She spoke, and by his words relieved, The food from Indra's hand received. Yet ere she ate the balm he brought, On Lakshman and her lord she thought. ' If my brave lord be still alive, If valiant Lakshman yet survive, May this my taste of heavenly food Bring health to them, and bliss renewed!'
She ate, and that celestial food Stayed hunger, thirst, and lassitude, And all her strength restored. Great joy her hopeful spirit stirred At the glad tidings newly heard Of Lakshman and her lord. And Indra's heart was joyful too: He bade the Maithil dame adieu, His saving errand done. With Sleep beside him parting thence He sought his heavenly residence To prosper Raghu's son.
CANTO LVIII.
THE BROTHERS' MEETING.
When Rama's deadly shaft had struck The giant in the seeming buck. The chief tain turned him from the place His homeward way again to trace. Then as he hastened onward, fain To look upon his spouse again, Behind him from a thicket nigh Rang out a jackal's piercing cry. Alarmed he heard the startling shriek That raised his hair and dimmed his cheek, And all his heart was filled with doubt As the shrill jackal's cry rang out: ' Alas, some dire disaster seems Portended by the jackal's screams. O may the Maithil dame be screened From outrage of each hungry tiend!
THE RAM AY AN.
THE RAM AY AN.
Book III.
Alas, if Laksbman chanced to hear That bitter 017 of woe and fear What time Marie ha, as he died, With voice that mocked ray accents cried, Swift to my side the prince would flee And quit the dame to succour me.
Too well I see the demon hand The slaughter of my love have planned.
Me far from home and Sita's view The seeming deer Maricha drew.
He led me far through brake and dell Till wounded by my shaft he fell, And as he sank rang out his cry, * O save me, Lakshman, or I die.'
May it be well with both who stayed In the great wood with none to aid, For every fiend is now my foe For Janasthan's great overthrow, And many an omen seen to-day Has filled my heart with sore dismay.'
Such were the thoughts and sad surmise Of Rama at the jackal's cries, And all his heart within him burned As to his cot his steps he turned. He pondered on the deer that led His feet to follow where it fled, And sad with many a bitter thought His home in Janasthan he sought. His soul was dark with woe and fear When flocks of birds and troops of deer Move round him from the left, and raised Discordant voices as they gazed. The omens which the chieftain viewed The terror of his soul renewed, When lo, to meet him Lakshman sped With brows whence all the light had fled. Near and more near the princes came, Each brother's heart and look the same; Alike on each sad visage lay The signs of misery and dismay, Then Rama by his terror moved His brother for his fault reproved In leaving Sita far from aici In the wild wood where giants strayed. Lakshman's left hand he took, and then In gentle tones the nrinoe of men, Though sharp and nerce their tenour ran, Thus to his brother chief began: * 0 Lakshman, thou art much to blame Leaving alone the Maithil dame, And flying hither to my side: O, may no ill my spouse betide!
But ah, I know my wife is dead, And giants on her limbs have fed, So strange, so terrible are all The omens which my heart appal.
O Lakshman. may we yet return The safety of my love to learn.
To find the child of Janak still Alive and free from scathe and ill!
Each bird? with notes of warning screams, Though the hot sun still darts his beams, The moan of deer, the jackal's yell Of some o'er whelming misery tell. O mighty brother, still may she, My princess, live from danger free! That semblance of a golden deer Allured me far away, I followed nearer and more near, And longed to take the prey. I followed where the quarry fled: My deadly arrow flew, And as the dying creature bled, The giant met my view. Great rear and pain oppress my heart That dreads the coming blow, And through my left eye keenly dart The throbs that herald woe. Ah Lakshman, all these signs dismay.
My soul that sinks with dread, I know my love is torn away, Or, haply, she is dead/ CANTO LIX.
RAMA'S BBTUKN.
