Wilt Thou Leave Me?

Mingling in grace with me, O rider of the bull, Thou mad’st me Thine.
But wilt Thou leave me? Thou whose form in the fierce tiger's skin is clad,
Uttarakōsamaṅgai old has Thee for king. O lord of mine
With matted hair, hold Thou me up; for I am weary grown and sad.

Set in the marge of flowing stream that eats its banks away, the tree
Shakes to its fall; and thus am I, my sense bewitch’d by maids’ dark eyes.
Uttarakōsamaṅgai's king, spouse of gem-vested Pārvati,
Who dwell'st in Ārūr holy, O protector, for my help arise.

In ignorance I spurned thy grace. Dost Thou, my gem, now me despise,
And wilt thou leave me? O destroy my sum of deeds and make me thine.
Uttarakōsamaṅgai's king, ’tis surely true, the great and wise,
When only little curs play false, to mercy ever will incline.

With none to cheer me from my fear, far have I wandered wearily,
O Lightning-like, and wilt Thou leave me? If I truly thee compare,
Uttarakōsamaṅgai's king, I find naught else resembling Thee;
But a true father, mother dear art Thou to me, my treasure rare.

Whether I praise or curse Thee, still I'm stained with sin and sorrowing.
Yet, wilt Thou leave me? Splendour shining like the red-hued coral mount,
Master, thou drankest poison black, the humbler beings pitying,
That I, Thy meanest one, might find no poison, but a nectar fount.