Still keeps their well-loved altar bright, Filling the air with beams of light. And those seven neighbour ing lakes behold Which, when the saints infirm and old, Worn out by fasts, no longer sought, Moved hither drawn by power of thought. Look, Rama, where the devotees Hung their bark mantles on the trees, Fresh from the bath: those garments wet Through many a day are dripping yet. See, through those aged hermits' power The tender spray, the bright-hued flower With which the saints their worship paid, Fresh to this hour nor change nor fade. Here thou hast seen each lawn and dell, And heard the tale I had to toll: Permit thy servant, lord, I pray, To cast this mortal shell away, For I would dwell, this lify resigned, With those great saints of lofty" mind, Whom I within this holy shade With reverential care obeyed.'
When Rama and his brother heard The pious prayer the dame preferred, Filled full of transport and amazed They marvelled as her words they praised. Then Rama to the votaress said Whose holy vows were perfected: * Go, lady, where thou fain wouldst be, O thou who well hast honoured me.'
Her locks in hermit fashion tied, Oad in bark coat and black deer's hide, When Rama gave consent, the dame Resigned her body to the flame. Then, like the fire that burns and glows, To heaven the sainted lady rose, In all her heavenly garments dressed, Immortal wreaths on neck and breast, Bright with celestial gems she shone Most beautiful to look upon, And like the flame of lightning sent A glory through the firmament. That holy sphere the dame attained, By depth of contemplation gained, Where roam high saints with spirits pure In bliss that shall for aye endure.
CANTO LXXVI.
PAMPA.
When $avari had sought the skies And gained her splendid virtue's prize, Rama with Lakshman stayed to brood O'er the strange scenes their eyes had viewed.
His mind upon those 'saints was bent, For power and might^'preeininrnt. And he to musing Lakshman spoke The thoughts that iu hw bosom woke: THE RAM AY AN.
BooJc HI * Mine eyes this wondrous home have viewed Of those great saints with souls subdued, Where peaceful tigers dwell and birds, And deer abound in heedless herds. Our feet upon the banks have stood Of those seven lakes within the wood, Where we have duly dipped, and paid Libations to each royal shade. Forgotten now are thoughts of ill And joyful hopes my bosom fill. Again my heart is light and gay And grief and care have passed away. Come, brother, let us hasten where Bright Pampa's flood is fresh and fair, And towering in their beauty near Mount Rishyamuka's heights appear, Which, offspring of the Lord of Light, Still fearing Bali's conquering might, With four brave chiefs of Vanar race Sugriva makes his dwelling-place. I long with eager heart tn tind That leader of the Vanar kind, For on that chief my hopes depend That this our quest have prosperous end.'
Thus Rama spoke, in battle tried, And thus Sumitra's son replied: 4 Come, brother, come, and speed away: My spirit brooks no more delay.' Thus spake Sumitra's son, and then Forth from the grove the king of men With his dear brother by his side To Pampa's lucid waters hied. He gazed upon the woods where grew Trees rich in flowers of every hue. From brake and dell on every side The curlew and the peacock cried, And flocks of screaming parrots made Shrill music in the bloomy shade. His eager eyes, as on he went, On many a pool and tree were bent. Inflamed with love he journeyed on Till a fair flood before him shone. He stood upon the water's side Which streams from distant hills supplied: Matanga's name that water bore: There bathed he from the shelving shore, Then, each on earnest thoughts intent, Still farther on their way they went. But Rama's heart once more gave way Beneath his grief and wild dismay. Before him lay the noble flood Adorned with many^a lotus bud. On its fair banks Asokas glowed, And all bright trees their blossoms showed. Green banks that silver waves confined With lovely groves were fringed and lined. The crystal waters in their flow Showed level sands that gleamed below. There glittering fish and tortoise played, And bending trees gave pleasant shade, There creepers on the branches hung With lover-like embraces clung, there gay Gandharvas loved to meet And Kinnar sought the calm retreat. There wandering Yakshas found delight, Snake-gods and rovers of the nipiH. Cool were the pleasant waters, gay Each tree with creeper, flower, and spray. There flushed the lotus darkl/ red, Here their white glory lilies spread, Here sweet buds showed their tints of blue: So carpets gleam with many a hue. A grove of Mangoes bloyomed nigh, Echoing with the peacock's cry. When Rama by his brother's side The lovelv flood of Paznpa eyed, Decked like a beauty, fair to see With every charm of flower and tree, His mighty heart w/th woe was rent And thus he spoke in wild lament: 'Here, Lakshman, on this beauteous shore, Stands, dyed with tints of many an ore, The mountain Rishyamuka bright With flowery trees that crown each height. Sprung from the chief who, famed of yore, The name of Riksharajas bore, Sugriva, chieftain strong and dread, Dwells on that mountain's towering head. Go to him, best of men, and seek That prince of Vanars on the peak, I cannot longer brook my pain, Or, sita lost, my life retain.'
