What was the meaning--was it love? Love at first sight, as poets sing, Is then no fiction? Heaven above Is witness, that the heart its king Finds often like a lightning flash; We play,--we jest,--we have no care,-- When hark a step,--there comes no crash,-- But life, or silent slow despair. Their eyes just met,--Savitri past Into the friendly Muni's hut, Her heart-rose opened had at last-- Opened no flower can ever shut.
In converse with the gray-haired sage She learnt the story of the youth, His name and place and parentage-- Of royal race he was in truth. Satyavan was he hight,--his sire Dyoumatsen had been Salva's king, But old and blind, opponents dire Had gathered round him in a ring And snatched the sceptre from his hand; Now,--with his queen and only son He lived a hermit in the land, And gentler hermit was there none.
With many tears was said and heard The story,--and with praise sincere Of Prince Satyavan; every word Sent up a flush on cheek and ear, Unnoticed. Hark! The bells remind 'Tis time to go,--she went away, Leaving her virgin heart behind, And richer for the loss. A ray, Shot down from heaven, appeared to tinge All objects with supernal light, The thatches had a rainbow fringe, The cornfields looked more green and bright.
Savitri's first care was to tell Her mother all her feelings new; The queen her own fears to dispel To the king's private chamber flew. "Now what is it, my gentle queen, That makes thee hurry in this wise?" She told him, smiles and tears between, All she had heard; the king with sighs Sadly replied:--"I fear me much! Whence is his race and what his creed? Not knowing aught, can we in such A matter delicate, proceed?"
As if the king's doubts to allay, Came Narad Muni to the place A few days after. Old and gray, All loved to see the gossip's face, Great Brahma's son,--adored of men, Long absent, doubly welcome he Unto the monarch, hoping then By his assistance, clear to see. No god in heaven, nor king on earth, But Narad knew his history,-- The sun's, the moon's, the planets' birth Was not to him a mystery.
"Now welcome, welcome, dear old friend, All hail, and welcome once again!" The greeting had not reached its end, When glided like a music-strain Savitri's presence through the room.-- "And who is this bright creature, say, Whose radiance lights the chamber's gloom-- Is she an Apsara or fay?" "No son thy servant hath, alas! This is my one,--my only child;"-- "And married?"--"No."--"The seasons pass, Make haste, O king,"--he said, and smiled.