“Let us listen,” said Salim; “here comes Rembha.” And on the stage appeared a dark but beautiful young woman, in rich and luxurious costume; and, accompanied by soft music, she began half to sing, half to recite, the following:
“In this love-tide of spring, when the amorous breeze
Has kiss’d itself sweet on the beautiful trees,
And the humming of numberless bees, as they throng
To the blossoming shrubs, swells the Kokila’s song,—
In the love-tide of spring, when the spirit is glad,
And the parted—yes, only the parted—are sad,
Thy lover, thy Krishna, is dancing in glee,
With troops of young maidens, forgetful of thee.
“The season is come when the desolate bride