XLIV

    God Skanda’s peacock—­he whose eyeballs shine
  By Shiva’s moon, whose flashing fallen plume
    The god’s fond mother wears, a gleaming line
  Over her ear beside the lotus bloom—­
  Will dance to thunders echoing in the caverns’ room.

  XLV

Thence to Skin River, so called because it flowed forth from a mountain of cattle carcasses, offered in sacrifice by the pious emperor Rantideva.

    Adore the reed-born god and speed away,
  While Siddhas flee, lest rain should put to shame
    The lutes which they devoutly love to play;
  But pause to glorify the stream whose name
  Recalls the sacrificing emperor’s blessed fame.

  XLVI

    Narrow the river seems from heaven’s blue;
  And gods above, who see her dainty line
    Matched, when thou drinkest, with thy darker hue,
  Will think they see a pearly necklace twine
  Round Earth, with one great sapphire in its midst ashine.

  XLVII

The province of the Ten Cities.

    Beyond, the province of Ten Cities lies
  Whose women, charming with their glances rash,
    Will view thine image with bright, eager eyes,
  Dark eyes that dance beneath the lifted lash,
  As when black bees round nodding jasmine-blossoms flash.

  XLVIII

The Hallowed Land, where were fought the awful battles of the ancient epic time.

    Then veil the Hallowed Land in cloudy shade;
  Visit the field where to this very hour
    Lie bones that sank beneath the soldier’s blade,
  Where Arjuna discharged his arrowy shower
  On men, as thou thy rain-jets on the lotus-flower.

  XLIX

In these battles, the hero Balarama, whose weapon was a plough-share, would take no part, because kinsmen of his were fighting in each army.  He preferred to spend the time in drinking from the holy river Sarasvati, though little accustomed to any other drink than wine.

    Sweet friend, drink where those holy waters shine
  Which the plough-bearing hero—­loath to fight
    His kinsmen—­rather drank than sweetest wine
  With a loving bride’s reflected eyes alight;
  Then, though thy form be black, thine inner soul is bright.

  L

The Ganges River, which originates in heaven.  Its fall is broken by the head of Shiva, who stands on the Himalaya Mountains; otherwise the shock would be too great for the earth.  But Shiva’s goddess-bride is displeased.

    Fly then where Ganges o’er the king of mountains
  Falls like a flight of stairs from heaven let down
    For the sons of men; she hurls her billowy fountains
  Like hands to grasp the moon on Shiva’s crown
  And laughs her foamy laugh at Gauri’s jealous frown.

  LI

The dark cloud is permitted to mingle with the clear stream of Ganges, as the muddy Jumna River does near the city now called Allahabad.