But seeing that, for all her loving will,
The flower-soft feet of Radha had not power
To leave their place and go, she sped again--
That maiden--and to Krishna's eager ears
Told how it fared with his sweet mistress there.

(_What follows is to the Music_ GONDAKIRI _and the Mode_ RUPAKA.)

Krishna! 'tis thou must come, (she sang)
Ever she waits thee in heavenly bower;
The lotus seeks not the wandering bee,
The bee must find the flower.

All the wood over her deep eyes roam,
Marvelling sore where tarries the bee,
Who leaves such lips of nectar unsought
As those that blossom for thee.

Her steps would fail if she tried to come,
Would falter and fail, with yearning weak;
At the first of the road they would falter and pause,
And the way is strange to seek.

Find her where she is sitting, then,
With lotus-blossom on ankle and arm
Wearing thine emblems, and musing of nought
But the meeting to be--glad, warm.

To be--"but wherefore tarrieth he?"
"What can stay or delay him?--go!
See if the soul of Krishna comes,"
Ten times she sayeth to me so;

Ten times lost in a languorous swoon,
"Now he cometh--he cometh," she cries;
And a love-look lightens her eyes in the gloom,
And the darkness is sweet with her sighs.

Till, watching in vain, she glideth again
Under the shade of the whispering leaves;
With a heart too full of its love at last
To heed how her bosom heaves.

_Shall not these fair verses swell
The number of the wise who dwell
In the realm of Kama's bliss?
Jayadeva prayeth this,
Jayadev, the bard of Love,
Servant of the Gods above._

For all so strong in Heaven itself
Is Love, that Radha sits drooping there,
Her beautiful bosoms panting with thought,
And the braids drawn back from her ear.

And--angel albeit--her rich lips breathe
Sighs, if sighs were ever so sweet;
And--if spirits can tremble--she trembles now
From forehead to jewelled feet.

And her voice of music sinks to a sob,
And her eyes, like eyes of a mated roe,
Are tender with looks of yielded love,
With dreams dreamed long ago;

Long--long ago, but soon to grow truth,
To end, and be waking and certain and true;
Of which dear surety murmur her