The Birth of Kumāra 5.5

5.5

iti dhruvecchāmanuśāsatī sutāṃ śaśāka menā na niyantumudyamāt |
ka īpsitārthasthiraniścayaṃ manaḥ payaśca nimnābhimukhaṃ pratīpayet ||

But, ah! how troubled was her mother's brow
At the sad tidings of the mourner's vow!
She threw her arms around her own dear Maid,
Kissed, fondly kissed her, sighed, and wept, and prayed:—
"Are there no Gods, my child, to love thee here?
Frail is thy body, yet thy vow severe;
The lily, by the wild bee scarcely stirred,
Bends, breaks, and dies beneath the weary bird."
Thick were her tears, her prayer was strong, but still
That prayer was weaker than her daughter's will;
Who can recall the torrent's headlong force,
Or the bold spirit in its destined course?
She sent a maiden to her sire, and prayed
He for her sake would grant some bosky shade,
That she might dwell in solitude, and there
Give all her soul to Penance and to Prayer;
In gracious love the great Himálaya smiled,
And did the bidding of his darling child,
Then to that hill which peacocks love she came,
Known to all ages by the Lady's name.