What thing on earth shall be so richly blest? The fruit thy dear hand gives me there to eat, Little or much, shall be, like amrit, sweet. Ne'er will I murmur at my lot, or grieve For mother, father, or the home I leave. My food shall be wild fruit, the flower, the weed: With thee is heaven, where'er thou art not, hell : He gently held her, raised her drooping head, As a high saint his pity for mankind. True heart, or liberal hand, or lip of praise, Come to the wood and aid my duties there, Among thy maidens and the men divide." Then Lakshman's eyes with generous tears o'erflowed, As his breast laboured with its grievous load. He with fond touch his brother's feet carest, "Is such the purpose of thy changeless mind? I with my trusty bow will walk behind. Thy distant way through forest wilds will lead, Though heaven and earth and hell obeyed my nod." "Dear as my life, my good and faithful friend, Mine own dear brother," Rama cried, "attend. Then were Sumitra of her hope bereft, And sad Kausalya with no guardian left. He who rains gifts, as Indra rains above, Lies a poor captive in the snares of love; Thine be the sacred duty to protect Our honoured mothers from the queen's neglect." "O Rama, fear not:" Lakshman thus replied; "In Bharat's love and Bharat's care confide. If through his crime the kingdom suffer ill, My vengeful hand the traitor's blood shall spill. Yea, though auxiliar worlds were ranged in aid, They should not save him: be not thou afraid: For queen Kausalya, from her ample stores, Can raise a host like me to guard her doors: Her thousand hamlets, rich with golden grain, Turn me not back: allow the earnest claim Which all will own and hardly thou canst blame. I'll fetch thee roots and berries, ripe and sweet, And Rama answered, joying at his speech: "Then seek thy friends and bid farewell to each And those two bows of heavenly fabric bring Which ocean's lord erst gave Videha's king;' Those death-fraught quivers, coats of steel-proof mail, And swords whose flashes make the sunbeams pale." 1 Janaka, father of Sita. FAREWELL ! Rama, his wife, and brother walk through the streets, crowded with mourning citizens, to the palace of Dasaratha. They bid the king farewell, and then leave Ayodhya amid the tears and lamentations of the people. Their gold and gems among the Brahmans shared, Set here a flower, there tied a silken band. Then to the palace walked the royal three, For the last time the aged king to see, Through crowds that filled, as for a festive show, "Ah! look, our hero, ever wont to ride, Leading an army in its pomp and pride,— Now only Lakshman, faithful to the end, And his true wife, his weary steps attend. power, Though his free hand poured gifts in endless shower, |