Yet firm in duty, resolute and brave,
He keeps the promise that his father gave.
And she, whose sweet face, delicately fair,
Not e'en the wandering spirits of the air
Might look upon, unveiling to the day
Walks, seen of all, along the open way.
Alas, her beauty! Ah, that tender form!
How will it change beneath the sun and storm!
How will the piercing cold, the rain, the heat,
Pale her dear lips and stain her perfect feet!
Come, all ye, mourners, share his weal and woe,
And follow Rama wheresoe'er he go.
Let us arise, our wives and children call,
And leave our fields and gardens, homes and all,
Our houses, empty of their store of grain,
With grass-grown courtyard and deserted lane :
Our ruined chambers, where the voice is still
Of women singing as they turn the mill :
Groves, where no children sport in thoughtless glee,
Nor elders sit beneath the mango-tree :
The falling shop, with none to buy or sell,
The pond choked up with weeds, the broken well :
Neglected temples, whence the Gods have fled,
O'errun with rats, with dust and dirt o'erspread;
Where floats no incense on the evening air,
No hum of worship, and no Brahman's prayer:
Where broken vessels strew the unswept floor,
And the chain rusts upon the mouldering door-
These let the greedy queen, Kaikeyi gain,
And triumph in her melancholy reign.
Our town shall be a wilderness: where he,
Our Rama, lives, the wood our town shall be.
The snake shall leave his hole, the bear his den,
And settle in the empty homes of men."
Such were the words of sorrow that the throng
Spoke loudly out as Rama past along,
And his hard fate in faithful love bewailed;
Yet not for this his lofty spirit failed.
On to the palace of the king he prest,
And thus Sumantra at the gate addrest:
"I pray thee, haste and let my father know
That Rama craves a blessing ere he go."
He lingered not, but hastened where the king,
Lord of the world, lay sadly sorrowing;
Changed, like the sun behind a misty cloud;
Like the quencht flame which dust and ashes shroud;
Like a broad lake with its sweet waters dried.
With a slow faltering voice Sumantra cried :
'Long be thy days, O king! Thy Rama waits, Thy lion-lord of men, before the gates.
His weeping friends his last farewell have heard,
Graced with a precious gift and pleasant word;
And now he longs his father's face to see,
And take a blessing, ere he go, of thee."
"Haste," cried the king, "my queens and ladies call,
And bid my servants throng into the hall."
Quick at the monarch's word he called each dame,
And half seven hundred at the summons came.
When all were present, at the king's behest,
Rama and Lakshman in their armour drest,
Came toward the hall, with anxious ladies lined,
And gentle Sita meekly came behind.
But the old king, ere Rama yet was nigh,
Sprang from his throne, and with a bitter cry
Ran forth to meet him but his limbs gave way,
And falling prostrate on the ground he lay.
And Rama threw him by his father's side,
And gently called him, but no voice replied.
Then with a mighty wail the hall was rent:
A thousand women, in one wild lament,
Cried, Rama, Rama! 'mid the silver sound.
Of tinkling ornaments their wrists that bound.
The king, unconscious, on a couch was laid,
And weeping Sita lent her tender aid,
And with her healing care restored him then
Rama spoke, reverent, to the king of men :
"O father, thou both sire and sovereign art:
Bless me, I pray thee, for to-day we part.
Lakshman and Sita will not here remain :
Counsel is useless and entreaty vain.
Refuse them not, but grant thy kind consent
That they may follow as their heart is bent.
And now as kings dismiss their people, so,
Grieve not, O lord, but bless and let us go."
He stood expecting when the king should speak ;
Who answered: "Rama, I am old and weak,
By Queen Kaikeyi's cruel guile misled :
Rule thou Ayodhya in thy father's stead."
And Rama cried: "A thousand years retain
Thy sceptre, King: I have no wish to reign.
I in the wild my destined years will spend,
And clasp thy feet returning when they end.
This populous land, which I this day resign,
Let Bharat rule, with all its corn and kine.
And from Kaikeyi do not thou withhold
Aught thy tongue promised in the days of old.
By thy good deeds and by thy truth I swear,
I crave not heaven or all the glories there:
Wealth, lordship, life are worthless in mine eyes;
One thing alone above the rest I prize,
That thou, my king and sire, shouldst still remain
Untoucht in honour, without spot or stain.
Weep not for me: thy troubled bosom still,
Nor hope, with tears, to change my changeless will.
My word is pledged as well as thine, for know
Kaikeyi prayed me, and I sware to go.
Grieve not the forest will have charms for me,
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