Three days the sweet Yasodhara remained, For her long journey taking needful rest. But when the rosy dawn next tinged the east And lit the mountain-tops and filled the park With a great burst of rich and varied song, The good old king bade the sweet girl farewell, Imprinting on her brow a loving kiss, While welling up from tender memories Big tear-drops trickled down his furrowed cheeks. And as her train, escorted by the prince And noble youth, wound slowly down the hill, The rising sun with glory gilds the city That like a diadem circled its brow, While giant shadows stretch across the plain; And when they reach the plain they halt for rest Deep in a garden's cooling shade, where flowers That fill the air with grateful fragrance hang By ripening fruits, and where all seems at rest Save two young hearts and tiny tireless birds That dart from flower to newer to suck their sweets, And even the brook that babbled down the hill Now murmurs dreamily as if asleep. Sweet spot! sweet hour! how quick its moments fly! How soon the cooling winds and sinking sun And bustling stir of preparation tells 'Tis time for her to go; and when they part, The gentle pressure of the hand, one kiss-- A kiss not given yet not resisted--tells A tale of love that words are poor to tell. And when she goes how lonely seems her way Through groves, through fields, through busy haunts of men; And as he climbs the hill and often stops To watch her lessening train until at length Her elephant seems but a moving speck, Proud Kantaka, pawing and neighing, asks As plain as men could ever ask in, words: "What makes my master choose this laggard pace?" At length she climbs those rocky, rugged hills. That guarded well the loveliest spot on earth Until the Moguls centuries after came, Like swarms of locusts swept before the wind, Or ravening wolves, to conquer fair Cashmere.[4] And when she reached the top, before her lay, As on a map spread out, her native land, By lofty mountains walled on every side, From winds, from wars, and from the world shut out; The same great snow-capped mountains north and east In silent, glittering, awful grandeur stand, And west the same bold, rugged, cliff-crowned hills. That filled her eyes with wonder when a child. Below the snow a belt of deepest green; Below this belt of green great rolling hills, Checkered with orchards, vineyards, pastures, fields, The vale beneath peaceful as sleeping babe, The city nestling round the shining lake, And near the park and palace, her sweet home. O noble, peaceful, beautiful Cashmere! Well named the garden of eternal spring! But yet, with home and all its joys so near. She often turned and strained her eager eyes To catch one parting glimpse of that sweet spot Where more than half of her young heart was left.