Thus by the pangs of love distressed, His thoughts on Sita bent, His faithful brother he addressed, And cried in wild lament.
He reached the lovely ground that lay On Pampa's wooded side, And told in anguish and dismay, The grief he could not hide.
With listless footsteps faint and slow His way the chief pursued, Till Pampa with her glorious show Of flowering woods he viewed.
Through shades were every bird was found The prince with Lakshman passed, And Pampa with her groves around Burst on his eyes at last.
Canto I.
THE RAM AY AN.
BOOK IV.1 CANTO I.
KAMA'S LAMENT.
he princes stood by Pampa's side2 "Which blooming lilies glorified. With troubled heart and sense o'erthrown There Rama made his piteous moan. As the fair flood before him lay The reason of the chief gave way; And tender thoughts within him woke, As to Sumitra's son he spoke: ' How lovely Pampas waters show, Where streams of lucid crystal flow! What glorious trees o'erhang the flood Which blooms of opening lotus stud! Look on the banks of Pampa where Thick groves extend divinely fair; And piles of trees, like hills in size, Lift their proud summits to the skies. But thought of Bharat's3 pain and toil, And my dear spouse the giant's spoil, Afflict my tortured heart and press My spirit down with heaviness. Still fair to me though sunk in woe Bright Pampa and her forest show, Where cool fresh waters charm the sight, And flowers of every hue are bright. The lotuses in close array Their passing loveliness display, And pard and tiger, deer and snake Haunt every glade and dell and brake. Those grassy spots display the hue Of topazes and sapphires' blue, And. gay with flowers of every dye, With richly broidered housings vie. What loads of bloom the high trees crown, Or weigh the bending branches down! And creepers tipped with bud and flower Kach spray and loaded limb o'erpower. Now cool delicious breezes blow, And kindle love's voluptuous glow, 1 Or Kishkindha Kanda. Kishkindha, the city of Bali the elder brother and enemy of Sugriva, is supposed to have been situated north of Mysore.
2 Pampa is said by the commentator to be the name both of a lake and a brook which flows into it. The brook is said to rise in the hill Kishyamuka.
