Culled among the plumes of pine-trees,
Scented from the vines and flowers,
Whispered to me as I followed
Flocks in land of honeyed meadows,
Over hillocks green and golden,
After sable-haired Murikki,

And the many-colored Kimmo.
Many runes the cold has told me,
Many lays the rain has brought me,
Other songs the winds have sung me;
Many birds from many forests,
Oft have sung me lays in concord;
Waves of sea, and ocean billows,

Music from the many waters,
Music from the whole creation,

Oft have been my guide and master.

Sentences the trees created,

Rolled together into bundles,

Moved them to my ancient dwelling,
On the sledges to my cottage,
Tied them to my garret rafters,
Hung them on my dwelling-portals,

Laid them in a chest of boxes,
Boxes lined with shining copper.
Long they lay within my dwelling
Through the chilling winds of winter,
In my dwelling-place for ages.

Shall I bring these songs together?
From the cold and frost collect them?
Shall I bring this nest of boxes,
Keepers of these golden legends,
To the table in my cabin,
Underneath the painted rafters,

In this house renowned and ancient ?
Shall I now these boxes open,
Boxes filled with wondrous stories?
Shall I now the end unfasten

Of this ball of ancient wisdom?
These ancestral lays unravel?
Let me sing an old-time legend,
That shall echo forth the praises
Of the beer that I have tasted,
Of the sparkling beer of barley.
Bring to me a foaming goblet

Of the barley of my fathers,
Lest my singing grow too weary,
Singing from the water only.

Bring me too a cup of strong beer;
It will add to our enchantment,
To the pleasure of the evening,
Northland's long and dreary evening,
For the beauty of the day-dawn,
For the pleasure of the morning,
The beginning of the new day.

Often I have heard them chanting,
Often I have heard them singing,
That the nights come to us singly,
That the Moon beams on us singly,
That the Sun shines on us singly;
Singly also, Wainamoinen,
The renowned and wise enchanter,
Born from everlasting Ether

Of his mother, Ether's daughter.

These beautiful lines from the prologue may aptly be followed by the last lines from the rune of Mariatta, which describe the passing of the hero, Wainamoinen.

As the years passed, Wainamoinen
Recognized his waning powers:
Empty-handed, heavy-hearted,
Sang his farewell song to Northland,
To the people of Wainola;
Sang himself a boat of copper.
Beautiful his bark of magic;
At the helm sat the magician,
Sat the ancient wisdom-singer.
Westward, westward, sailed the hero
O'er the blue-black of the waters,
Singing as he left Wainola,

This his plaintive song and echo:-
"Suns may rise and set in Suomi,

Rise and set for generations,

When the North will learn my teachings,

Will recall my wisdom-sayings,

Hungry for the true religion.

Then will Suomi need my coming,

Watch for me at dawn of morning,

That I may bring back the Sampo,

Bring anew the harp of joyance,
Bring again the golden moonlight,
Bring again the silver sunshine,
Peace and plenty to the Northland."
Thus the ancient Wainamoinen,
In his copper-banded vessel,
Left his tribe in Kalevala,

Sailing o'er the rolling billows,
Sailing through the azure vapors,
Sailing through the dusk of evening,
Sailing to the fiery sunset,

To the higher-landed regions,
To the lower verge of heaven;
Quickly gained the far horizon,
Gained the purple-colored harbor.
There his bark he firmly anchored,
Rested in his boat of copper;
But he left his harp of magic,
Left his songs and wisdom-sayings,

To the lasting joy of Suomi.

Truly, Wainamoinen has left his songs and wisdom-sayings in the heart and in the brain of his people, of which the 'Kalevala' is the mirror.

Wilan Sharpe

KĀLIDĀSA

(Presumably, Sixth Century A. D.)