When Rama saw his brother stand With none beside him, all unmanned, Eager he questioned why he came So far without the Maithil dame: • Where is my wife, my darling, she Who to the wild wood followed me? Where hast thou left my lady, where The dame who chose my lot to share? Where is my love who balms my woe As through the forest wilds I go, Unkinged and banished and disgraced,— My darling of the dainty waist? She nerves my spirit for the strife, She, only she gives zest to life, Dear as my breath is she who vies In charms with daughters of the skies. If Janak's child be mine no more, In splendour fair as virgin ore, The lordship of the skies and earth To me were prize of little worth. Ah, lives she yet, the Maithil dame, Dear as the soul within this frame? O, let not all my toil be vain, The banishment, the woe and pain! 0. let not dark Kaikeyi win The guerdon of her tejacherous sin, If, Sita lost, my days I end, And thou without me homeward wend 1 (3, let not good Kausalya shed N Her bitter tears to mourn me dead, Nor her proud rival's best obey, Strong in her son and queenly sway! Back to my cot will I repair If Sita live to greet me there, THE RAM AY AN.
But if my wife have perished* I Kef t of my love will surely die, 0 Lakshman. if I seek my eot, Look tor my love and liud her not Sweet welcome with her smile to give?
1 tell thee, I will cease to live.
0 answer, — let thy words be plain, — Lives Sita yet, or is she slain? Didst thou thy sacred trust betray Till ravening giants seized the prey? Ah me, so young, so soft and fair, Lapped in all bliss, untried by care, Kent from her own dear husband, how Will she support her misery now?
That voice, O Lakshman smote thine ear, And filled, I ween, thy heart with fear, When on thy name for succour cried The treacherous giant ere he died. That voice too like mine own, I ween, Was heard by the Videhan queen. She bade thee seek my side to aid, And quickly was the hest obeyed, But ah, thy fault I needs must blame, To leave alone the helpless dame, And let the cruel giants sate The fury of their murderous hate. Those blood-devouring demons all Grieve in their souls for Khara's fall, And Sita, none to guard her side, Torn by their cruel hands has died.
1 sink, O tamer of thy foes, Deep in the sea of whelming woes. What can I now? I must endure The mighty grief that mocks at cure.1 Thus, all his thoughts on Sita bent, To Janasthan the chieftain went, Hastening on with eager stride, And Lakshman hurried by his side. With toil and thirst and hunger worn, His breast with doubt and anguish torn, He sought the well-known spot. Again, again he turned to chide With quivering lips which terror dried: He looked, and found her not. Within his leafy home he sped, Each pleasant spot he visited Where oft his darling strayed. 'Tis as 1 feared', he cried, and there, Yielding to pangs too great to bear, He sank by grief dismayed.
CANTO LX.
LAKSHMAN REPROVED, But Rama ceased not to upbraid His brother for untimely aid, And thus, while anguish wrung his breast, The chief with eager question pressed: 4 Why, Lakshman, didst thou hurry hence And leave my wife without defence? I left her in the wood with thee, And deemed her safe from jeopardy. When first thy form appeared in view, I marked that Sita come not too. With woe my troubled soul was rent, Prophetic of the dire event. Thy coming steps afar I spied, I saw no Sita by thy side. And felt a sudden throbbing dart Through my left eye, and arm, and heart.' Lakshman, with Fortune's marks im- pressed," His brother mournfully addressed: * Not by my heart's free impulse led, Leaving thy wife to thee I sped; But by her keen reproaches sent, 0 Kama, to thine aid I went. She heard afar a mournful cry, 1 O save me. Lakshman, or I die.' The voice that spoke in moving tone Smote on her ear and seemed thine own. Soon as those accents reached her ear She yielded to her woe ami fear, She wept o'ercome by grief, and cried, * Fly. Lakshman, fly to R&ma's side.' Though many a* time she bade me speed, Her urgent prayer I would not heed.
