mountain top, was rushing down the slope of the hill in streams, covering Shaibalini up to her thigh.
Nature, Thou all-powerful mistress of the dead elements, before Thee humanity must fall prostrate to pay its tribute of homage and admiration! Thou hast no mercy, no love, no affection in Thee—Thou shrinkest not to destroy life—Thou art the parent of endless misery, yet the world is indebted to Thee for what it is; for Thou art at the same time the fountain head of all joy and happiness, the dispenser of all blessings, the distributer of weal and the fulfiller of all hopes and aspirations—Thou art perfect! Before Thee, therefore, the world must bow down in veneration. Oh, Thou dreadful, or what Thou art we know not! only last night Thou hadst appeared before the world with a glorious moon shining on Thy forehead and a superb crown of the sparkling stars, adorning Thy head, and moved the universe with thy all-captivating smile; Thou hadst knitted a beautiful wreath with the waving ripples of the flowing Bhagirathi, and hadst suspended against each of them a moon; again, Thou hadst given the brilliancy of diamonds to each particle of sand, on the river shore, and made the youthful pair happy, by floating them in the blue
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