PRIYAMVADÁ.--The Kesara-tree, whilst your graceful form bends about its stem, appears as if it were wedded to some lovely twining creeper.
SAKOONTALÁ.--Ah! saucy girl, you are most appropriately named Priyamvadá ("Speaker of flattering things").
KING.--What Priyamvadá says, though complimentary, is nevertheless true. Verily, Her ruddy lip vies with the opening bud; Her graceful arms are as the twining stalks; And her whole form is radiant with the glow Of youthful beauty, as the tree with bloom.
ANASÚYÁ.--See, dear Sakoontalá, here is the young jasmine, which you named "the Moonlight of the Grove," the self-elected wife of the mango-tree. Have you forgotten it?
SAKOONTALÁ.--Rather will I forget myself. [_Approaching the plant and looking at it_.] How delightful is the season when the jasmine-creeper and the mango-tree seem thus to unite in mutual embraces! The fresh blossoms of the jasmine resemble the bloom of a young bride, and the newly-formed shoots of the mango appear to make it her natural protector. [_Continues gazing at it_.
PRIYAMVADÁ [_smiling_].--Do you know, my Anasúyá, why Sakoontalá gazes so intently at the jasmine?
ANASÚYÁ.--No, indeed, I cannot imagine. I pray thee tell me.
PRIYAMVADÁ.--She is wishing that as the jasmine is united to a suitable tree, so, in like manner, she may obtain a husband worthy of her.
SAKOONTALÁ.--Speak for yourself, girl; this is the thought in your own mind. [_Continues watering the flowers_.
KING.--Would that my union with her were permissible! and yet I hardly dare hope that the maiden is sprung from a caste different from that of the Head of the hermitage. But away with doubt:-- That she is free to wed a warrior-king My heart attests. For, in conflicting doubts, The secret promptings of the good man's soul Are an unerring index of the truth.
However, come what may, I will ascertain the fact.
SAKOONTALÁ [_in a flurry_].--Ah! a bee, disturbed by the sprinkling of the water, has left the young jasmine, and is trying to settle on my face. [_Attempts to drive it away_.
KING [_gazing at her ardently_].--Beautiful! there is something charming even in her repulse. Where'er the bee his eager onset plies, Now here, now there, she darts her kindling eyes: What love hath yet to teach, fear teaches now, The furtive glances and the frowning brow. [_In a tone of envy_. Ah happy bee! how boldly dost thou try To steal the lustre from her sparkling eye; And in thy circling movements hover near, To murmur tender secrets in her ear; Or, as she coyly waves her hand, to sip Voluptuous nectar from her lower lip! While rising doubts my heart's fond hopes destroy, Thou dost the fulness of her charms enjoy.