Glared the wild eye-balls 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, were 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,

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

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