Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE INDIAN SONG OF SONGS (GITA GOVINDA): SARGA THE THIRD, by JAYADEVA


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THE INDIAN SONG OF SONGS (GITA GOVINDA): SARGA THE THIRD, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Thereat, as one who welcomes to her throne
Last Line: (here ends that sarga of the gîta govinda entitled mugdhamadhusudano.)
Subject(s): Beauty; Soul


MUGDHAMADHUSUDANO.

KRISHNA TROUBLED.

Thereat,—as one who welcomes to her throne
A new-made Queen, and brings before it bound
Her enemies,—so Krishna in his heart
Throned Radha; and—all treasonous follies chained—
He played no more with those first playfellows:
But, searching through the shadows of the grove
For loveliest Radha,—when he found her not,
Faint with the quest, despairing, lonely, lorn,
And pierced with shame for wasted love and days,
He sate by Jumna, where the canes are thick,
And sang to the wood-echoes words like these:

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

Radha, Enchantress! Radha, queen of all!
Gone — lost, because she found me sinning here;And I so stricken with my

foolish fall,
I could not stay her out of shame and fear;
She will not hear;
In her disdain and grief vainly I call.

And if she heard, what would she do? what say?
How could I make it good that I forgot?
What profit was it to me, night and day,
To live, love, dance, and dream, having her not?
Soul without spot!
I wronged thy patience, till it sighed away.

Sadly I know the truth. Ah, even now
Remembering that one look beside the river,
Softer the vexed eyes seem, and the proud brow
Than lotus-leaves when the bees make them quiver.
My love forever!
Too late is Krishna wise—too far art thou!

Yet all day long in my deep heart I woo thee,
And all night long with thee my dreams are sweet;
Why, then, so vainly must my steps pursue thee?
Why can I never reach thee, to entreat,
Low at thy feet,
Dear vanished Splendor! till my tears subdue thee?

Surpassing One! I knew thou didst not brook
Half-hearted worship, and a love that wavers;
Haho! there is the wisdom I mistook,
Therefore I seek with desperate endeavors;
That fault dissevers
Me from my heaven, astray — condemned — forsook!

And yet I seem to feel — to know — thee near me;
Thy steps make music, measured music, near;
Radha! my Radha! will not sorrow clear me?
Shine once! speak one word pitiful and dear!
Wilt thou not hear?
Canst thou—because I did forget—forsake me?

Forgive! the sin is sinned, is past, is over;
No thought I think shall do thee wrong again;
Turn thy dark eyes again upon thy lover,
Bright Spirit! or I perish of this pain,
Loving again!
In dread of doom to love, but not recover.

So did Krishna sing and sigh
By the river-bank; and I,
Jayadev of Kinduvilva,
Resting—as the moon of silver
Sits upon the solemn ocean—
On full faith, in deep devotion;
Tell it that ye may perceive
How the heart must fret and grieve;
How the soul doth tire of earth,
When the love from Heaven hath birth.
For (sang he on) I am no foe of thine,
There is no black snake, Kama! in my hair;
Blue lotus-bloom, and not the poisoned brine,
Shadows my neck; what stains my bosom bare,
Thou God unfair!
Is sandal-dust, not ashes; nought of mine

Makes me like Shiva that thou, Lord of Love!
Shouldst strain thy string at me and fit thy dart:
This world is thine,—let be one breast thereof
Which bleeds already, wounded to the heart
With lasting smart,
Shot from those brows that did my sin reprove.

Thou gavest her those black brows for a bow
Arched like thine own, whose pointed arrows seem
Her glances, and the underlids that go—
So firm and fine—its string. Ah, fleeting gleam!
Beautiful dream!
Small need of Kama's help hast thou, I trow,

To smite me to the soul with love; — but set
Those arrows to their silken cord! enchain
My thoughts in that loose hair! let thy lips, wet
With dew of heaven as bimba-buds with rain,
Bloom precious pain
Of longing in my heart; and, keener yet,

The heaving of thy lovely, angry bosom,
Pant to my spirit things unseen, unsaid;
But if thy touch, thy tones, if the dark blossom Of thy dear face, thy jasmine-

odors shed
From feet to head,—
If these be all with me, canst thou be far—be fled?

So sang he, and I pray that whoso hears
The music of his burning hopes and fears,
That whoso sees this vision by the River
Of Krishna, Hari, (can we name him ever?)
And marks his ear-ring rubies swinging slow,
As he sits still, unheedful, bending low
To play this tune upon his lute, while all
Listen to catch the sadness musical;
And Krishna wotteth nought, but, with set face
Turned full toward Radha's, sings on in that place;
May all such souls—prays Jayadev—be wise
To learn the wisdom which hereunder lies.

(Here ends that Sarga of the Gîta Govinda entitled MUGDHAMADHUSUDANO.)





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