I bade her in thy strength confide, And thus with tender words replied; ' No giant roams the forest shade From whom thy lord need shrink dismayed.
No human voice, believe me, spoke Those words thy causeless fear that woke.
Can he whose might can save in woe The heavenly Gods e'er stoop so low, And with those piteous accents call For succour like a caitiff thrall?
And why should wandering giants choose The accents of thy lord to use, In alien tones my help to crave, And cry aloud. O Lakshman, save?
Now let my words thy spirit cheer, Compose thy thoughts and banish fear.
In hell, in earth, or in the skies There is not, and there cannot rise A champion whose strong arm can slay Thy Rama in the battle fray.
To heavenly hosts he ne'er would yield Though Indra led them to the field.'
To soothe her thus I vainly sought: Her heart with woe was still distraught.
While from her eyes the waters ran Her bitter speech she thus began: * Too well I see thy dark intent; Thy lawless thoughts on me are bent.
Thou hopest, but thy hope is vain, To win my love, thy brother slain.
Not love, but Bharat's dark decree To share his exile counselled thee, THE RAM AY AN.
Boole III.
Or hearing now his bitter cry Thou surely to his aid wouldst fly. For love of me, a stealthy foe Thou choosest by his side to go, And now thou longest that my lord Should die. and wilt no help afford.'
Such were the words the lady said: With angry tire my eyes were red. With pale lips quivering in my rage I hastened from the hermitage.' He ceased; and frenzied by his pain The son of llaghu spoke again: * O brother, for thy fault I grieve, The Maithil dame alone to leave. Thou knowest that my arm is strong To save me from the giant throng, And yet couldst leave the cottage, spurred To folly by her angry word. For this thy deed I praise thee not,— To leave her helpless in the cot, And thus thy sacred charge forsake For the wild words a woman spake. Yea thou art all to blame herein, And very grievous is thy sin. That anger swayed thy 'faithless breast And made thee false to my behest. An arrow speeding from my bow Has laid the treacherous giant low, Who lured me eager for the chase Far from my hermit dwelling-place. The string with easy hand I drew, The arrow as in pastime iiew, The wounded quarry bled. The borrowed form was cast away, Before, mine eyes a giant lay With bright gold braceleted. My arrow smote him in the chest: The giant by the pain distressed liaised his loud voice on high. Far rang the mournful sound; mine own, It seemed, were accent, voice, and tone, They made thee leave my spouse alone And to my rescue fly.'
CANTO LXI.
KAMA'S LAMENT.
As Rama sought his leafy cot Through his left eye keen th robbings shot, His wonted strength his frame forsook, And all his body reeled and shook. Still on those dreadful signs he thought,— Sad omens with disaster fraught, And from his troubled heart he cried, 4 O, may no ill my spouse betide! ' Longing to gaze on Sita's face He hastened to his dwelling-place, Then sinking neath his misery's weight, Tossing his mighty arms on high He sought her with an eager cry.
From spot to spot he wildly ran Each corner of his home to scan.
He looked, but Ska was not there; His cot was disolate and bare, Like streamlet in the winter frost, The glory of her lilies lost.
With leafy tears the sad trees «vept As a wild wind their branches swept.
Mourned bird and deer, and every flower Drooped fainting round the lonely bower.
The silvan deities had fled The spot where all the light was dead, Where hermit coats of skin displayed, And piles of sacred grass were laid, He saw, and maddened by his pain Cried in lament again, again: ' Where is she, dead or torn away, Lost, or some hungry giant's prey?
Or did my darling chance to rove For fruit and blossoms though the grove?
Or has she sought the pool or rill, Her pitcher from the wave to fill?'
His eager eyes on fire with pain He roamed about with maddened brain.
Each grove and glade he searched' with care, He sought, but fouiid no Sita there.
He wildly rushed from hill to hill; From tree to tree, from rill to rill.
