None are hither wending.
My flight I wing soonTo the wood fill'd with bushes,
Quick as thought it was done! and for safety he fled
I scarce alone can creep,
She to-day at dawn of morningPraying comes to Ganges' waters,Bends her o'er the glassy surface--Sudden, in the waves reflected,Flying swiftly far above her,From the highest heavens descending,She discerns the beauteous formOf a youth divine, createdBy the God's primeval wisdomIn his own eternal breast.
WRITES he in Neski,Faithfully speaks he;Writes he in Tali,Joy to give, seeks he:Writes he in either,Good!--for he loves!