SITA DISGRACED. With her sweet eyelids wet with tears of shame, 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. For Rama's sake still living through her pain Once, only once, she lifted up her eye, 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. 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: But hearken, lady. 'Twas no love for thee '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 I battled only to avenge the cause Of injured honour and insulted laws. Fills all my heart and drives affection out. 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? I am not what thy hasty words declare. Of one whose truth a life of love has tried. 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. |