gales, more briskly play,
And wake with harmony the drooping meads:
The cooler season cheers
Each bird, that panting lay,
And Siry bland his dancing bevy leads
Hymning celestial deeds:
Marva with robes like fire,
Vasant whose hair perfumes
With musk its rich-eyed plumes,
Asavery, whom list'ning asps admire,
Dhenasry, flow'r of glades,
And Malsry, whom the branching Amra shades.
Malcaus apart reclines
Bedeck'd with heav'n-strung pearls,
Blue-mantled, wanton, drunk with youthful pride;
Nor with vain love repines,
While softly-smiling girls

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Melt on his cheek or frolic by his side,
And wintry winds deride;
Shambhawty leads along
Cocabh with kerchief rent,
And Gaúry wine-besprent,
Warm Guncary, and Toda sweet in song,
Whom antelopes surround
With smooth tall necks, and quaff the streaming sound.
Nor deem these nuptial joys
With lovely fruit unblest:
No; from each God an equal race proceeds,
From each eight blooming boys;
Who, their high birth confess'd,
With infant lips gave breath to living reeds
In valleys, groves, and meads:
Mark how they bound and glance!
Some climb the vocal trees,
Some catch the sighing breeze,
Some, like new stars, with twinkling sandals dance;
Some the young Shamma snare,
Some warble wild, and some the burden bear.
These are thy wond'rous arts;
Queen of the flowing speech,
Thence Sereswaty nam'd and Vany bright!
Oh, joy of mortal hearts,
Thy mystic wisdom teach;
Expand thy leaves, and, with ethereal light,
Spangle the veil of night.
If Lepit please thee more,
Or Brahmy, awful name,
Dread Brahmy's aid we claim,
And thirst, Vacdevy, for thy balmy lore
Drawn from that rubied cave,
Where meek-ey'd pilgrims hail the triple wave.