Whose and who art thou? Tell me, whence and why Thou comest hither, with no guardian nigh."

He ceased. The lady, by his garb beguiled, With fearless innocence looked up and smiled;

She bade the seeming Brahman to a seat,

And

gave

him water for his weary feet;

And, still intent on hospitable care,

Brought forth the choicest of her woodland fare.
She by the cottage-door expecting stood

To see her lord returning through the wood;
But naught save boundless trees her gazes met:
Rama and Lakshman, lingering, came not yet.
And then she told him what he sought to know,
Her name, her lineage, all her weal and woe :
The monarch's promise, and Kaikeyi's hate,
The fatal oath, and grief that came too late.
And now," she said, "declare thy name and race,
And why thou roamest to this gloomy place."

She spoke. The stranger thundered in reply : "Terror of men and Gods and worlds am I,

Ravan, whose will the giant hosts obey.

Since I have seen thee, lovely one, to-day,
Clad in silk raiment, bright as polisht gold,
My love for all my wives is dead and cold.
Though countless dames of perfect beauty, torn
From many a pillaged realm, my home adorn,
Come, fairest, come, my queen and darling be;
Among a thousand I will love but thee.

My city, Lanka, like a glittering crown,
Looks from the high brow of a mountain down
On restless Ocean, who with flash and foam
Beats in wild rage against my island-home.
There pleasant gardens shall thy steps invite
With me to wander when the moon is bright;
There in new joys thy breast shall ne'er retain
One faint remembrance of this place of pain."

Then from her breast the noble fury broke; With flashing eye and quivering lip she spoke : "Me, me, the faithful wife of Rama, him Before whose glory Indra's fame is dim: Rama, who quails not in the battle-shock,

Fierce as the Ocean, steadfast as the rock:

Rama, the lord of each auspicious sign;

Rama, the glory of his princely line;

Me, Rama's wife, the dear fond wife of him,
Him of the eagle eye, the lordly limb-

Me dost thou dare with words of love to press,
A jackal suing to a lioness?

As far above thine impious reach am I

As yonder sun that blazes in the sky.

Ha! thou hast seen those air-drawn trees of gold,

That sign of doom which dying eyes behold,

If thou hast ventured, weary of thy life,
To look with eyes of love on Rama's wife.
Fool thou hadst better strive to rend away
The serpent's venomed fang, the lion's prey;
To steal the blessed tree that blooms on high,
To drink fell poison and not fear to die.
Fool! with a needle's point thine eye to prick;
Fool with thy tongue a razor's edge to lick.
Thou, tempt the wife of Rama! Better leap,
A millstone round thy neck, from Lanka's steep
Into the raging sea and strive to swim

From shore to shore than tempt the wife of him.
Thou, win his wife! With lighter labour try
To pluck the sun and moon from yonder sky;
Safer to wrap within thy robe the flame,
Than woo to folly Rama's faithful dame.

As the vast ocean to a trickling rill,

As Meru's mountain to the meanest hill;
The feathered monarch to the skulking bat,
The lordly lion to the crawling cat :
As sandal perfume to the common mire;
As gold, found perfect by the testing fire,
To homely iron and dull lumps of lead :
As the gay peacock, with his plumes outspread,
To the shy moping solitary owl :

As the proud swan is to the meanest fowl

That dips his wings, unnoticed, in the sea-
So is my Rama to a thing like thee."

Out burst the giant, with a furious frown: "Hast thou not heard of Ravan's high renown?

Ne'er heard the glory and the might of me

Before whose face celestial armies flee?

Р

Whom all the Gods, with Indra at their head,
Fear like the ruthless. Monarch of the Dead;
Before whose eye the sun and moon grow pale,
And silent horror checks the shuddering gale;
That every leaflet on the tree is still,

Husht every ripple of the babbling rill.
Beyond the sea my glorious city stands,
Lanka the famous, raised by giant hands:
Like Indra's city, beautiful and bright
With golden walls and gates of lazulite.
There every flower of rarest odour blows,
And luscious fruit on loaded branches glows;
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