Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE INDIAN SONG OF SONGS (GITA GOVINDA): HYMN TO VISHNU, by JAYADEVA


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE INDIAN SONG OF SONGS (GITA GOVINDA): HYMN TO VISHNU, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Oh, thou that held'st the blessed veda dry
Last Line: Unto wise ears he tells.
Subject(s): Beauty; Soul


Oh, thou that held'st the blessed Veda dry
When all things else beneath the floods were hurled;
Strong Fish-God! Ark of Men! Jai! Hari, jai!
Hail, Keshav, hail! thou Master of the world!

The round world rested on thy spacious nape;
Upon thy neck, like a mere mole, it stood:
Oh, thou that took'st for us the Tortoise-shape,
Hail, Keshav, hail! Ruler of wave and wood!

The world upon thy curving tusk sate sure,
Like the Moon's dark disk in her crescent pale;
Oh, thou who didst for us assume the Boar,
Immortal Conqueror! hail, Keshav, hail!

When thou thy Giant-Foe didst seize and rend,
Fierce, fearful, long, and sharp were fang and nail;
Thou who the Lion and the Man didst blend,
Lord of the Universe! hail, Narsingh, hail,

Wonderful Dwarf!—who with a threefold stride
Cheated King Bali—where thy footsteps fall
Men's sins, oh, Wamuna! are set aside:
Oh, Keshav, hail! thou Help and Hope of all!

The sins of this sad earth thou didst assoil,
The anguish of its creatures thou didst heal;
Freed are we from all terrors by thy toil:
Hail, Purshuram, hail! Lord of the biting steel!

To thee the fell Ten-headed yielded life,
Thou in dread battle laid'st the monster low!
Ah, Rama! dear to Gods and men that strife;
We praise thee, Master of the matchless bow!

With clouds for garments glorious thou dost fare.
Veiling thy dazzling majesty and might,
As when Yamuna saw thee with the share,
A peasant—yet the King of Day and Night.

Merciful-hearted! when thou camest as Boodh—
Albeit 'twas written in the Scriptures so—
Thou bad'st our altars be no more imbrued
With blood of victims: Keshav! bending low,

We praise thee, Wielder of the sweeping sword,
Brilliant as curving comets in the gloom,
Whose edge shall smite the fierce barbarian horde;
Hail to thee, Keshav! hail, and hear, and come,

And fill this song of Jayadev with thee,
And make it wise to teach, strong to redeem
And sweet to living souls. Thou Mystery!
Thou Light of Life! Thou Dawn beyond the dream!

Fish! that didst outswim the flood;
Tortoise! whereon earth hath stood;
Boar! who with thy tusk held'st high
The world, that mortals might not die;
Lion! who hast giants torn;
Dwarf! who laugh'dst a king to scorn;
Sole Subduer of the Dreaded!
Slayer of the many headed!
Mighty Plowman! Teacher tender!
Of thine own the sure Defender!
Under all thy ten disguises
Endless praise to thee arises.

(What follows is to the Music GURJJARÎ and the Mode NIHSARA.)

Endless praise arises,
Oh, thou God that liest
Rapt, on Kumla's breast,
Happiest, holiest, highest!
Planets are thy jewels,
Stars thy forehead-gems,
Set like sapphires gleaming
In kingliest anadems;
Even the great gold Sun-God,
Blazing through the sky,
Serves thee but for crest-stone,
Jai, jai! Hari, jai!
As that Lord of day
After night brings morrow,
Thou dost charm away
Life's long dream of sorrow.
As on Mansa's water
Brood the swans at rest,
So thy laws sit stately
On a holy breast.
Oh, Drinker of the poison!
Ah, high Delight of earth!
What light is to the lotus-buds,
What singing is to mirth,
Art thou—art thou that slayedst
Madhou and Narak grim;
That ridest on the King of Birds,
Making all glories dim.
With eyes like open lotus-flowers,
Bright in the morning rain,
Freeing by one swift piteous glance
The spirit from Life's pain:
Of all the three Worlds' Treasure!
Of sin the Putter-by!
O'er the Ten-headed Victor!
Jai, Hari! Hari, jai!
Thou Shaker of the Mountain!
Thou Shadow of the Storm!
Thou Cloud that unto Lakshmi's face
Comes welcome, white, and warm!
Oh, thou,—who to great Lakshmi
Art like the silvery beam
Which moonsick chakors feed upon
By Jumna's silent stream,—
To thee this hymn ascendeth,
That Jayadev doth sing,
Of worship, love, and mystery,
High Lord and heavenly King!
And unto whoso hears it
Do thou a blessing bring,—
Whose neck is gilt with yellow dust
From lilies that did cling
Beneath the breasts of Lakshmi,
A girdle soft and sweet,
When in divine embracing
The lips of Gods did meet;
And the beating heart above
Of thee—Dread Lord of Heaven!—
She left that stamp of love—
By such deep sign be given
Prays Jayadev, the glory
And the secret and the spells
Which close-hid in this story
Unto wise ears he tells.





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