bliss,—
That Vidyāpati knoweth well.

XII.

Krishna:      She smiled a little when she saw me lurking there—
As if the rising moon lit up the night:
And when she rained on me her sidelong glances,
The heavens became a swarm of bees.

Who knoweth whose the maid may be,
Setting my heart a-shake, and vanishing?
The humble-bee is prisoned in the lotus-flower of love,—
I was amazed to see the timid fair one passing by.

Then was made manifest the beauty of her breasts,—
(Whose heart does not the golden lily snare?)
Half was she hidden, half revealed.
Her globéd breasts told me of her desire.

Vidyāpati says: That was love's dawn:
Whom does Madans secret arrow spare?

XIII.

Dūtikā:      The flower is open all amidst the thorns;
The frenzied bee can find no place of rest,
But haunts continually the nectar-laden jasmine,
Reckless of life in eager thirst.

He honey-life, you honey-heap.
Already hiding hoarded sweets,—
The maddened bee has neither home
Nor rest without your jasmine-self.

Deep in your heart consider this:
Why should you be the murderer of a bee?
For Vidyāpati avows: He will return to life.
If He may drink the nectar of your lips.

XIV.

Krishna:      Wheresoever her twin feet fall,
A lotus-flower uplifts them:
Wheresoever her body passes swaying,
There is the lightning's undulation!

Surpassing radiance that I beheld,
Has made her seat amidst my heart:
Wheresoever her eyes are opened,
There are water-lilies seen!

Wheresoever her light laugh rings,
There very nectar sours in envy:
Wheresoever fall her sidelong glances,
Fly the myriads of Madan's arrows!

Even an instant to behold such loveliness
Suffices to eclipse the Triple Worlds:
But and I see her once again,
My mourning may depart!

Says Vidyāpati: In sooth,
For your dear sake, I'll bring her.

RĀDHĀ BAYASANDHI

XV.

Dūtikā:      Childhood and youth are mingled both,
Her eyes have taken the road to her ears:
Wily are her words, and her low laugh
As if the moon appeared on earth.

She takes a mirror to array herself,
And asks: 'What is the game of love, my dear?'
How many times she secretly regards her bosom,
Smiling to see her breasts!

First like a jujube, then like an orange,—
Love day by day enfolds her limbs:
O Mādhava, I saw a girl surpassing fair.
Childhood and youth were one in her!

Saith Vidyāpati: Oh foolish maid,
The wise would say, The twain have met.

XVI.

Dūtikā:      Day by day her breasts grew great.
Her hips increased, her middle waned:
Madan now enlarged her eyes.
All of her childhood fled in fear.

Breasts that are jujubes first, and then like oranges,
Daily the sting of Love increasing them:
Thereafter waxing greater than the pummalo,
Now they are twin ripe honey-apple fruits.

Ah Mādhava! I saw the fair one freely,
I suddenly beheld her as she bathed;
The filmy muslin clung upon her breast,—
Happy he who sees her thus!

Her jet-black hair poured down her breast
As though a shaggy yak concealed a gold Mahesh:
Hearken Murāri, Vidyāpati saith:
So fair a may may dally with a man of worth.

XVII.

Krishna:      Now and again her eyes to their corners fly,
Now and again her filmy robe receives them;
Now and again her serried teeth laugh out,
Now and again the smile delays upon her lips.

Sometimes she hurries nervously, sometimes she walks but slowly,
Now for the first time learning Madan's lessons:
She steals a glance at her breasts' buds,—
Sometimes she draws the wimple close, sometimes she stands astonished.

Childhood and youth are met in her.
None knoweth which is first or last:
Hearken, O Kāna, says Vidyāpati,
The marks of youth and childhood are indivisible.

XVIII.

Krishna:      Childhood and youth are face to face,—
She stands uncertain, in the hold of rival factions:
Sometimes she binds her hair, sometimes she lets it fall,
Sometimes she hides her body, sometimes she leaves it bare.

Her tranquil eyes are somewhat troubled,
There where the breasts arise are purple stains,
Her restless feet reflect her heart's unrest:
Madan awakes, whose eyes were shut.

Hearken, Murāri, saith Vidyāpati:
Sustain with patience till I bring her.

XIX.

Dūtikā:       The little buds are peeping shyly,
Her eyes have stolen the dancing of her feet,
Her hand remains continually upon her robe,
She is ashamed to question her companions.

Oh Mādhav! How shall I recite her growing-up?
E'en Madan's heart, beholding her, must be ensnared!
Love is forsooth the ruler of her heart:
Setting the jars upon her breast, he straightens out her form.

She bends her mind to learn the lore of love,
Just as the deer to hear the