Savitri was the only childOf Madra's wise and mighty king;Stern warriors, when they saw her, smiled, As mountains smile to see the spring.Fair as a lotus when the moonKisses its opening petals red, After sweet showers in sultry June!With happier heart, and lighter tread, Chance strangers, having met her, past, And often would they turn the headA lingering second look to cast, And bless the vision ere it fled.What was her own peculiar charm?The soft black eyes, the raven hair, The curving neck, the rounded arm, All these are common everywhere.Her charm was this-upon her faceChildlike and innocent and fair, No man with thought impure or baseCould ever look;-the glory there, The sweet simplicity and grace, Abashed the boldest; but the goodGod's purity there loved to trace, Mirrored in dawning womanhood.In those far-off primeval daysFair India's daughters were not pentIn closed zenanas. On her waysSavitri at her pleasure wentWhither she chose, -and hour by hourWith young companions of her age, She roamed the woods for fruit or flower, Or loitered in some hermitage, For to the Munis gray and oldHer presence was as sunshine glad, They taught her wonders manifoldAnd gave her of the best they had.Her father let her have her wayIn all things, whether high or low;He feared no harm; he knew no illCould touch a nature pure as snow.Long childless, as a priceless boonHe had obtained this child at lastBy prayers, made morning, night, and noonWith many a vigil, many a fast;Would Shiva his own gift recall, Or mar its perfect beauty ever?-No, he had faith, -he gave her allShe wished, and feared and doubted never.And so she wandered where she pleasedIn boyish freedom. Happy time!No small vexations ever teased, Nor crushing sorrows dimmed her prime.One care alone, her father felt-Where should he find a fitting mateFor one so pure?-His thoughts long dweltOn this as with his queen he sate."Ah, whom, dear wife, should we select?""Leave it to God," she answering cried,"Savitri, may herself electSome day, her future lord and guide."Months passed, and lo, one summer mornAs to the hermitage she wentThrough smiling fields of waving corn, She saw some youths on sport intent, Sons of the hermits, and their peers, And one among them tall and litheRoyal in port, -on whom the yearsConsenting, shed a grace so blithe, So frank and noble, that the eyeWas loth to quit that sun-browned face;She looked and looked, -then gave a sigh, And slackened suddenly her pace.What was the meaning-was it love?Love at first sight, as poets sing, Is then no fiction? Heaven aboveIs witness, that the heart its kingFinds often like a lightning flash;We play, -we jest, -we have no care, -When hark a step, -there comes no crash, -But life, or silent slow despair.Their eyes just met, -Savitri pastInto the friendly Muni's hut, Her heart-rose opened had at la