Him Chandra wished to wed, and in her breast
With silent hope her love for him kept warm.
The years sped on, the father fondly dreamt
She soon would be the queen of two proud realms,
The mother that her future lord would be
Both king and minister of state. Meanwhile
Fair Chandra and her noble Timmaraj
Longed for the consummation of their love.
A flower there is, the fairest flower in Ind,
A flower beloved by poets of all time,
Whose beauties lovers ever love to tell,
And liken oft to woman's thousand charms.
This flower, the stately lotus of our Ind,
Its petals closes to the moon at eve,
And all its beauties hides through silent night,
But with the rising of the morning sun
Opens and swells, its beauty full displays,
And sweetest fragrance breathes when fiercest beat
The rays. E'en so fair Chandra, though oft told
She womanhood had long ago attained,
And soon must wed one worthy of her race,
Nought heeded when alternate to her view
Were brought the prowess of the neighbouring king,
The wisdom of the pilot of the state.
To wean her love from noble Timmaraj,
He forth was sent against his country's foes,
With his small band to fall, and ne'er return.
But oft as he was sent, as often he
Returned victorious with fresh laurels gained.
And when the bards before the king and queen