There is the sound of cymbal and of drum :

Tarry not, Sita, but arise and come!

Come, and with me all earthly pleasures share ;

Nay, heavenly joys, my love, shall bless thee there.'

He ceased; and, changing all his gentle guise,

Stood before Sita in his native size,

A monstrous giant, terrible in form,

Dark as a thunder-cloud that leads the storm.
Ten-faced and twenty-armed, in every head
Glared the wild eyeballs that his rage made red,
As with a scowl upon each haughty brow,

He cried: Fair Sita, wilt thou scorn me now?
Lift thy sweet eyes, dear child of earth, and see
A husband worthy of a queen like thee.'
One eager hand her glorious tresses graspt,
One mighty arm around her waist was claspt.
Aid her, ye Spirits! Ah, all wild with dread
Each nymph and faun before the fiend had fled.

Where, where is Rama? Rama roams afar,

And Ravan bears her to his magic car.

With angry threats the giant tried to still
Her cries for aid, but very long and shrill
Rang forth her lamentation through the air,
As of one raving in her great despair :

Help, Rama, help! O Lakshman, where art thou? Why, faithful champion, art thou heedless now? My hero, wont the giants' pride to tame,

Tear from their impious hands thy brother's dame !
She who drove Rama from his promised throne
Will doubly triumph when this deed is known.
Ye happy bowers, ye bloomy groves farewell!
My mournful fate to royal Rama tell!

And thou Godaveri, dear stream, upon
Whose bosom float the mallard and the swan,
Forget not her who loves thee, but relate
To royal Rama Sita's mournful fate.

Ye gentle fauns to whom this wood is dear,
Let Rama from your airy voices hear
That Ravan tears me hence! On you, on all
The countless life within these shades I call:
Say that the fiend has borne away his wife,
His own true Sita, dearer than his life;

He will regain the spouse he loves so well,
Yea, if they bore her to the depths of Hell.'

Down to her feet her loosened tresses hung, As, like a creeper, with twined arms she clung To bough and branch, and falling on her knees Shrieked out for succour to the mighty trees. Then Ravan's giant hand, unused to spare, Seized her again by her long flowing hair : Vengeance on thee that cursed touch shall bring, And stain with gore thy hair, thou impious King. All nature trembled, faint and sick with dread, And sudden darkness o'er the world was spread; The wind was husht, dimmed was the glorious sun; An awful voice that cried, The deed is done, Burst from the mighty Sire, whose sleepless eye Saw the fell outrage from his throne on high; And the pure saints, with mingled joy and awe, Looked on the sinner and his doom foresaw. In vain she struggled, as the giant threw His arm around her waist and upward flew.

With yellow robes, far floating uncontrolled,

And fair limbs glowing like the burnisht gold,

The royal lady like the lightning shone,

Too dazzling lovely to be looked upon.

Toucht by the glorious light the giant's frame
Showed like a mountain belted round with flame;
And from the lotus wreath that crowned her head

Light falling petals on his limbs were shed.
Widowed of Rama and of joy, her face

Peered in its lovely sadness from the embrace
Of her fell ravisher. So looks the moon

With pure light cleaving a dark cloud in June.

RAMA'S DESPAIR.

Rama returns to his cottage and finds it empty. Sita, his love, his life, is gone. He had borne the loss of father, mother, home, and friends, but beneath this shock the hero's reason gives way.

Then Rama turning, with love-quickened pace,

Eager to look upon his Sita's face,

Came to his dwelling. But he found her not;

Lonely and empty was the leafy cot,

Like a sad streamlet in the winter's frost

With all the glory of its lilies lost.

He searcht, he called: no answering voice was heard,

But a faint shudder that the branches stirred;

And sad with woe each tree and bird and flower
Mourned round the ruin of the lady's bower;