Although on the same bridal seat we sat.
The screen which by the custom of our race
Was drawn by cruel hands hid thee from view.
So wondrous fair this arm looks that methinks
Rare beauties must be seated on thy face.
My foe hath come; fear not; I go to fight,
And come with honours loaded from the field,
A victor to rejoice with thee to-night
At the propitious hour which, by the aid
Of all his starry lore, our Brahmin sage