As bitter woe his bosom rent Still Rama roamed with fond lament: ' (.) sweet Kadamba. say has she Who loved thy bloom been seeu by thee?
If thou have seen her f t\ce most fair, Say, gentle tree, 1 pray thee, where.
O Bel tree with thy golden fruit Hound as her breast, no more be mute.
Where is my radiant darling, gay In silk that mocks thy glossy spray?
O Arjun, say, where is she now Who loved to touch thy scented bough?
Do not thy graceful friend forget, But tell me, is she living yet?
Speak, Basil, thou must surely know, For like her limbs thy branches show,— Most lovely in thy fair array Of twining plant and tender spray.
Sweet Tila, fairest of the trees, Melodious with the hum of bees, Where is my darling Sita, tell,— The dame who loved thy flowers so well?
Asoka, act thy gentle part,— Named Heartsease,1 give me what thou art, To these sad eyes my darling show And free me from this load of woe.
O Palm, in rich ripe fruitage dressed Hound as the beauties of her breast.
1 Asoka is compounded of a not and &nlt.n, trrief.
Canto LX1L THE RAM AY AN.
If thou have heart to know and feel, My peerless consort's fate reveal. Hast thou, Rose-apple, chanced to view My darling bright with golden hue? If^ thou have seen her quickly speak, Where is the dame I wildly seek 1 O glorious Cassia,, thou art gay With all thy loveliest bloom to-day, Where is my dear who loved to hold In her,f ull lap thy flowery gold? ' To many a tree and plant beside, To Jasmin, Mango, Sal, he cried. ' Say, iiast thou seen, O gentle deer, The fawn-eyed Sita wandering here? It may be that my love has strayed To sport with fawns beneath the shade, If thou, great elephant, have seen My darling of the lovely mien, Whose rounded limbs are soft and fine Aa is that lissome trunk < f thine, O noblest of wild creatures, show Where is the dame thou needs must know.
0 tiger, hast thou chanced to see My darling I very fair is she. Cast all thy fear away, declare, Where is my moon- faced darling, where? There, darling of the lotus eye, 1 see thee, and 'tis vain to fly.
Wilt thou not speak, dear love? I see Thy form half hidden by the tree.
Stay if thou love me, Sita, stay ]n pity cease thy heartless play, Why inock me now.' thy gentle breast Was never prone to cruel jtst.
'Tis vain behind yon bush to steal; Thy shimmering silks thy path reveal.
Fly not. mine eyes pursue thy way; For pity's sake, dear Sitji, stay.
Ah me, ah me, my words are vain; My gentle love is lost or slain.
How could her tender bosom spurn Her husband on his home -return?
Ah no, my love is surely dead, P'ierce giants on her flesh have fed, Rending the soft limbs of their prey When I ht-r lord was far away.
That moon-bright face, that polished brow, Bed lips,bright teeth— what are they now?
Alas, my darling's shapely neck She loved with chains of gold to deck, — That neck that mocked the sandal scent, The ruthless fiends have grasped and rent Alas, 'twas vain those arms to raise Soft as the young tree's tender sprays Ah. dainty meal for giants' lips Were arms and quivering finger tips.
A h» she who counted many a friend Was left for fiends to seize and rend, Was 1 f •. by me without defence From ravening giants' violence.
O Lakshnian. of the arm of might, Say. is my darling love in sight?
0 dearest Sita. where art thou 2 Where is my darling consort now? * Thus as he cried in wild lament From grove to grove the mourner went. Here for a moment sank to rest. Then started up and onward pressed. Thus roaming on like one distraught Still for his vanished love he sought. He searched in wood and hill and glade, By rock and brook and wild cascade. Through groves with restless step he sped And left no spot an visited. Through lawns and woods of vast extent Still searching for his love he went With eager steps and fast. For many a weary hour he toiled, Still in his fond endeavour f jiled, Yet hoping to the last.
CANTO LXII. RAMA'S LAMENT.
