LXXII.
Krishna: The sun is in the East, the tide of night has ebbed,
The moon is merging in the sky.
The water-lily closed,—and even so, my lady fair,
Your lily-face is shut.
A lily-face, two lotus-eyes,
And lips of honey.
All your body flower-wrought,—
Why is your heart of stone?
Your hands are wasted, and you wear no bracelets,
Even a garland is a weary burden:
And yet you will not cast away your mountain load of pride—
What wicked ways are yours!
Now leave these wrongs, give Hari bliss, my fair,
Now with the dawn, give over wrath:
Rājā Shivasimha Rūpanārāyana,
Says Vidyāpati!
LXXIII.
Sakhī: Beauty, of lineage and courtesy, without your eyes—
The best of lovers—what may you do?
How may you make jap-tap, or alms bestow or vows accomplish.
Who have no pity on the pitiful?
'I would advise you very seriously, my dear:
One such a virtue many a sin may cancel,
A single sin destroys the fruit of many virtues.
'Though brother to the poison, thief of a guru's wife.
And vomited from Rahu's jaws.
Scorching divided lovers, slayer of water-lilies,—
Yet for his merits the moon shines bright!
'Loving another's children, careless of his own,
The crow drinks dregs of love:
Yet an only word of His, wipes all those faults away,—
He speaks such honey-words.'