3 Who was acting as Regent for Kama and leading an ascetic life while he mourn- ed ior his absent brother.
When balmy sweetness fills the air, And fruit and flowers and trees are fair. Those waving woods, that shine with bloom, Each varied tint in turn assume. Like labouring clouds they pour their showers In rain ot ever-changing flowers. Behold, those forest trees, that stand High upon rock and table-land, As the cool gales their branches bend, Their floating blossoms downward send. See, Lakshman, how the breezes play With every floweret on the spray. And sport in merry guise with all The fallen blooms and those that fall. See, brother, where the merry breeze Shakes the gay boughs of flowery trees, Disturbed amid their toil a throng Of bees pursue him, loud in song. The Koils,1 mad with sweet delight, The bending trees to dance invite; And in its joy the wild wind sings As from the mountain cave he springs. On speed the gales in rapid course, And bend the woods beneath their force, Till every branch and spray they bind In many a tangled knot entwined. What balmy sweets those gales dispense With cool and sacred influence! Fatigue and trouble vanish: such The magic of their gentle touch. Hark, when the gale the boughs has bent In woods of honey redolent, Through all their quivering sprays the trees Are vocal with the murmuring bees. The hills with towering summits rise, And with their beauty charm the eyes, Gay with the giant trees which bright With blossom spring from every height: And as the soft wind gently sways The clustering blooms that load the sprays, The very trees break forth and sing With startled wild bees' murmuring. Thine eyes to yonder Cassias58 turn Whose glorious clusters glow and burn.
1 The Indian Cuckoo.
* The Cassia Fistula or Amaltas is a splendid tree like a giant laburnum covered with a profusion of chains and tassels of. gold. Dr. Roxburgh well describes it as "uncommonly beautiful when in flower, few trees surpassing it in the elegance of its numerous long pendulous racemes of large bright-yellow flowers intermixed with the young lively green foliage." It is remarkable also for its curi< us cylindri- cal black seed-pods about two feet long, which are called monkeys' walking-sticks.
THE RAM AY AN.
Boole IV.
Those trees in yellow robes behold, Like giants decked with burnished gold. All me, Sumitra's son, the spring, Dear to sweet birds who love and sing, Wakes in my lonely breast the flame Of sorrow as I mourn my dame. Love strikes me through with darts of. fire, And wakes in vain the sweet desire. Hark, the loud Ko'il swells his throat, And mocks me with his joyful note. I hear the happy wild-cock call Beside the shady waterfall. His cry of joy afflicts my breast By love's absorbing might possessed. My darling from our cottage heard One morn in spring this shrill -toned bird, And called me in her joy to hear The happy cry that charmed her ear. See, birds of every varied voice Around us in the woods rejoice, On creeper, shrub, and plant alight, Or wing from tree to tree their flight. Each bird his kindly mate has found, And loud their notes of triumph sound, Blending in sweetest music like The distant warblings of the shrike. See how the river banks are lined With birds of every hue and kind. Here in his joy the Ko'il sings, There the glad wild-cock flaps his wings. The blooms of bright Asokas1 where The song of wild bees fills the air, And the soft whisper of the boughs Increase my longing for my spouse.
1 "The Jonesia Asoca is a tree of con- siderable size, native of southern India. It blossoms in February and March with large erect compact clusters of flowers, varying in colour from pale-orange to scarlet, almost to be mistaken, on a hasty glance, for immense trusses of bloom of an Ixora. Mr. Fortune considered this tree, when in full bloom, superior in beauty even to the Amherstia.
The first time I saw the Asoc in flower was on the hill where the famous rock-cut temple of Karli is situated, and a large concourse of natives had assembled for the celebration of some Hindoo festival. Before proceeding to the temple the Mah- ratta women gathered from two trees, which were flowering somewhat below, each a fine truss of blossom, and inserted it in the hair at the back of her head.
As they moved about in groups it is impossible to imagine a more delight- ful effect than the rich scarlet bunches of flowers presented on their fine glossy jet- black hair." FIBMINGEK, Gardening for India.
The vernal flush of flower and spray Will burn my very soul away.
What use, what care have I for life If I no more mav see my wife, Soft speaker with the glorious hair, And eyes with silken lashes fair?
Now is the time when all day long The Ko'ils fill the woods with song, And gardens bloom at spring's sweet touch Which my beloved loved so much.
Ah me. Sumitra's son, the tire Of sorrow, sprung from soft desire.
