RAMA'S DESPAIR. Rama returns to his cottage and finds it empty. Sita, his love, his life, is gone. He had borne the loss of father, mother, home, and friends, but beneath this shock the hero's reason gives way. Then Rama turning, with love-quickened pace, Eager to look upon his Sita's face, Came to his dwelling. But he found her not; Lonely and empty was the leafy cot, Like a sad streamlet in the winter's frost With all the glory of its lilies lost. He searcht, he called: no answering voice was heard, But a faint shudder that the branches stirred; And sad with woe each tree and bird and flower Or has she sought the stream, her jar to fill ?” Through grove and glade he ran with maddened brain, Seeking her wildly where all search was vain. From brook to brook, from hill to hill he ran, Each tree to question and each lawn to scan: "Tell me, Acacia, has that fairest she, Who loved thy flowers so well, been seen by thee? If thou hast seen my darling, tell me where! To hide thee in the grove; come forth or speak! Thou art not hidden, and 'tis vain to fly. I see thy garment shimmer in the brake: O, come, my love, for I have sought thee long! Ah! she is dead; her mangled limbs the feast Of wandering giant or some ravenous beast; That moon-bright cheek, that pure and polisht brow, Red lips and dazzling teeth-what are they now? Tossing her arms-her spray-soft arms—in vain, Shrieking for help, alas! my love was slain. Why wast thou left within thy bower alone, For fiends to rend thee, oh, mine own, mine own? My Sita lost, I will not live, but go Hence to the after-world, weighed down by woe; Can I return from banishment to see Those chambers empty where my queen should be? Can I return to hear my people cry Shame on the wretch who failed to save or die? How can I meet Videha's king, and brook The speechless agony of the father's look? How will these lips endure to tell him all? The beautiful city thus to Bharat say, With tender greating: Rama bids thee sway The righteous sceptre thou deservest well.' Then, after reverent salutation, tell With soothing words, my mother, his, and thine, The mournful tale of Sita's fate and mine." |