The Birth of Kumāra 1.1

1.1

astyuttarasyāṃ diśi devatātmā himālayo nāma nagādhirājaḥ |
purvāparau toyanidhī vagāhya sthitaḥ pṛthivyā iva mānadaṇḍaḥ ||

Far in the north, Himálaya lifting high
His towery summits till they cleave the sky,
Spans the wide land from east to western sea,
Lord of the Hills, instinct with Deity.
For him, when Prithu ruled in days of old
The rich Earth, teeming with her gems and gold,
The vassal Hills, and Meru drained her breast.
And decked Himálaya, for they loved him best,
While Earth, the mother, gave her store to fill
With herbs and sparkling ores the royal Hill.
Proud Mountain-king! his diadem of snow
Dims not the beauty of his gems below;
For who can gaze upon the Moon, and dare
To mark one spot less brightly glorious there?—
Who, mid a thousand virtues, dares to blame
One shade of weakness in a hero's fame?
Oft, when the gleamings of his mountain brass
Flash through the clouds and tint them as they pass,
Those glories mock the hues of closing day,
And Heaven's bright wantons hail their hour of play;
Try, ere the time, the magic of their glance,
And deck their beauty for the twilight dance.
Far spread the wilds where eager hunters roam,
Tracking the lion to his dreary home;
For though the melting snow has washed away
The crimson blood-drops of the wounded prey,
Still the fair pearls that graced his forehead tell
Where the strong elephant, o'ermastered, fell,—
Cling to the lion's talons, and betray,
Falling at every step, the mighty conqueror's way.
Dear to the Sylphs are the cool shadows thrown
By dark clouds wandering round the mountain's zone,
Till the big rain-drops fright them from the plains
To those high peaks where sunshine ever reigns.
There birch-trees wave, that lend their friendly aid
To tell the passion of the love-born maid.
So quick to learn with metal tints to mark
Her hopes and fears upon the tender bark.