King (with a meditative sigh).

  I know that stern religion’s power
  Keeps guardian watch my maiden o’er;
  Yet all my heart flows straight to her
  Like water to the valley-floor.

Oh, mighty Love, thine arrows are made of flowers.  How can they be so sharp? (He recalls something.) Ah, I understand.

  Shiva’s devouring wrath still burns in thee,
  As burns the eternal fire beneath the sea;
  Else how couldst thou, thyself long since consumed,
  Kindle the fire that flames so ruthlessly?

Indeed, the moon and thou inspire confidence, only to deceive the host of lovers.

  Thy shafts are blossoms; coolness streams
  From moon-rays:  thus the poets sing;
  But to the lovelorn, falsehood seems
  To lurk in such imagining;
  The moon darts fire from frosty beams;
  Thy flowery arrows cut and sting.

And yet

  If Love will trouble her
  Whose great eyes madden me,
  I greet him unafraid,
  Though wounded ceaselessly.

O mighty god, wilt thou not show me mercy after such reproaches?

  With tenderness unending
  I cherished thee when small,
  In vain—­thy bow is bending;
  On me thine arrows fall. 
  My care for thee to such a plight
  Has brought me; and it serves me right.

I have driven off the powers of evil, and the hermits have dismissed me.  Where shall I go now to rest from my weariness? (He sighs.) There is no rest for me except in seeing her whom I love. (He looks up.) She usually spends these hours of midday heat with her friends on the vine-wreathed banks of the Malini.  I will go there. (He walks and looks about.) I believe the slender maiden has just passed through this corridor of young trees.  For

  The stems from which she gathered flowers
  Are still unhealed;
  The sap where twigs were broken off
  Is uncongealed.

(He feels a breeze stirring.) This is a pleasant spot, with the wind among the trees.

  Limbs that love’s fever seizes,
  Their fervent welcome pay
  To lotus-fragrant breezes
  That bear the river-spray.

(He studies the ground.) Ah, Shakuntala must be in this reedy bower.  For

  In white sand at the door
    Fresh footprints appear,
  The toe lightly outlined,
    The heel deep and clear.

I will hide among the branches, and see what happens. (He does so.  Joyfully.) Ah, my eyes have found their heaven.  Here is the darling of my thoughts, lying upon a flower-strewn bench of stone, and attended by her two friends.  I will hear what they say to each other.

(He stands gazing.  Enter SHAKUNTALA with her two friends.)

The two friends (fanning her).  Do you feel better, dear, when we fan you with these lotus-leaves?