My Prince! my Lotus-faced! my woe! my love! Whose broad brow, with the tilka-spot above, Shames the bright moon at full with fleck of cloud; Thou to mistake so little for so much! Thou, Krishna, to be palm to palm with such! O Soul made for my joys, pure, perfect, proud!
Ah, my Beloved! in thy darkness dear; Ah, Dancer! with the jewels in thine ear, Swinging to music of a loveless love; O my Beloved! in thy fall so high That angels, sages, spirits of the sky Linger about thee, watching in the grove.
I will be patient still, and draw thee ever, My one Beloved, sitting by the river Under the thick kadambas with that throng: Will there not come an end to earthly madness? Shall I not, past the sorrow, have the gladness? Must not the love-light shine for him ere long?
_Shine, thou Light by Radha given, Shine, thou splendid star of heaven! Be a lamp to Krishna's feet, Show to all hearts secrets sweet, Of the wonder and the love Jayadev hath writ above. Be the quick Interpreter Unto wisest ears of her Who always sings to all, "I wait, He loveth still who loveth late."_
For (sang on that high Lady in the shade) My soul for tenderness, not blame, was made; Mine eyes look through his evil to his good; My heart coins pleas for him; my fervent thought Prevents what he will say when these are naught, And that which I am shall be understood.
(_What follows is to the Music_ MÂLAVAGAUDA _and the Mode_ EKATÂLÎ.)
Go to him,--win him hither,--whisper low How he may find me if he searches well; Say, if he will--joys past his hope to know Await him here; go now to him, and tell Where Radha is, and that henceforth she charms His spirit to her arms.
Yes, go! say, if he will, that he may come-- May come, my love, my longing, my desire; May come forgiven, shriven, to me his home, And make his happy peace; nay, and aspire To uplift Radha's veil, and learn at length What love is in its strength.
Lead him; say softly I shall chide his blindness, And vex him with my angers; yet add this, He shall not vainly sue for loving-kindness, Nor miss to see me close, nor lose the bliss That lives upon my lip, nor be denied The rose-throne at my side.
Say that I--Radha--in my bower languish All widowed, till he find the way to me; Say that mine eyes are dim, my breast all anguish, Until with gentle murmured shame I see His steps come near, his anxious pleading face Bend for my pardoning grace.