His gentle manners, ever soft and kind,

All hearts to him in firm affection bind.

Truthful and just, that noble prince of men

Is loved and honoured by each citizen.

A docile pupil, prompt to succour woe,
Feared by the foeman for his matchless bow,
Faithful and pious, reverent, sincere,

Holy and wise, to all most justly dear:
Canst thou for him thy wicked plot devise,
Good as the Gods and as the sages wise?
No angry word, no harsh reproof e'er slips
From the fair portal of his gentle lips.
And at thy bidding how can I consent

To curse him with the doom of banishment ?
O wife, have mercy! hear my bitter cry,

A poor old weeping man whose death is nigh.
This sea-girt land has treasures rich and rare :
Take all, Kaikeyi, but my Rama spare.

Once more, O Queen, my suppliant hands entreat;

Once more my lips are on thy lovely feet.

O save my Rama, save my dearest child,

Nor let me die a wretch dishonoured and defiled.'

No thrill of pity through her bosom ran, As thus again the cruel Queen began:

If thou hast promised and art now forsworn,

How wilt thou keep thine ancient name from scorn?
When gathered kings thy truth and honour praise,
How wilt thou bear thine abject eyes to raise
And answer thus: Ah! Kings, ye little know;
My queen to whose fond care my life I owe,
Saved by whose sweet love I am living now-
To her I promised and I broke my vow.'
Then will they scorn the king once counted just,
And tread his vaunted honour in the dust.
His flesh and blood the truthful Saivya' gave,
And fed the hawk, a suppliant dove to save:
True to his word Alarka gave his eyes,
And gained rich guerdon in the blissful skies.
The furious sea himself his promise keeps,

And ne'er beyond his stated limit sweeps."

A just and truthful king, who being unwilling to deprive a hawk of his prey or to betray the dove to which he had promised protection, gave his own flesh to the hawk who would accept nothing else instead. The story is told in the Mahabharata, in different ways, of more than one king.

2 "What more changeful than the Sea?

But over his great tides

Fidelity presides." - WORDSWORTH.

Remember all I did for thy dear sake,

And tremble now thy promised word to break.
Thou hopest Rama to the throne to raise,
And with Kausalya live voluptuous days.
But be it truth or falsehood, right or wrong,
I claim thy promise unredeemed so long.
Make Rama Regent, and before thine eyes
This day Kaikeyi drinks the bowl, and dies.
Far better die, than live one day, to see
Obsequious subjects, with no glance on me,
Before my rival Rama's mother stand,
And hail her Lady with the suppliant hand.
Now by my son and by myself I swear,

No tears shall soften me, no gift or prayer;
This, only this shall now my soul content :
I claim thine oath and Rama's banishment.'

THE STEP-MOTHER.

The night "long and dreary as a hundred years" which the unhappy King has spent in lamentation and entreaties to the inexorable Kaikeyi is past, and the morning appointed for the consecration of Rama is come. Rama having been summoned enters the chamber where the King and Kaikeyi are.

Weighed down by woe, with wild despairing mien,

There sate the Monarch with the cruel Queen.

Then Rama bowed, his royal sire to greet,

And did obeisance at Kaikeyi's feet.

The King with downcast eyes still brimming o'er
Just murmured, Rama! and could say no more.
Then sudden fear made even Rama shake,

As though his heedless foot had toucht a snake.
How could he look upon that awful change,
And bear, unmoved, a sight so sad and strange!

Ꭰ

A mighty monarch but an hour ago,

Now a poor mourner, weak and wan with woe:
Weeping and groaning, mad with wildering thought,
Like the deep wave-crowned sea to frenzy wrought:
Like the bright Sun-God labouring in eclipse,
Or like a holy sage whose heedless lips
Have spoken falsely. Rama's tender breast
Knew for awhile the moon-drawn sea's unrest;

And pierced with sorrow for his father's sake,
To Queen Kaikeyi, reverent, he spake:

'Tell me my fault, or plead for me and win
His pardon, angered by my careless sin.
Why is my father, whom I ever find

Most full of love, so silent and unkind?
To what sharp anguish or what care a prey
Weeps he and sighs and turns his face away?
Say, has some grievous woe, some deadly ill
Stricken his sons, or consorts dearer still?
Better to die than grieve a loving sire:

Death has no terror like a father's ire.