Fanned by the charms the spring-time shows, Will burn my heart and end my woes, Whose sad eyes look on each fair tree, But my sweet love no more may see. Ah me, Ah me, from hour to hour Love in my soul will wax in power, And spring, upon whose charms I gaze, Whose breath the heat of toil allays, With thoughts of her for whom I strain My hopeless eyes, increase my pain. As fire in summer rages through The forests thick with dry bamboo, So will my fawn-eyed love consume My s^ul o'erwhelmed with thoughts of gloom.
gloom.
Behold, beneath each spreading tree The peacoks dance1 in frantic glee, And, stirred by all the gales that blow, Their tails with jewelled windows glow, Each bird, in happy love elate, Rejoices with his darling mate. But sights like these of joy and peace My pangs of hopeless love increase. See on the mountain slope above The peahen languishing with love. Behold her now in amorous dance Close to lier consort's side advance. He with a laugh of joy and pride Displays his glittering pinions wide; And follows through the tangled dell The partner whom he loves so well. Ah happy bird! no giant's hate Has robbed him of his tender mate; And still beside his loved one he Dances beneath the shade in glee. Ah, in this month when flowers are fair My widowed woe is hard to bear. See, gentle love a home may find In creatures of inferior kind. See how the peahen turns to meet Her consort now with love-drawn feet.
1 No other word can express the move- ments of peafowl under the influence of pleasing excitement, especially when after the long drought they hear the welcome roar of the thunder and feel that the rain is uear, Canto T.
THE RAMAYAN.
So, Lakshman, if my large-eyed dear, The child of janak still were here, She, by love's thrilling influence led, Upon my breast would lay her head. These blooms I gathered from the bough Without my love are useless now. A thousand blossoms fair to see With passing glory clothe each tree That hangs its cluster-burthened head Now that the dewy months ' are fled, But, followed by the bees that ply Their fragrant task, they fall and die. A thousand birds in wild delight Their rapture-breathing notes unite; Bird calls to bird in joyous strain, And turns my love to frenzied pain. O, if beneath those alien skies There be a spring where Sita lies, I know my prisoned love must be Touched with like grief, and mourn with me, me, But ah, methinks that dreary clime Knows not the touch of spring's sweet time. How could my black-eyed love sustain, Without her lord, so dire a pain? Or if the sweet spring come to her In distant lands a prisoner, How may his advent aid her. met On every side with taunt and threat? Ah, if the springtide's languor came With soft enchantment o'er my dame, My darling of the lotus eye, "My gently speaking love, would die; For well my spirit knows that she Can never live bereft of me. With love that never wavered yet My Sita's heart on me is set, Who, with a soul that ne'er can stray, With equal love her love repay. In vain, in vain the soft wind" brings Sweet blossoms on his balmy wings; Delicious from his native snow, To me like fire he seems to glow. O, how I loved a breeze like this When darling Sita shared the bliss! But now in vain for me it blows To fan the fury of my woes. That dark-winged bird that sought the skies Foretelling grief with warning criea, Sits on the 'tree where buds are gay, And pours glad music from the spray. That rover of the fields of air Will aid my love with friendly care, And me with gracious pity guide 1 The Dewy Season is one of the six ancient seasons of the Indian year, lasting from the middle of January to the middle of March.
