Where, with her sire, bent down with years, she lived,
And dragged her daily miserable life.
Such was the maid that was upon that day,
As if by instinct, drawn to the fair youth,
And such the huntress Radha he beheld.
A fairer woman never breathed the air—
No, not in all the land of Panchala.
The maid in pity saw his wretched plight,
Then from the pitcher took her midday meal,
And soon relieved his hunger and his thirst.