God of the bow, who with spring's choicest flowers
Dost point thy five unerring shafts; to thee
I dedicate this blossom; let it serve
To barb thy truest arrow; be its mark
Some youthful heart that pines to be beloved.
[Throws down a mango-blossom.
CHAMBERLAIN [entering in a hurried manner, angrily].—Hold there, thoughtless woman. What are you about breaking off those mango-blossoms, when the King has forbidden the celebration of the spring festival?
BOTH MAIDENS [alarmed].—Pardon us, kind sir, we have heard nothing of it.
CHAMBERLAIN.—You have heard nothing of it? Why, all the vernal plants and shrubs, and the very birds that lodge in their branches, show more respect to the King's order than you do.
Yon mango-blossoms, though long since expanded,
Gather no down upon their tender crests;
The flower still lingers in the amaranth,
Imprisoned in its bud; the tuneful Köil,
Though winter's chilly dews be overpast,
Suspends the liquid volume of his song
Scarce uttered in his throat; e'en Love, dismayed,
Restores the half-drawn arrow to his quiver.
BOTH MAIDENS.—The mighty power of King Dushyanta is not to be disputed.
FIRST MAIDEN.—It is but a few days since Mitrávasu, the king's brother-in-law, sent us to wait upon his Majesty; and, during the whole of our sojourn here, we have been intrusted with the charge of the royal pleasure-grounds. We are therefore strangers in this place, and heard nothing of the order until you informed us of it.
CHAMBERLAIN.—Well then, now you know it, take care you don't continue your preparations.
BOTH MAIDENS.—But tell us, kind sir, why has the King prohibited the usual festivities? We are curious to hear, if we may.