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SITA DISGRACED.

With her sweet eyelids wet with tears of shame,
Unveiled before so many, Sita came

And met her long-lost husband face to face.

And Rama gazed upon her winning grace

With

eyes that longed to weep, but, mute and still, He stayed their fountains with his iron will. No word was spoken, for a double tide

Surged in his changing bosom, love and pride.
No word for her who stood before her king
In shame and anguish like a guilty thing.
No word of greeting for his rescued dame
On whose bright soul ne'er lay a shade of blame :
Whom giant hands from her dear home had torn,
And kept a hopeless captive, sorrow-worn ;

For Rama's sake still living through her pain
And now returning as from Death's domain.

Once, only once, she lifted up her eye,
Once called upon him with a bitter cry.
Then from rude eyes the tears began to flow,
And warriors melted at the lady's woe.
Scarce Lakshman's self the rising flood represt,

And hid his face a moment in his vest.

But Sita cast her causeless shame away,

And her own virtue was her strength and stay.
Conscious of truth that slandering tongues defied,
Her sobs she checked, her weeping eyes she dried ;
And struggling still with anger and surprise
Looked on her husband with unflinching eyes.
Then Rama spoke: 'O dame, my task is done:
The foe is slain and thou, the spoil, art won.
Mine arm has conquered and, mine honour freed,
Has killed the robber and avenged the deed.
Lord of myself, loosed from the vows I swore,
Duty and honour claim from me no more.

The wondrous bridge that spanned the angry flood,

The Giants' city red with foemen's blood:

The countless host by friendly warriors led,

The wise who counselled and the brave who bled:
With hearts that sank not in the doubtful fray-
This glorious toil has gained its crown to-day.

But hearken, lady. 'Twas no love for thee
That led my army o'er the angry sea.

'Twas not for thee that streams of blood were shed,

And Lanka's streets piled high with giant dead.

No fond affection for my captive wife
Impelled my arrow in the day of strife.

I battled only to avenge the cause

Of injured honour and insulted laws.
Thy name is blemisht, and the shameful doubt

Fills all my heart and drives affection out.
No more thy beauty charms me. 'Tis a light
Shed by a torch that pains the injured sight.
Go where thou wilt. I give thee leave to roam;
I lead no traitress to my royal home.'

Then Sita spoke in accents soft and low,

Yet struggling with unutterable woe:

'Hast thou the heart O monarch, to dismiss

A highborn lady with a speech like this?

To banish thus the daughter of a king,

Like some light damsel trained to dance and sing?
By all the merit of my life I swear

I am not what thy hasty words declare.
Doubt others' faith, but cast all doubt aside

Of one whose truth a life of love has tried.
Round my weak form his arms the Giant threw,

But all the blame to Fate and him is due.

What could I do-a woman and alone?

My heart was mine, and that was still thine own.

'Gainst thee and honour have I wrought no sin : Pure is my body as my soul within,

Or may the Gods my name and fame destroy,

And bar my spirit from eternal joy.

Dear Lakshman, haste, prepare the burning pile;

I cannot live to bear a load so vile.

There is no way but only this to gain

Freedom and rest and clear my life of stain.'

HOME.

The rest is thus briefly told in the Argument of the poem with which the First Book begins:

Then Sita, touched with noble ire,

Gave her fair body to the fire.

But straight the God of Wind appeared,

And words from heaven her honour cleared.

And Rama clasped his faithful dame

Uninjured, pure from spot and blame,

Obedient to the Lord of Fire

And the high mandate of his sire.

Led by the Lord who rules the sky,

The Gods and heavenly Saints drew nigh,

And honoured him with worthy meed,

Rejoicing in each glorious deed.

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