Where many trees mingled their grateful shade,
And many blossoms blended sweet perfumes;
And there, under a drooping vakul-tree,
A bower of roses and sweet jasmine vines,
Within a couch, without a banquet spread,
While near a fountain with its falling spray
Ruffled the surface of a shining pool,
Whose liquid cadence mingled with the songs
Of many birds concealed among the trees.

And there three seeming sister graces were,[2]
Fair as young Venus rising from the sea,
The one in seeming childlike innocence
Bathed in the pool, while her low liquid laugh
Rung sweet and clear; and one her vina tuned,
And as she played, the other lightly danced,
Clapping her hands, tinkling her silver bells,
Whose gauzy silken garments seemed to show
Rather than hide her slender, graceful limbs.
And she who played the vina sweetly sang;

"Come to our bower and take your rest--
Life is a weary road at best.
Eat, for your board is richly spread;
Drink, for your wine is sparkling red;
Rest, for the weary day is past;
Sleep, for the shadows gather fast.
Tune not your vina-strings too high,
Strained they will break and the music die.
Come to our bower and take your rest--