a virgin pair—"a bonny youth and maiden fair." About these a bevy of from twenty to sixty women of all ages circle round and round, taking up a refrain, and often repeating in chorus a verse sung by one and, at times, two women, keeping time to clap of hands. These garbás are evanescent scintillations of the genius of Dayarám, the Byron of Gujarát. The hero of the songs is Krishna, the lord of 16,000 gopikás,[1] who are maddened by love of him, who are drawn to the "nourisher of our souls" by the enchanting tones of his murli[2] in the by-lanes of Brindaban, and who fly to him at early morn—one "slipping from her husband's side," another "leaving the morning duties undone," and a third without "suckling her babe," all with tumultuous delight, panting, perspiring, and half naked! There, in the wilderness of unbought love, they meet him, the "soul-subduer," and in converse with him their souls "drink delight." This legend is asserted to be no more than a poetical portraiture of the passionate yearning the soul feels towards her Maker—a feeling that surpasses in intenseness the love we feel for
