The Birth of the War-God: A Poem by Kálidása

UMÁ’S NATIVITY.

Far in the north Himálaya, lifting high His towery summits till they cleave the sky, Spans the wide land from east to western sea, Lord of the hills, instinct with deity. For him, when Prithu ruled in days of old The rich earth, teeming with her gems and gold, The vassal hills and Meru drained her breast, To deck Himálaya, for they loved him best; And earth, the mother, gave her store to fill With herbs and sparkling ores the royal hill. Proud mountain-king! his diadem of snow Dims not the beauty of his gems below. For who can gaze upon the moon, and dare To mark one spot less brightly glorious there? Who, ’mid a thousand virtues, dares to blame One shade of weakness in a hero’s fame? Oft, when the gleamings of his mountain brass Flash through the clouds and tint them as they pass, Those glories mock the hues of closing day, And heaven’s bright wantons hail their hour of play; Try, ere the time, the magic of their glance, And deck their beauty for the twilight dance. Dear to the sylphs are the cool shadows thrown By dark clouds wandering round the mountain’s zone, Till frightened by the storm and rain they seek Eternal sunshine on each loftier peak. Far spread the wilds where eager hunters roam, Tracking the lion to his dreary home. For though the melting snow has washed away The crimson blood-drops of the wounded prey, Still the fair pearls that graced his forehead tell Where the strong elephant, o’ermastered, fell, And clinging to the lion’s claws, betray, Falling at every step, the mighty conqueror’s way. There birch-trees wave, that lend their friendly aid To tell the passion of the love-lorn maid, So quick to learn in metal tints to mark Her hopes and fears upon the tender bark.