ast no time to stay,
Yet who that once has known a dear caress
Could bear to leave a woman's unveiled loveliness?

XLII

_Thence to Holy Peak_,

The breeze 'neath which the breathing acre grants
New odours, and the forest figs hang sleek,
With pleasant whistlings drunk by elephants
Through long and hollow trunks, will gently seek
To waft thee onward fragrantly to Holy Peak.

XLIII

_the dwelling-place of Skanda, god of war, the
child of Shiva and Gauri, concerning whose
birth more than one quaint tale is told_.

There change thy form; become a cloud of flowers
With heavenly moisture wet, and pay the meed
Of praise to Skanda with thy blossom showers;
That sun-outshining god is Shiva's seed,
Fire-born to save the heavenly hosts in direst need.

XLIV

God Skanda's peacock--he whose eyeballs shine
By Shiva's moon, whose flashing fallen plume
The god's fond mother wears, a gleaming line
Over her ear beside the lotus bloom--
Will dance to thunders echoing in the caverns' room.

XLV

_Thence to Skin River, so called because it flowed forth from a
mountain of cattle carcasses, offered in sacrifice by the pious
emperor Rantideva_.

Adore the reed-born god and speed away,
While Siddhas flee, lest rain should put to shame
The lutes which they devoutly love to play;
But pause to glorify the stream whose name
Recalls the sacrificing emperor's blessed fame.

XLVI

Narrow the river seems from heaven's blue;
And gods above, who see her dainty line
Matched, when thou drinkest, with thy darker hue,
Will think they see a pearly necklace twine
Round Earth, with one great sapphire in its midst ashine.

XLVII

_The province of the Ten Cities_.

Beyond, the province of Ten Cities lies
Whose women, charming with their glances rash,
Will view thine image with bright, eager eyes,
Dark eyes that dance beneath the lifted lash,
As when black bees round nodding jasmine-blossoms flash.

XLVIII

_The Hallowed Land, where were fought the awful battles of the ancient
epic time_.

Then veil the Hallowed Land in cloudy shade;
Visit the field where to this very hour
Lie bones that sank beneath the soldier's blade,
Where Arjuna discharged his arrowy shower
On men, as thou thy rain-jets on the lotus-flower.

XLIX

_In these battles, the hero Balarama, whose weapon was a plough-share,
would take n