The strings of pearl across her bosom thrown
Increased its beauty, and enhanced their own,--
Her breast, her jewels seeming to agree,
The adorner now, and now the adorned to be.
When BEAUTY gazes on the fair full moon,
No lotus charms her, for it blooms at noon:
If on that flower she feed her raptured eye,
No moon is shining from the mid-day sky;
She looked on UMA'S face, more heavenly fair,
And found their glories both united there.
The loveliest flower that ever opened yet
Laid in the fairest branch: a fair pearl set
In richest coral, with her smile might vie
Flashing through lips bright with their rosy dye.
And when she spoke, upon the maiden's tongue,
Distilling nectar, such rare accents hung,
The sweetest note that e'er the Koil poured
Seemed harsh and tuneless as a jarring chord.
The melting glance of that soft liquid eye,
Tremulous like lilies when the breezes sigh,
Which learnt it first--so winning and so mild--
The gentle fawn, or MENA'S gentler child?
And oh, the arching of her brow! so fine
Was the rare beauty of its pencilled line,
LOVE gazed upon her forehead in despair
And spurned the bow he once esteemed so fair:
Her long bright tresses too might shame the pride
Of envious yaks who roamed the mountain-side.
Surely the Maker's care had been to bring
From Nature's store each sweetest, loveliest thing,
As if the world's Creator would behold
All beauty centred in a single mould.

When holy NARAD--Saint who roams at will--
First saw the daughter of the royal hill,
He hailed the bride whom ['S]IVA'S love should own
Half of himself, and partner of his throne.
HIMALAYA listened, and the father's pride
Would yield the maiden for no other's bride:
To Fire alone of all bright things we raise
The holy hymn, the sacrifice of praise.
But still the monarch durst not, could not bring
His child, unsought, to Heaven's supremest King;
But as a good man fears his earnest prayer
Should rise unheeded, and with thoughtful care
Seeks for some friend his eager suit to aid,
Thus great HIMALAYA in his awe delayed.

Since the sad moment when his gentle bride
In the full glory of her beauty died,
The mournful ['S]IVA in the holy grove
Had dwelt in solitude, and known not love.
High on that hill where musky breezes throw
Their balmy odours o'er eternal snow;
Where heavenly minstrels pour their notes divine,