When all the toil and search was vain He sought his leafy home again. 'Tvvas empty still: all scattered lay The seats of grass in disarray. He raised his shapely arms on high Arid spoke aloud with hitter cry: ' Where is the Maithil dame? ' lie said, 'O, whither has:ny darling fled? Who can have borne away my dame, Or feasted on her tender frame? If, Sitd. hidden by some tree, Thou joyest still to mock at me, Cease, cease thy cruel sport, and take Compassion, or my heart will break. Bethink thee. love, the gentle fawns With whom thou playest on the lawns, Impatient for thy coming wait With streaming eyes disconsolate. Reft of my love, I needs must go Hence to t^e shades weighed down by woe. The king our sire will see me there, And cry, ' < > perjured Rama, where, Where is thy faith, that thou canst speed From exile ere the time decreed? Ah Sita, whither hast thou fled And left me here disquieted, A hapless mourner, reft of hope, Too feeble with my woe to cope? E'en thus indignant Glory flies The wretch who stains his soul with lies, If thou, my love, art lost to view, 1 in my woe must perish too.'
Thus Rama by his grief distraught Wept for the wife he vainly sought. And Lakshman wKose fraternal breast Longed for his'weal, the chief addressed, THE RAM AY AN.
Boole TIL Whoae soul gave way beneath the pain When all his eager search was vain. Like some great elephant who stands Sinking upon the treacherous sands: 'Not yet, O wisest chief, despair; Renew thy toil with utmost care. This noble hill where trees are green Has many a cave and dark ravine. The Maithil lady day by day Delighted in the woods to stray. Deep in the grove she wranders still, Or walks by blossom-covered rill, Or fish-loved river stealing through Tall clusters of the dark bamboo. Or else the dame with arch design To prove thy mood, O Prince, and mine, Far in some sheltering thicket lies To frighten ere she meet our eyes, Then come, renew thy labour, trace The lady to her lurking-place, And search the wood from side to side To know where Sita loves to hide. Collect thy thoughts, O royal chief, Nor yield to unavailing grief.'
Thus Lakshman, by affection stirred, To fresh attempts' his brother spurred, And Rama, as he ceased, began With Lakshman's aid each spot to scan, In eager search their way they took Through wood, o'er hill, by pool and brook. They roamed each mount, nor spared to seek On ridge and crag and towering peak. They sought the dame in every spot; But' all in vain; they found her not. Above, below, on every side They ranged the hill, and Rama cried, * O Lakshman, O my brother still No trace of sita on the hill! ' Then Lakshman as he roamed the wood Beside his glorious brother stood, And while tierce grief his bosom burned This answer to the chief returned: * Thou, Ham a, after toil and pain Wilt meet the Maithil dame again, As Vishnu, Hnli's might subdued, His empire of the earth renewed.'1 Then Rama cried in mournful tone, His spirit by his woe o'erthrown; ' The wood is searched from side to side, No distant spot remains untried, No lilied pool, no streamlet where The lotus buds are fresh and fair. Our eyes have searched the hill with all His caves and e\ery waterfall, — But ah, not yet I find my wife, More precious than the breath of life.'
As thus he mourned his vanished dame A mighty trembling sejzed his frame, 1 See Book I. Canto XXXI.
And by o'erpowering grief assailed, His troubled senses reeled and failed. Too great to bear his misery grew, And many a long hot sigh he drew. Then as he wept and sobbed and sighed, ' O Sita, O my love! ' he cried. Then Lakshman, joining palm to palm, Tried every art his woe to cairn. But Rama in his anguish heard Or heeded not one soothing word, Still for his spouse he mourned, and shrill Kang out his lamentation still.
CANTO LXIII.
RAMA'S LAMENT.