BY A. V. WILLIAMS JACKSON

ALIDĀSA is the poet in Sanskrit literature whose name may best be compared with Shakespeare. No less an authority than Sir William Jones styled him "the Indian Shakespeare" when he made Kālidāsa's name known to the Western World by translating his romantic play Çakuntala' into English. Çakuntala' has ever been a magic word for enchantment since Goethe, with somewhat of a poet's ecstasy, wrote those oft-quoted lines which may be rendered:—

(

(

"Would'st thou tell of the blossoms of Spring, and paint the ripe fruits of the Autumn,

All that may charm and delight with fullness and joy manifold;

Would'st thou combine in one word the enchantments of Earth and of

Heaven,

I'll name, O Çakuntalā, thee; in thy name alone all is told.”

Or as the original stanza runs:

"Willst du die Blüthe des frühen, die Früchte des späteren Jahres,
Willst du was reizt und entzückt, willst du was sättigt und nährt,
Willst du den Himmel, die Erde mit Einem Namen begreifen,
Nenn ich, Sakuntala, dich, und so ist Alles gesagt."

The same enthusiasm for Kālidāsa and 'Çakuntalā' is echoed in the writings of Schiller, and by many writers who have since found much to admire in this poet of medieval India.

Respecting the life of this gifted playwright and lyrical writer, however, we have little if any authentic information. The era in which he lived has been the subject of much discussion. The native tradition favors the first century B. C. as the time when he flourished; but the consensus of scholarly opinion points to the middle of the sixth century A. D. as probably the time when Kālidāsa lived and wrote at the court of King Vikramaditya. Vikrama's reign was a renaissance period in Sanskrit letters, and Kālidāsa's name is spoken of as one of "the nine jewels" of Vikrama's throne; and his work is closely associated with the literary revival, as is shown under 'Indian

Literature' in the present volumes. The poet's graphic and beautiful descriptions of the city Ujjain, and his familiarity with court life, show that he probably enjoyed for a long time the patronage of his royal protector; although the epilogue of his drama Vikramorvaçi' seems to indicate straitened circumstances. The poet's fondness for the Himalayas and mountain pictures, combined with other facts, seems to point toward a Kashmir home. There is reason to believe that he had traveled somewhat. Certain characteristics of his own nature, moreover, are undoubtedly reflected in the tenderness, grace, beauty, delicacy, and passionate feeling that is found in his poetry. There is a story that like Marlowe, his death was violent,-that he perished by the hand of a woman, who to win a monarch's favor, claimed one of Kalidasa's improvised verses as her own, and murdered the poet lest the truth should be discovered. But enough of such gossip! This graceful, sensitive, yet thoroughly manly poet is firm and secure in his title to noble and lasting fame.

Kalidasa's renown does not rest alone on his dramatic work, but it rests also upon his lyrical, descriptive, and narrative poetry. Of his three dramas, 'Çakuntala,' 'Vikramorvaçi,' and 'Malavikāgnimitra, the last named is probably the earlier in point of composition. There is no reason to doubt Kalidasa's authorship. It is a play written on the conventional lines of several Hindu dramas which followed it, a play of court life and romantic incident. The love of King Agnimitra for the dancing-girl Mālavikā, a handmaid to the queen, forms its subject. In spite of the opposition of the queen and the jealousy of a younger consort, the king finds an opportunity to express his admiration; and after many amusing or distressing incidents the girl is found to be a princess in disguise, and all ends happily in union and general reconciliation. The scene in which the fair Mālavikā exhibits her skill in dancing before the king and queen, with the revered Buddhist nun as referee in judging which of the two rival professors has proved himself the better teacher, is quite cleverly arranged, and a selection from it is given below. As the plot is confined to court life and to social intercourse in the palace, the play forms a contrast to the 'Çakuntala,' in which the plot is partly engaged with the supernatural; or a contrast again to the 'Vikramorvaçı' (Nymph Won by Heroism), in which the mythical, marvelous, and supermundane abound. The plots of the two latter plays are described under 'Indian Literature'; and the comments that are made here are added simply by way of supplementing the main points there presented regarding Kālidāsa as a dramatic poet.

In the field of the romantic epopee, Kālidāsa ranks first in his 'Raghuvança,' or 'Line of Raghu,' —a poem in eighteen cantos tracing the descendants of the solar kings, or the line from which the