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Dreary and frail,Bursting the veil,

WATER-FETCHING goes the nobleBrahmin's wife, so pure and lovely;He is honour'd, void of blemish.And of justice rigid, stern.Daily from the sacred riverBrings she back refreshments precious;--But where is the pail and pitcher?She of neither stands in need.For with pure heart, hands unsullied,She the water lifts, and rolls itTo a wondrous ball of crystalThis she bears with gladsome bosom,Modestly, with graceful motion,To her husband in the house.