wagtails on a golden lotus,
At play with pitch-black snakes.

The vine of down from her navel's well
Is a serpent thirsting for air:
Thinking in terror her nose is Garuḍa's beak
It hides in the valley of her bosoms' hills.

Love with three arrows conquered Three World's,
Still two of the arrows remained:
Very cruel is Nature to slay the love-lorn,
Surrendering those to her two eyes!

Vidyāpati says: Hearken, fair maids
Who haunt the well of Love:
Rājā Shivasimha Rūpanārāyana
And Lakshmī Devī be witness.

IV.

Krishna:     Why did that moon-face cross my path?
Just for one moment her eyes met mine,
Whose sidelong glance is all too keen:
An ill day that for me!

My thoughts were set upon her breasts,
Love lay waking in my heart.
Her voice was ringing in my ears:
I would have gone, my feet refused to move.

The bonds of hope constrain me yet:
Love is a tide, says Vidyāpati.

V.

Krishna:      Fair-face, red brow-spot, there-behind the heavy jet-black hair—
As if the sun and moon together rising left the night behind.

Ah damsel fair! with what and what devoted care,
Has Nature given to you the utmost beauty of the moon.

A grass green bodice binds your breasts, a glimpse is only seen;
So jealously you cover them,—but never snow may hide the hills!

Dark sūrm decks your curving restless eyes.
As if the bees would rest their weight upon some wind-bent lotus.

Hearken, young thing, says Vidyāpati; these charms, you know them all,—
Witness be Rājā Shivasimha Rūpanārāyana and Lakshmī Devī.

VI.

Krishna:      She left the shrine at cowdust-time, passing gliding
Like a flash of lightning mated with a fresh cloud.

Tender of age she was, a garland deftly woven:
A glimpse could not content my hope, but Love's fire fiercer fanned.

Bright was her body, shining under wimple with the shene of gold:
Long locks, small middle, sidelong-glancing eyes.

And softly smiling, pierced me with the arrows of her eyes,—
Lord of the Five Gaurs, live for ever, says Vidyāpati!

VII.

Krishna:      Laughing, talking, milk-white girl.
Nectar-showering as autumn moon at full:

Jewel of beauty surpassing, passing before me,
Gainly of gait as olifant-king.

Small was her middle as any lion's, her frail frame breaking
With the burden of the honey-apples of her breasts.

Her lovely eyes shone white beside the sūrm that dyed them.
Bees, as it were, mistaking them for spotless water-lilies.

Says Vidyapati: The Lord of lovers
Sorely tholes the sight of Radha's loveliness.

VIII.

Krishna:            I could not see her clearly:
Like a vine of lightning              flashing from a wreath
of cloud,
She plunged an arrow in my heart.

Half the wimple had slipped,     half was her face in smiles.
Half a wave in her eyes:
Half of her bosom I saw, half of the wimple filling,—
Love consumes me ever since.

Bright was her body withal,       and golden cups her breasts.
Her bodice, Love transformed:
My wits were routed,—              meseems this snare
Was set by Kāmadev.

Pearl-teeth arow                         her lips did meet.
That murmured gentle words.
Vidyāpati says:                           Grief haunts my heart:
I saw her indeed, but hope was not sated.

IX.

Krishna:      Beholding that my love was at her bath,
She pierced my heart with arrows five,—
The stream of water pouring from her tresses.
Was her moon-face weeping, frighted by their gloom.

The wet cloth clung upon her corse,—
So might Kāma shake a hermit's heart!
Twin breasts were cakravākas sweet.
United by the gods upon the self-same shore,—
Caged in the prison of her arms.
Lest they should fly away in fear.

Vidyāpati, the poet, sings:
The precious maid her lover meets!

X.

Krishna:      A joyous day this day for me!
I saw my love when she was bathing,
A stream of water pouring from her hair,—
The clouds were showering strings of pearls!

Wiping her face intentifly,
As though she cleansed a golden mirror,—
Discovering both her breasts.
Where had been set inverted golden cups,

She let her zone fall free:
That was the bound of my desire, says Vidyāpati.

XI.

Krishna:      Rāi of the lily face had not yet climbed the bank,
When she beheld brave Kān before her:
'A maid demure, with hanging head, in company of elders.
How was I to see her face?'

But matchless was the bright may's art:
Stepping before them all, she called aloud,
With half-averted face,
And broke withal her string of pearls.
Crying aloud: 'My garland's broken!'
Every person, one and all, was gathering up the beads,—
Then she gazed on Shyāma!

Her partridge-eyes beholding Krishna's moon-fair face.
Were drinking draughts of dew:
Each on the other gazing, spread abroad the taste of