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308
THE INDIAN ANTIQUARY.
[NOVEMBER, 1906.
Chhér na mains, maki de. Maii ap ajurdi, Jo likhi kalam hai, mahi ve, Oh kadhi na murdi.
Bol bambia, &c. Já tin chaléais, & mihi ud, Main khari baruhé. Miri lögain di hajat, máhire, Le chaléas tues.
B2! bambia, &c. Nil namashau, mahi ved, Phil den aráin. Phal são lênds, maki vé, Jide kinnit atthin.
Bol bambia, &c. Sådde kaunt pardasi, mahi ve, Bha phuldi ná landi. Már musalla, mahi ve, Téré pattan té bahindi.
Bol bambia, &c. Meré sárvalin hathin, mahi ve, Rang layâ mahndi. Mör muhárás, máhire, Main dukh nahin saindi.
Bol bambia, &c. Shahrăn nikli, máhf ve, Main phiran udalli. Na pattan beri, mahi ve, Na táng savalli.
Ból bambia, &c. Main mangan duáin, mahi ve, Rabb tainn ghalle. Ulanwald, máhi ne, Lad gayê bê khabare.
Bol bambia, &c. Peyå vachhöra, mahi ve: Tainán kéhra phere? Main bhainiais vangán, mühi ve. Pichhé rah gaye gojrê. Teré milan sunehe, mahi ve, Main när jaldi sajre.
Bol bambia, &c. Vagnú purda, mahi vé; Kyun dénan lord ? Marji Rabb di, mahi ve, Hun kéhrá more.
Ból bambia, &c. Vagna puréa, mahi ve; Kyun atnan toián ? Tere badle, máhí ve, Bari ajy héián.
Bol bambia, &c.
Do not tease me, my love, I am already sad, The written fate, my love, Cannot be averted.
Sings the nightingale, &c. If you go, my love, I stand on the threshold. The strength of my limbs, my love, You take away with you.
Sings the nightingale, &c. At even time, my love, The gardeners give flowers. Only those buy flowers, my love, Whose husbands are at home.
Sings the nightingale, &c. My husband is a stranger, my love, Let me burn the flowers. As one sits on a cushion, my love, I would sit in your lap.
Sings the nightingale, &c. My white hands, my love, A re dyed with mehndi. Turn the reins of your camels, my love, cannot bear the pain.
Sings the nightingale, &c. I go out of the city, my love, Wandering alone on account of you. I cannot find a boat at the forry, my love, Nor any other means.
Sings the nightingale, &c. I pray to God, my love, To send you. The drivers my love, Left without a word.
Sings the nightingale, &c. Fate has decreed separation, my love : Who will make you come back ? I have broken my glass bangles, my love. Ooly shoddy ones are left. . Your messages reach me, my love, Fresh every day.
Sings the nightingale, &c. The East Wind blows, my love; Why singest thou to me God's will, my love, Cannot be changed.
Sings the nightingale, &e. The East Wind blows, my love; Why does it soil the fringe of my shawl? For thee, my love, I grieve greatly.
Sings the nightingale, &c.
She asks why the East Wind should come with comfort and sleep-inducing influence, when she cannot sleep for sorrow that her hngband bas left bis home. Rain oomes with it and ber shawl is soiled, but her husband does not come.
