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OCTOBER, 1876.]
VAIRAGYA SATAKAM.
285
METRICAL TRANSLATION OF THE VAIRAGYA SATAKAM.
BY PROF. C. H. TAWNEY, M.A., CALCUTTA.
(Continued from page 67.) TF song resound thy steps before,
Say, whither are those slabs of stone 1 And Dekhan lyres behind,
All moist with Gangå's dew, And nymphs with jingling bracelets pour And Dryad-haunted thickets flown, The chowri's perfumed wind,
That men can bear to sue Scorn not this world's broad easy ways, For alms and insults at the door of some proud And drink of pleasure's bowl ;
parvenu ? If not-then fix thy steadfast gaze On that undying Soul.
Mount Meru's golden mass shall melt at that
last awful day, Kind Fortane, seek some other love, I long The monster-peopled seas dry up, the earth disnot for thy dower ;
solve away; And what to those whose lusts are dead avails What hope for feeble human frames, whose thy golden shower ?
breath doth come and go, Leave me to beg from day to day my dole of As swiftly as the elephant flaps his ear to barley-meal,
and fro ? The fig's broad leaf supplies a dish that none would care to steal.
When, when, o Śiva, shall I be
Lonely and calm, from passion free; Once I was thou, and thou wast I
My only robe the liberal air, In perfect union blent;
My hand the dish that holds my fare, Say, what hath severed friendship's tie.
But able Action to uproot, And sonls asunder rent ?
The tree that bears Life's bitter fruit.
Why sidelong cast thy languid eyne ? Vain is thy hope to tangle mine, My nature's changed, no more a child With every wanton toy beguiled, To cloistered cell I'd fain withdraw; This world's bright nets I count but straw.
Suppose thy fortunes boundless as the main, Suppose thy years a world's great age com
plete, Suppose thy foes all placed beneath thy feet, And friends rewarded richly : Where's thy gain?
'Tis sweet in palaces to dwell, Where music's strains voluptuous swell; 'Tis sweet to hear the loved one's voice ; But wise men, of deliberate choice, Have run from these to forest glades, Assured all earthly pleasure fades, Swift as the 'moth in heedless game Puffs out the taper's feeble flame..
The hermit's tattered patchwork robe, or court
ier's silken weeds, One wife to tend thy home, or troops of ele
phants and steeds, One simple meal at close of day, or many a
gorgeous feast, It matters not, be but thy soul from earthly
cares released.
Are roots extinct in mountain caves ? have
streams forgot to flow? Do vests of bark and woodland fruits on trees no
longer grow? Else why endure the haughty mien and eye.
brows arched in scorn Of men who've scraped together wealth to
which they were not born ?
My faith in Siva wavereth not, I shrink from
future birth, I care not for my friends or kin, I scorn the
joys of earth, I love the lonely forest-glades, from worldly
turmoil free, No greater bliss can fall to man than falleth
anto me.
