Dasahara

Glorious river! thee of yore

Siva on his tresses bore,

When thou didst thy rapid flow

Take unto this world below,

From the peak of Himalay,

Where thy lucid waters stray,

Dispensing to the gods above

Purity and holy love.

Propitious river! by thy grace

Royal Sagar's numerous race,

Though burned to ashes by the fire

Of the saintly sage's ire,

Enjoyed the bright, unchanging hours,

Smiling round the emerald bowers,

And bringing in the heavenly sphere

Joys which only circle there.

Holy stream! thou dost bestow

Freedom from each earthly woe,

Destroying all the sins that be

Pertaining to humanity,

And ensure at being's close,

Sweet and undisturbed repose.

Nay! even the deities love to lave

Their forms of glory in thy wave.

Beauteous river! on thy spray

The lotos famed in ancient lay—

Whose chaplets and whose odours sweet,

Goddess! to thee are offerings meet—

In gladness doth its leaves unfold

Full to the morning's beam of gold,

As if inspired with the love

Of the majestic sun above.

Dreadful river! in thy waves

His length the alligator laves,

And sharks and sea-hogs round him play,

Glad with the hope of human prey.

When summer with the hot sun crowned,

Showers her dazzling splendour round,

And brings forth in our Indian bowers

Refulgent days and lovely flowers.