To my large-eyed Videhan's side.1 Hark, Lakshman, how the woods around With love-inspiring chants resound, Where birds in every bloom-crowned tree Pour forth their amorous minstrelsy. As though an eager gallant wooed A gentle maid by love subdued. Enamoured of her flowers the bee Darts at the wind -rocked Tila tree.' Asoka, brightest tree that grows, That lends a pang to lovers' woes, Hangs out his gorgeous bloom in scorn And mocks me as I weep forlorn. O Lakshman. turn thine eye and see Each blossom -laden Mango tree, Like a young lover gaily dressed Whom fond desire forbids to rest. Look, son of Queen Sumitra, through The forest glades of varied hue, Where blooms are bright and grass is green The Kinnars3 with their loves are seen. See, brother, see where sweet and bright Those crimson lilies charm the sight, And o'er the flood a radiance throw Fair as the morning's roseate glow. See, Pampa, most divinely sweet, The swan's and mallard's loved retreat, Shows her glad waters bright and clear, Where lotuses their heads uprear From the pure wave, and charm the view With mingled tints of red and blue. Each like the morning's early beams Reflected in the crystal, gleams; And bees on their sweet toil intent Weigh down each tender filament. There with gay lawns the wood recedes; There wildfowl sport amid the reeds. There roedeer stand upon the brink, And elephants descend to drink. The rippling waves which winds make fleei Against the bending lilies beat, And opening bud and flower and stem Gleam with the drops that hang on them Life lias no pleasure left for me While my dear queen I may not see, 1 Bam a appears to mean that on j former occasion a crow flying high over head was an omen that indicated hi approaching separation from Sita; an< that now the same bird's perching on i tree near him may be regarded as: happy augury that she will soon be restor ed to her husband.
* A tree with beautiful and f ragran blossoms.
3 A race of semi-divine musician attached to the service of Kuvera, repre sented as centaurs reversed with huiua figures and horses' heads.
THE RAM AY AN.
Boole IV.
Who loved so well those blooms that vie With the full splendour of her eye, O tyrant Love, who will not let My bosom for one hour forget The lost one whom I yearn to meet, Whose words were ever kind and sweet. Ah, haply might my heart endure This hopeless love that knows not cure, If spring with all his trees in flower Assailed me not with ruthless power. Each lovely scene, each sound and sight Wherein, with her, I found delight, Has lost the charm so sweet of yore, And glads my widowed heart no more. On lotus buds I seem to gaze, Or blooms that deck Palasa1 sprays; But to my tortured memory rise The glories of my darling's eyes. Cool breezes through the forest stray Gathering odours on their way, Enriched with all the rifled scent Of lotus flower and filament. Their touch upon my temples falls And Sita's fragrant breath recalls. Now look, dear brother, on the right Of Pampa towers a mountain height Where fairest Cassia trees unfold The treasures of their burnished gold. Proud mountain king! his woody side With myriad ores is decked and dyed, And as the wind-swept blossoms fall Their fragrant dust is stained with all. To yon high lands thy glances turn: With pendent fire they flash and burn, Where in their vernal glory blaze Palasa flowers on leafless sprays.
O Lak.shman, look! on Pampa's side What fair trees rise in blooming pride! What climbing plants above them show 1 Butea Frondosa. A tree that bears a profusion of brilliant red flowers which appear before the leaves.
I omit five slokas which contain no- thing but a list of trees for which, with one or two exceptions, there are no equi- valent names in English. The following is Gorresio's translation of the correspond- ing passage in the Bengal recension:— " Oh come risplendono in questa stagi- one di primavera i vitici, le galedupe, le bassie, le dalbergie, i diospyri le tile, le michelie, le rottlerie, le pentaptere ed i pterospermi. i bombaci,'le grislee, gli abri, gli amaranti e le dalbergie; i sirii, le galedupe, le barringtonie ed i palmizi, i xanthocymi, il pepebetel, le verbosine e le ficaie, le naucleele erythrine, gli asochi, e le tapie fanno d'ogni intorno pompa de' lor fiori."
Or hang their flowery garlands low! See how the amorous creeper rings The wind-rocked trees to which she clings, As though a dame by love impelled With clasping arms her lover held. Drunk with the varied scents that fill The balmy air, from hill to hill, From grove to grove, from tree to tree, The joyous wind is wandering free. These gay trees wave their branches bent By blooms, of honey redolent. There, slowly opening to the day, Buds with dark lustre deck the spray. The wild bee rests a moment where Each tempting flower is sweet and fair, Then, coloured by the pollen dyes, Deep in some odorous blossom lies. Soon from his couch away he springs: To other trees his course he wings, And tastes the honeyed blooms that grow Where Pampa's lucid waters flow, See, Lakshman, see. how thickly spread With blossoms' from the trees o'erhead, That grass the weary traveller woos With couches of a thousand hues, And beds on every height arrayed With red and yellow tints are laid, No longer winter chills the earth: A thousand flowerets spring to birth, And trees in rivalry assume Their vernal garb of bud and bloom. How fair they look, how bright and gay With tasselled flowers on every spray! While each to each proud challenge flings Borne in the song the wild bee sings.
