fangs at rest,
Dancing on end, sharp fangs at rest,
Fierce fangs at rest.

Ah, wise Lord Nag! thou comest!--Fear thou not!
We make salaam to thee, the Serpent-King,
Draw forth thy folds, knot after knot;
Dance, Master! while we softly sing;
Dance, Serpent! while we play and sing,
We play and sing.

Dance, dreadful King! whose kisses strike men dead;
Dance this side, mighty Snake! the milk is here!

[_They seize the Cobra by the neck_.]

Ah, _shabash_! pin his angry head!
Thou fool! this nautch shall cost thee dear;
Wrench forth his fangs! this piping clear,
It costs thee dear!

_SONG OF THE FLOUR-MILL._

Turn the merry mill-stone, Gunga!
Pour the golden grain in;
Those that twist the Churrak fastest
The cakes soonest win:
Good stones, turn!
The fire begins to burn;
Gunga, stay not!
The hearth is nearly hot.
Grind the hard gold to silver;
Sing quick to the stone;
Feed its mouth with dal and bajri,
It will feed us anon.

Sing, Gunga! to the mill-stone,
It helps the wheel hum;
Blithesome hearts and willing elbows
Make the fine meal come:
Handsful three
For you and for me;
Now it falls white,
Good stones, bite!
Drive it round and round, my Gunga!
Sing soft to the stone;
Better corn and churrak-working
Than idleness and none.

_TAZA BA TAZA_

Akbar sate high in the ivory hall,
His chief musician he bade them call;
Sing, said the king, that song of glee.
_Taza ba taza, now ba now._
Sing me that music sweet and free,
_Taza ba taza, now ba now_;
Here by the fountain sing it thou,
_Taza ba taza, now ba now._

Bending full low, his minstrel took
The Vina down from its painted nook.
Swept the strings of silver so
_Taza ba taza, now ba now;_
Made the gladsome Vina go
_Taza ba taza, now ba now;_
Sang with light strains and brightsome brow
_Taza ba taza, now ba now_.

"What is the lay for love most fit?
What is the melody echoes it?
Ever in tune and ever meet,
_Taza ba taza, now ba now;_
Ever delightful and ever sweet
_Taza ba taza, now ba now;_
Soft as the murmur of love's first vow,