_Sarga The Ninth._

KALAHANTARITAVARNANE MUGDHAMUKUNDO.

THE END OF KRISHNA'S TRIAL.

Yet not quite did the doubts of Radha die, Nor her sweet brows unbend; but she, the Maid-- Knowing her heart so tender, her soft arms Aching to take him in, her rich mouth sad For the comfort of his kiss, and these fears false-- Spake yet a little in fair words like these:

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

The lesson that thy faithful love has taught him He has heard; The wind of spring, obeying thee, hath brought him At thy word; What joy in all the three worlds was so precious To thy mind? Mâ kooroo mânini mânamayè, Ah, be kind!

No longer from his earnest eyes conceal Thy delights; Lift thy face, and let the jealous veil reveal All his rights; The glory of thy beauty was but given For content; Mâ kooroo mânini mânamayè, Oh, relent!

Remember, being distant, how he bore thee In his heart; Look on him sadly turning from before thee To depart; Is he not the soul thou lovedst, sitting lonely In the wood? Mâ kooroo mânini mânamayè, 'Tis not good!

He who grants thee high delight in bridal-bower Pardons long; What the gods do love may do at such an hour Without wrong; Why weepest thou? why keepest thou in anger Thy lashes down? Mâ kooroo mânini mânamayè, Do not frown!

Lift thine eyes now, and look on him, bestowing, Without speech; Let him pluck at last the flower so sweetly growing In his reach; The fruit of lips, of loving tones, of glances That forgive; Mâ kooroo mânini mânamayè, Let him live!

Let him speak with thee, and pray to thee, and prove thee All his truth; Let his silent loving lamentation move thee Asking ruth; How knowest thou? All, listen, dearest Lady, He is there; Mâ kooroo mânini mânamayè, Thou must hear!

O rare voice, which is a spell Unto all on earth who dwell! O rich voice, of rapturous love, Making melody above! Krishna's, Hari's--one in two, Sound these mortal verses through! Sound like that soft flute which made Such a magic in the shade-- Calling deer-eyed maidens nigh, Waking wish and stirring sigh, Thrilling blood and melting breasts, Whispering love's divine unrests, Winning blessings to descend, Bringing earthly ills to end;-- Me thou heard in this song now Thou, the great Enchantment, thou!

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