1
The minstrel came to Junagarhand here took out his lyre;With his entrancing melodieshe did all hearts inspire;With his bewitching magic-stringshe set whole town on fire-But palace-servants, princesses,were struck with anguish dire;"That Raja's head was bard's desire,lute spoke in accents clear."
2
The bard at though a living stringplayed with humility;The Raja in his palace fine,to hear him did agree;He mercifully called him in,and met him graciously-Then prince and bard, one harmony,one single 'self' became!
3
"I travelled many foreign lands,and have arrived today;Poor minstrel I, no tresures cravebut for your life I pray-To win this favour, let me play,Oh Sir, the time is short.-"
4
"Leaving all other doors, O kingI wandered to your door!Blest Sorth's husband, see my needa beggar doth implore,His empty apron fill once moreand happiness restore!"
5
The king sat on his glistening dais,the bard below him played;The faintest note of music sweetup to the Raja sped-To private folks that could not comethe minstrel too was led;-Fine horses were produced, rare gems,before the bard were spread,Who said: "no wealth like this, but headof Raja do I claim!"
6
No jewels can the mistrel pleaseno wealth, no property-From riches and from great rewardsHis only wish is, near to bethe giver of this wealth.
7
prince said: "I'll gladly sacrificeMy head for thee O Bard,Although this is a small rewardFor all thy music's worth...
8
"Were I to own a hundred headsAnd weigh them with thy strings-Behold the scale, how down it swingsOn side of strings divine!
9
"O Friend, my head is only bone:An empty, empty bone-If thousand heads my neck would ownI'll cut them all for thee!"
10
The strings, the dagger and the neckwere reconciled all thee-King said: "nought is so lovely thanyour wish to come to me,My head you craved...most heartilyI do thank God for that..."
11
"But singer, it astounded me,That while you played your strain.How could its sweetness you surviveAnd could alive remain?Last night, my being all in twainwas by your music cut."
II
12
The flower of Girnar plucked;The town is plunged in mourn and pain,Hundreds like Sorath stand and raiseTheir lamentations all in vain-The minstrel, holding lock, receivesThe prince's head adorned again-While virgins chant the sad refrain;"Last night the Raja passed away."
13
Sorath is dead; and all is peace-Ruler removed his tents-There are no singings and no shows,no tuneful elementss.-And after this, artist presentsThe head again to king!
14
Sorath is dead, and all is peace-Raja pitches his tents;Music is heard again...the showgoes on with merriments-Echo sounds song's sweet sentiments...Behold, the happy king!
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