EREENIA. I have seen Indra tremble at his prayers, And at his dreadful penances turn pale. They claim and wrest from Seeva power so vast, That even Seeva's self, The Highest, cannot grant and be secure. CASYAPA. And darest thou, Ereenia, brave The Almighty Tyrant's power? EREENIA. I brave him, Father! I? {53} CASYAPA. Darest thou brave his vengeance? . . . for if not, Take her again to earth, Cast her before the tyger in his path, Or where the death-dew-dropping tree May work Kehama's will. EREENIA. Never! CASYAPA. Then meet his wrath! for he, even he, Hath set upon this worm his wanton foot. EREENIA. I knew her not, how wretched and how fair, When here I wafted her: . . . poor Child of Earth, Shall I forsake thee, seeing thee so fair, So wretched? O my Father, let the maid Dwell in the Sacred Grove. CASYAPA. That must not be, For Force and Evil then would enter here; {54} Ganges, the holy stream which cleanseth sin, Would flow from hence polluted in its springs, And they who gasp upon its banks in death, Feel no salvation. Piety and peace And Wisdom, these are mine; but not the power Which could protect her from the Almighty Man; Nor when the spirit of dead Arvalan Should persecute her here to glut his rage, To heap upon her yet more agony, And ripen more damnation for himself. EREENIA. Dead Arvalan? CASYAPA. All power to him, whereof The disembodied spirit in its state Of weakness could be made participant, Kehama hath assign'd, until his days Of wandering shall be numbered. EREENIA. Look! she drinks The gale of healing from the blessed Groves. {55} She stirs, and lo! her hand Hath touch'd the Holy River in its source, Who would have shrunk if aught impure were nigh. CASYAPA. The Maiden, of a truth, is pure from sin. 5. The waters of the holy Spring About the hand of Kailyal play; They rise, they sparkle, and they sing, Leaping where languidly she lay, As if with that rejoicing stir The holy Spring would welcome her. The Tree of Life which o'er her spread, Benignant bow'd its sacred head, And dropt its dews of healing; And her heart-blood at every breath, Recovering from the strife of death, Drew in new strength and feeling. Behold her beautiful in her repose, A life-bloom reddening now her dark-brown cheek; And lo! her eyes unclose, Dark as the depth of Ganges' spring profound {56} When night hangs over it, Bright as the moon's refulgent beam, That quivers on its clear up-sparkling stream. 6. Soon she let fall her lids, As one who, from a blissful dream Waking to thoughts of pain, Fain would return to sleep, and dream again. Distrustful of the sight, She moves not, fearing to disturb The deep and full delight. In wonder fix'd, opening again her eye She gazes silently, Thinking her mortal pilgrimage was past, That she had reach'd her heavenly home of rest, And these were Gods before her, Or spirits of the blest.