The Birth of Kumāra 2.38

2.38

jvalanmaṇiśikhāścainaṃ vāsukipramukhā niśi |
sthirapradīpatāmetya bhujaṅgāḥ paryupāsate ||

He bears the offering to his master's feet.
The Serpents, led by Vásuki, their king,
Across his nightly path their lustre fling;
Bright as a torch, their flashing jewels blaze.
Nor wind, nor rain, can dim their dazzling rays.
E'en Indra, sovereign of the blissful skies,
To gain his love by flattering homage tries,
And sends him oft those flowers of wondrous hue
That on the Heavenly Tree in beauty grew;
Yet all these offerings brought from day to day—
This flattery—fail his ruthless hand to stay;
Earth, Hell, and Heaven, beneath his rage must groan,
Till force can hurl him from his evil throne.
Alas! where glowed the bright celestial bowers,
And gentle Fair Ones nursed the opening flowers,—
Where heavenly trees a heavenly odour shed,
O'er a sad desert ruin reigns instead.
He roots up Meru's sacred peaks, where stray
The fiery coursers of the God of Day,
To form bright slopes, and glittering mounds of ease,
In the broad gardens of his palaces.
There, on his couch, the mighty Lord is fanned
Into sweet slumber by a heavenly band—
Poor captive Nymphs, who stand in anguish by,
Drop the big tear, and heave the ceaseless sigh.
And now have Indra's elephants defiled
The sparkling stream where heavenly Ganga smiled,
And her gold Lotuses the Fiend has taken
To deck his pools, and left her all forsaken.
The Gods of Heaven no more delight to roam
O'er all the world, far from their glorious home;
They dread the Demon's impious might, nor dare