Here lay a queenly dame at rest In all her glorious garments drest. There slept another whose small hand In careless grace another lay With gems and jewels cast away, And hurled it flowerless to the ground. Here lay a slumberer still as death, Save only that her balmy breath Raised ever and anon the lace That floated o'er her sleeping face. There, sunk in sleep, an amorous maid Her sweet head on a mirror laid, Like a fair lily bending till Her petals float upon the rill. Another black-eyed damsel pressed Her lute upon her heaving breast, Round him for whom she long had pined. Another pretty sleeper round A silver vase her arms had wound, That seemed so fresh and fair and young A wreath of flowers that o'er it hung. In sweet disorder lay a throng Her tender cheek scarce seen beneath The while her long soft hair concealed The beauties that her friend revealed. Round arm and leg and throat and waist, Like blossoms in a careless heap. KUMBHAKARNA. "Kumbhakarna, the gigantic brother of the titanic Ravan,-named from the size of his ears which could contain a Kumbha or large water-jar-had such an appetite that he used to consume six months' provisions in a single day. Brahma, to relieve the alarm of the world, which had begun to entertain serious apprehensions of being eaten up, decreed that the giant should sleep six months at a time and wake for only one day during which he might consume his six months' allowance without trespassing unduly on the reproductive capabilities of the earth. When Rama invaded the capital of Ravan, the titans, requiring all their forces, employed the most violent measures-and eventually with success-to wake the sleeping giant." With troubled spirit and with broken pride Through Lanka's gate the vanquisht Ravan hied, Crusht like an elephant who falls beneath The lion's spring, and feels the murderous teeth; Or like a serpent 'neath the furious wing And vengeful talons of the Feathered King. Such was the giant's fear and wild alarm At the swift arrows shot by Rama's arm Shafts, with the flame of lightning round them curled, Like Brahma's fiery bolts that end the world. At length, supported on his golden throne, With failing eye he spoke and humbled tone : Fruitless my penance and an age of pain, Too well I know the fated hour is nigh: Then let each leader to his station fly. Let giant warders on the rampart stand, And let the terror of immortal eyes, Great Kumbhakarna, from his trance arise. And soon the foemen 'neath his arm will fall.' With his huge limbs at all their length outspread, The flesh of buffaloes and boars and deer. With garlands, heavenly fair, they fanned his face, And clouds of incense sweetened all the place. Then moon-bright conchs they sounded loud and long, And the cave echoed with the giant's song. |