Thus for his wife in vain he sought: Then, his sad soul with pain distraught, The hero of the lotus eyes Filled all the air with frantic cries. O'erpowered by love's strong influence, he His absent wife still seemed to see, And thus with accents weak and faint Renewed with tears his wild complaint: ; Thou, fairer than their bloom, my spouse, Art hidden by Asoka boughs. Those blooms have power to banish care, But now they drive me to despair. Thine arms are like the plantain's stem: Why let the plantain cover them? Thou art not hidden, love; thy feet Betray thee in thy dark retreat. Thou runuest in thy girlish sport To flowery trees, thy dear resort. But cease, O cease, my love, I pray, To vex me with thy cruel play. Such mockery in a holy spot Where hermits dwell beseems thee not. Ah, now J see thy fickle mind To scornful mood too much inclined. Come, large-eyed beauty. I implore; Lone is the cot so dear before.
No, she is slain by giants; they Have stolen or devoured their prey, Or surely at my mournful cry My darling to her lord would fly. O Lakshman. see those troops of deer: In each sad eye there gleams a tear. Those looks of woe too clearly say My consort is the giants' prey. O noblest, fairest of the fair, Where art thou. best of women, where? This day will dark Kaikeyi find Fresh triumph for her evil mind, When I who with my Sita came Return alone, without rny daine. But ne'er can I return to see Those chambers where my queen should be And hear the scornful people speak Canto LX1V.
THE RAM AY AN.
Of Rama as a coward weak. For mine will be the coward's shame Who let the foeman steal his dame. How can I seek my home, or brook Upon Videha's king to look? How listen, when he bids me tell, My wanderings o'er, that all is well? He, when I meet his eager view, Will mark that Sita comes not too, And when he hears the mournful tale His wildered sense will reel and fail. ' 0 Dasaratha,' will he cry, ' Blest in thy mansion in the sky! ' Ne'er to that town my steps shall bend, That town which Bharat's arms defend, For e'en the blessed homes above Would seem a waste without my love. Leave me, my brother, here, I pray; To fair Ayodhya bend thy way. Without my love I cannot bear To live one hour in blank despair. Round Bharat's neck thy f^nd arms twine, And greet him with these words of mine: * Dear brother, still the power retain, And o'er the land as monarch reign.' With salutation next incline Before thy mother, his, and mine. Still, brother, to my words attend, And with all care each dame befriend. To my dear mother's ear relate My mournful tale and Sita's fate.'
Thus Rama gave his sorrow vent, And from a heart which anguish rent, Mourned for his wife in loud lament, — Her of the glorious hair, From Lakshman's cheek the colour fled, And o'er his heart came sudden dread, bick, faint, and sore disquieted By woe too great to bear.
CANTO LXIV.
RAMA'S LAMENT.
Reft of his love, the royal chief, Weighed down beneath his whelming- grief, Desponding made his brother share His grievous burden of despair. Over his sinking bosom rolled The flood of sorrow uncontrolled, And as he wept and sighed, In mournful accents faint and slow With words congenial to his woe, To Lakshman thus he cried: * Brother, 1 ween, beneath the sun, Of all mankind there lives not one So full of sin, whose hand has done Such cursed deeds as mine. For my sad heart with misery bleeds, As, guerdon of those evil deeds, Still greater woe to woe succeeds In never-ending line. A life of sin I freely chose, And from my past transgression flows A ceaseless flood of bitter woes My folly to repay. The fruit of sin has ripened fast, Through many a sorrow have I passed, And now the crowning grief at last Falls on my head to-day. From all my faithful friends I fled, My sire is numbered with the dead, My royal rank is forfeited, My mother far away. These woes on which I sadly think Fill, till it raves above the brink, The stream of grief in which I sink,*— The flood which naught can stay. Ne'er, brother, ne'er have I complained; Though long by toil and trouble pained, Without a murmur I sustained The woes of woodland life. But fiercer than the flames that rise When crackling wood the food supplies,- Flashing a glow through evening skies,— This sorrow for my wife. Some crued fiend has seized the prey And torn my trembling love away, While, as he bore her through the skies, She shrieked aloud with frantic cries, It tones of fear which, wild and shrill, Retained their native sweetness still. Ah me, that breast so soft and sweet, For sandal's precious perfume meet, Now all distained with dust and gore, Shall meet my fond caress no more. That face, whose lips with tones so clear Made pleasant music, sweet to hear,— With soft locks plaited o'er the brow,— Some giant's hand is on it now. It smiles not, as the dear light fails When Halm's jaw the moon assails. Ah, my true love! that shapely neck She loved with fairest chains to deck, The cruel demons rend, and drain The lifeblood from each mangled vein. Ah. when the savage monsters came And dragged away the helpless dame, The lady of the long soft eye Called like a lamb with piteous cry. Beneath this rock, 0 Lakshman, see, My peerless consort sat with me, And gently talked to thee the while, Her sweet lips opening with a smile. Here is that fairest stream which she Loved ever, bright Godavari. Ne'er can the dame have passed this way: So far alone she would not stray, Nor has my darling, lotus -eyed, Sought lilies by the river's side, For without me she ne'er would go THE RAM AY AN.
