THE LAY OF SAINT LINGO. 



193 



"VVhy so sadly she was grieving. 

 Soon she told her little grievance, 

 How her pleasant-smelling Gonds 



had 

 Disappeared from Dcwalgiri. 



Then Bhagwantal sent and told her 

 He would try if he could find 



them ; 

 And betook him to his swinging, 

 And bethought him how to do it. 



IL— THE COMING OF LINGO. 



On the mountain Lingawangad, 

 Grew the flowering-tree Pahindi. 

 Flowers budding, still unopened. 

 Yellow fl.owers of the Pahindi, 

 Saw the King of Gods Bhag- 



wantal ; 

 Saw and thought him of the 



Koitor, 

 "Wandering sadly in the moun- 

 tains, 

 Pining deep in Dewalgiri ; 

 Saw, and came as comes a rain- 

 cloud, 

 Spreading fanlike, camein thunder. 

 Lightning flashed, the sky was 



darkened, 

 Thus the God came to the Flower. 

 Darkness spread around her cover, 

 Gently oped the flower her 



blossom, 

 Softly fell the quickening shower — 

 Thus conceived the flower Pahindi. 

 In the fourth watch of the night 

 time 

 Fell a heap of yellow safi'ron ; 

 Fell beneath the tree Pahindi. 

 Morning dawned, the clouds Avere 



oi:)ened ; 

 Thundering still the clouds were 



opened. 

 Burst the yellow flower Pahindi, 

 Cracking burst it in the sunlight. 

 Sprang to life from it my Lingo, 

 Sprang into the heap of safi'ron ; 

 Sat and wept among the satfron. 

 Till his tears the God Paternal 

 Dried with sprinkling of the 

 saffron ; 



Sent the Giilar tree beside him, 

 Honey dropping from its branches, 

 Dropped it in the mouth of Lingo. 

 Sweetness drinking then he cried 



not. 

 Blew around him noontide 



zephyrs ; 

 Grew my Lingo in their breathing. 

 In a God-sent swing reposing 

 Gently slept he till the evening. 

 Purest water may be stained ; 

 Stainless all and pure was Lingo. 

 Diamond sparkled on his navel ; 

 On his forehead beamed the Tika, 

 Mark divine of fragrant sandal, 

 Mark of godhead in my Lingo. 

 Playing grew he in the safFron, 

 Swinging slept he in his cradle, 

 Honey sucking, nothing eating 

 Of the wild fruits in the forest. 

 Nine years old became my 



Lingo, 

 "When his soul began to wonder 

 Whether all alone his lot was 

 In that forest shade primeval. 

 There no wild deer cropped the 



herbage. 

 Manlike form there none appearM; 

 Somewhere they must be, thought 



Lingo ; 

 I will seek them, I may find them. 

 Then he rose and wandered on- 

 wards, 

 Wandered on by brook and 



meadow. 

 Through the forest shade primeval, 

 Till before him rose a mountain, 

 Mountain pointed like a needle. 

 o 