That mallard by the river edge Has bathed amid the reeds and sedge: Now with his mate he fondly plays And fires my bosom as I gaze.
Mandakini1 is far renowned: No lovelier flood on earth is found; But all her fairest charms combined In this sweet stream enchant the mind, O. if my love were here to look With me upon this lovely brook, Ne'er for Ayodhya would I pine, Or wish that Indra'8 lot were mine. If by my darling's side I strayed O'er the soft turf which decks the glade, Each craving thought were sweetly stilled, Each longing of my soul fulfilled'. But, now my love is far away, Those trees which make the woods so gay, In all their varied beauty dressed, Wake thoughts of anguish in my breast.
That lotus-covered stream behold Whose waters run so fresh and cold, 1 A sacred stream often mentioned in the course of the poem, See Book II. Canto XCV.
Canto I.
THE RAM AY AN.
Sweet rill, the wildfowl's loved resort, Where curlew, swan, and diver sport; Wherewith his consort plays the drake, And tall deer love their thirst to slake, While from each woody bank is heard The wild note of each happy bird. The music of that joyous quire Fills all my soul withsoft desire; And, as I hear, my sad thoughts fly To Sita of the lotus eye, Whom, lovely with her moonbright cheek, In vain mine eager glances seek. Now turn, those chequered lawns survey Where hart and hind together stray. Ah, as they wander at their will My troubled breast with grief they fill, While torn by hopeless love I sigh For Sita of the fawn-like eye. If in those glades where, touched by spring, Gay birds their amorous ditties sing, Mine own beloved I might see, Then, brother, it were well with me: If by my side she wandered still, And this cool breeze that stirs the rill Touched with its gentle breath the brows Of mine own dear Videhan spouse. For, Lakshman, 0 how blest are those On whom the breath of Fampa blows, Dispelling all their care and gloom With sweets from where the lilies bloom! How can my gentle love remain Alive amid the woe and pain, Where prisoned far away she lies, — My darling of the lotus eyes? How shall I dare her sire to greet Whose lips have never known deceit? How stand before the childless king And meet his eager questioning? When banished by my sire's decree, In low estate, she followed me. So pure, so true to every vow, Where is my genile darling now? How can 1 bear my widowed lot, And linger on where she is not, Who followed when from home I fled Distracted, disinherited? My spirit sinks in hopeless pain When ray fond glances yearn in vain For that dear face with whose bright eye The worshipped lotus scarce can vie. Ah when, my brother, shall I hear That voice that rang so soft and clear, When, sweetly smiling as she spoke, From her dear lips gay laughter broke? When worn with toil and love I strayed With Sita through the forest shade, No trace of grief was seen in her, My kind and thoughtful comforter. How shall my faltering tongue relate To Queen Kausalya Sita's fate? How answer when in wild despair She questions, Where is Sita, where? Haste, brother, haste: to Bharat hie, On whose fond love 1 still rely. My life can be no longer borne, Since Sita from my side is torn.'
Thus like a helpless mourner, bent By sorrow, Rama made lament; And with wise counsel Lakshman tried To soothe his care, and thus replied: ' 0 best of men, thy grief oppose, Nor sink beneath thy weight of woes, Not thus despond the great and pure And brave like thee, but still endure. Reflect what anguish wrings the heart When loving souls are forced to part; And, mindful of the coming pain, Thy love within thy breast restrain, For earth, though cooled by wanderin streams,