Boole til.
To streamlets where the wild flowers grow, Tell me riot, brother, she has strayed To the dark forest's distant shade Where blooming boughs are gay and sweet, And bright birds love the cool retreat. Alone my love would never dare, — My timid love,— to wander there.
O Lord of Day whose eye sees all We act and plan, on thee I call: For naught is hidden from thy sight, — Great witness thou of wrong and right. Where is she, lost or torn away? Dispel my torturing doubt and s iv. And O thou Wind who blowest free, The worlds have naught concealed from thee.
List to my prayer, reveal one trace Of her, the glory of her race. Say, is she stolen hence, or dead, Or do her feet the forest tread? ' Thus with disordered senses, faint With woe he poured his sad complaint, And then, a better way to teach, Wise Lakshman spoke in seemly speech: 4 Up. brother de'ar, thy grief subdue, With heart and soul thy search renew. When woes oppress and dangers threat Brave effort ne'er was fruit es* yet/ He spoke, but Rama gave no heed To valiant Lakshmsin's prudent rede. With double force the fio >d of pain Hushed o'er his yielding soul again.
CANTO LXV.
RAiMA'S WRATH.
With piteous voice, by woe subdued, Thus Raghu's son his speech renewed: 'Thy steps, my brother, quickly turn To bright Godavari and learn If Sita to the stream have hied To cull the lilies on its side.'
Obedient to the words he said, His brother to the river sped. The shelving banks he searched in vain, And then to Rama turned again.
4 1 searched, but found her not,' he cried; 'I called aloud, but none replied. Where can the Maithil lady stray, Whose sight woidd chase our cares away? 1 know not where, her steps untraced, Roams!Sita of the dainty waist.'
When Rama heard the words he spoke Again he sank beneath the stroke, And with a bosom anguish-fraught Himself the lovely river sought. There standing on the shelving side, ' O Sita, where art thou? ' he cried.
No spirit voice an answer gave, No murmur from the trembling wave Of sweet Godavari declared The outrage which the fiend had dared. ' O speak! ' the pitying spirits cried, But yet the stream their prayer denied, Nor dured she, coldly mute, relate To the sad chief his darling's fate. Of Ravan's awful form she thought, And the dire deed his arm had wrought, And still withheld by fear dismayed, The tale for which the mourner prayed. When hope was none, his heart to cheer, That the bright stream his cry would hear, While sorrow for hi;- darling tore His longing soul he spake once more: * Though I have sought with tears and sighs Godavari no word replies, 0 sav, what answer can I frame To Janak father of my dame? Or how before her mother stand Leading n > Sita by the hand? Where is mv loyal love who went Forth with her lord to banishment? Her faith to me she nobly held Though from my realm and home expel- led,—