CHITRAKUTA.

Rama, with Sita and Lakshman, has crossed the Ganges and the Jumna and reached the distant forest in which he is to live. He points out to Sita some of the beauties of the surrounding scenery, especially the mountain Chitrakuta and the river Mandakini.

'Though reft of power and kingly sway,

Though friends and home are far

I cannot mourn my altered lot,
Enraptured with this lovely spot.

Look, darling, on this noble hill,

away,

Which sweet birds with their music fill:

Tinged with a thousand metal dyes,

His lofty summits kiss the skies.

Here gleams a line of silvery sheen,

There, a broad streak of emerald green;

And next a belt of gold is spread,

Made glorious by a fringe of red;

While, higher as the peaks ascend,
Sunlight and flowers and crystal blend.
See, dear, the trees that clothe his side,
All lovely in their summer pride,
In richest wealth of leaves arrayed,

With flower and fruit and light and shade.
Look where the young Rose-apple glows;
What loaded boughs the Mango shows!

See, waving in the western wind,
The light leaves of the Tamarind;
And mark that giant Peepul through
Those feathery clumps of tall Bamboo.
That depth of shade, that open lawn,
Allure the wood-nymph and the faun;
And, where those grassy glades extend,

The spirits of the air descend

To while the summer night away
With dalliance and mirth and play.
Look, from the mountain's woody head
Hangs many a stream like silver thread,

Till, gathering strength, each rapid rill
Leaps, lightly laughing, down the hill;
Then, bounding o'er the rocky wall,
Flashes the foamy waterfall.

O, lives there one too cold to feel

Delicious languor o'er him steal,

As the young morning breeze, that springs
From the cool cave on balmy wings,

Breathes round him, loaded with the scent

Of bud and blossom, dew-besprent !

See, round the hill, at random thrown,
Those masses of primeval stone

Of every shape and many a hue,
Yellow and black and red and blue.

But all is fairer still by night:

Each rock reflects a softer light,

When the whole mount, from foot to crest,

In robes of lambent flame is drest;
When, from a million herbs, a blaze

Of their own luminous glory plays,
And, clothed in fire, each deep ravine,
Each pinnacle and crag is seen.

H

Dear Sita, Chitrakuta's height

Transports me with such pure delight, With thee and Lakshman here to dwell For many a year would please me well.'

MANDAKINI.

Home of the heron and the swan,

See, the fair river glides,

With verdant isles to gem her breast,
And flowers to deck her sides.

With every tree of sweetest fruit

And fairest bloom that springs,

And glorious as the lucid stream

Where bathes the King of Kings.'

How lovely are those shelving banks,
Now dotted o'er with deer,

That sully, as they quench their thirst,

The waves that were so clear.

A title of Kuvera, the God of Wealth. The beauty of his pleasure grounds is proverbial.