The Birth of Kumāra 6.63

6.63

ete vayamamī dārāḥ kanyeyaṃ kulajīvitam |
brūta yenātra vaḥ kāryamanāsthā bāhyavastuṣu ||

Ah! why should mortals fondly strive to gain
Heaven and its joys by ceaseless toil and pain?
E'en the Saints envied as their steps drew near,
And owned a brighter Heaven was opened here.
They lighted down; braided was each long tress,
Bright as the pictured flame, as motionless;
Himálaya's palace- warders in amaze
On the Seven Sages turned their eager gaze,
A noble company of celestial race
Where each in order of his years had place,—
Glorious, as when the Sun, his head inclining.
Sees his own image mid the waters shining.
To greet them with a gift Himalaya sped,
Earth to her centre shaking at his tread;
By his dark lips with mountain metals dyed,
His arms like pines that clothe his lofty side—
By his proud stature, by his stony breast,
Lord of the Snowy Hills he stood confest.
On to his Council-hall he led the way.
Nor failed due honour to the Saints to pay:
On couch of reed the Monarch bade them rest,
And thus with uplift hands those Heavenly Lords addressed:
"Like soft rain falling from a cloudless sky.
Or fruit, when bloom has failed to glad the eye,
So are ye welcome, Sages; thus I feel
Ecstatic thrilling o'er my spirit steal,
Changed, like dull senseless iron to burning gold,
Or some rapt creature, when the Heavens unfold,
To eyes yet dim with tears of earthly care.
The rest, the pleasures, and the glory there.
Long pilgrim bands from this auspicious day
To my pure hill shall bend their constant way;
Famed shall it be o'er all the lands around.
For where the Good have been is holy ground.
Now am I doubly pure, for Ganga's tide
Falls on my head from Heaven and laves my side;
Henceforth I boast a second stream as sweet,
The water, Sages, that has touched your feet.
Twice by your favour is Himálaya blest,—
This towery mountain that your feet have prest,
And this my moving form is happier still
To wait your bidding, to perform your will.
These mighty limbs that fill the Heaven's expanse
Sink down, o'erpowered, in a blissful trance;
So bright your presence—at the glorious sight
My brooding shades of darkness turn to light,
The gloom that haunts my mountain caverns flies,
And cloudy passion in the spirit dies.
O say, if here your arrowy course ye sped
To throw fresh glory round my towering head?
Surely your wish, ye Mighty Ones, can crave
No aid, no service from your willing slave,
Yet deem me worthy of some high behest.
The Lord commandeth, and the slave is blest.
Declare your pleasure, then, bright Heavenly Band,
We crave no guerdon but your sole command;
Yours are we all, Himálaya and his bride.
And this dear maiden child our hope and pride."