Canto LXVIII. The Envoys.

Vasishtha heard their speech and prayer, And thus addressed the concourse there, Friends, Brahmans, counsellors, and all Assembled in the palace hall: "Ye know that Bharat, free from care, Still lives in Rajagriha(339) where The father of his mother reigns: Satrughna by his side remains. Let active envoys, good at need, Thither on fleetest horses speed, To bring the hero youths away: Why waste the time in dull delay?"

Quick came from all the glad reply: "Vasishtha, let the envoys fly!" He heard their speech, and thus renewed His charge before the multitude: "Nandan, Asok, Siddharth, attend, Your ears, Jayanta, Vijay, lend: Be yours, what need requires, to do: I speak these words to all of you. With coursers of the fleetest breed To Rajagriha's city speed. Then rid your bosoms of distress, And Bharat thus from me address: "The household priest and peers by us Send health to thee and greet thee thus: Come to thy father's home with haste: Thine absent time no longer waste." But speak no word of Rama fled, Tell not the prince his sire is dead, Nor to the royal youth the fate That ruins Raghu's race relate. Go quickly hence, and with you bear Fine silken vestures rich and rare, And gems and many a precious thing As gifts to Bharat and the king."

With ample stores of food supplied, Each to his home the envoys hied, Prepared, with steeds of swiftest race, To Kekaya's land(340) their way to trace. They made all due provision there, And every need arranged with care, Then ordered by Vasishtha, they Went forth with speed upon their way. Then northward of Pralamba, west Of Apartala, on they pressed, Crossing the Malini that flowed With gentle stream athwart the road. They traversed Ganga's holy waves Where she Hastinapura(341) laves, Thence to Panchala(342) westward fast Through Kurujangal's land(343) they passed. On, on their course the envoys held By urgency of task impelled. Quick glancing at each lucid flood And sweet lake gay with flower and bud. Beyond, they passed unwearied o'er, Where glad birds fill the flood and shore Of Saradanda racing fleet With heavenly water clear and sweet, Thereby a tree celestial grows Which every boon on prayer bestows: To its blest shade they humbly bent, Then to Kulinga's town they went. Then, having passed the Warrior's Wood, In Abhikala next they stood, O'er sacred Ikshumati(344) came, Their ancient kings' ancestral claim. They saw the learned Brahmans stand, Each drinking from his hollowed hand, And through Bahika(345) journeying still They reached at length Sudaman's hill: There Vishnu's footstep turned to see, Vipasa(346) viewed, and Salmali, And many a lake and river met, Tank, pool, and pond, and rivulet. And lions saw, and tigers near, And elephants and herds of deer, And still, by prompt obedience led, Along the ample road they sped. Then when their course so swift and long, Had worn their steeds though fleet and strong, To Girivraja's splendid town They came by night, and lighted down. To please their master, and to guard The royal race, the lineal right, The envoys, spent with riding hard, To that fair city came by night.(347)



Canto LXIX. Bharat's Dream.

The night those messengers of state Had past within the city's gate, In dreams the slumbering Bharat saw A sight that chilled his soul with awe. The dream that dire events foretold Left Bharat's heart with horror cold, And with consuming woes distraught, Upon his aged sire he thought. His dear companions, swift to trace The signs of anguish on his face, Drew near, his sorrow to expel, And pleasant tales began to tell. Some woke sweet music's cheering sound, And others danced in lively round. With joke and jest they strove to raise His spirits, quoting ancient plays; But Bharat still, the lofty-souled, Deaf to sweet tales his fellows told, Unmoved by music, dance, and jest, Sat silent, by his woe oppressed. To him, begirt by comrades near, Thus spoke the friend he held most dear: "Why ringed around by friends, art thou So silent and so mournful now?" "Hear thou," thus Bharat made reply, "What chills my heart and dims mine eye. I dreamt I saw the king my sire Sink headlong in a lake of mire Down from a mountain high in air, His body soiled, and loose his hair. Upon the miry lake he seemed To lie and welter, as I dreamed; With hollowed hands full many a draught Of oil he took, and loudly laughed. With head cast down I saw him make A meal on sesamum and cake; The oil from every member dripped, And in its clammy flood he dipped. The ocean's bed was bare and dry, The moon had fallen from the sky, And all the world lay still and dead, With whelming darkness overspread. The earth was rent and opened wide, The leafy trees were scorched, and died; I saw the seated mountains split, And wreaths of rising smoke emit. The stately beast the monarch rode His long tusks rent and splintered showed; And flames that quenched and cold had lain Blazed forth with kindled light again. I looked, and many a handsome dame, Arrayed in brown and sable came And bore about the monarch, dressed, On iron stool, in sable vest. And then the king, of virtuous mind, A blood-red wreath around him twined, Forth on an ass-drawn chariot sped, As southward still he bent his head. Then, crimson-clad, a dame appeared Who at the monarch laughed and jeered; And a she-monster, dire to view, Her hand upon his body threw. Such is the dream I dreamt by night, Which chills me yet with wild affright: Either the king or Rama, I Or Lakshman now must surely die. For when an ass-drawn chariot seems To bear away a man in dreams, Be sure above his funeral pyre The smoke soon rears its cloudy spire. This makes my spirit low and weak, My tongue is slow and loth to speak: My lips and throat are dry for dread, And all my soul disquieted. My lips, relaxed, can hardly speak, And chilling dread has changed my cheek I blame myself in aimless fears, And still no cause of blame appears. I dwell upon this dream of ill Whose changing scenes I viewed, And on the startling horror still My troubled thoughts will brood. Still to my soul these terrors cling, Reluctant to depart, And the strange vision of the king Still weighs upon my heart."



Canto LXX. Bharat's Departure.

While thus he spoke, the envoys borne On horses faint and travel-worn Had gained the city fenced around With a deep moat's protecting bound. An audience of the king they gained, And honours from the prince obtained; The monarch's feet they humbly pressed, To Bharat next these words addressed: "The household priest and peers by us Send health to thee and greet thee thus: "Come to thy father's house with haste: Thine absent time no longer waste." Receive these vestures rich and rare, These costly gems and jewels fair, And to thy uncle here present Each precious robe and ornament. These for the king and him suffice— Two hundred millions is their price— These, worth a hundred millions, be Reserved, O large-eyed Prince, for thee."

Loving his friends with heart and soul, The joyful prince received the whole, Due honour to the envoys paid, And thus in turn his answer made: "Of Dasaratha tidings tell: Is the old king my father well? Is Rama, and is Lakshman, he Of the high-soul, from sickness free? And she who walks where duty leads, Kausalya, known for gracious deeds, Mother of Rama, loving spouse, Bound to her lord by well kept vows? And Lakshman's mother too, the dame Sumitra skilled in duty's claim, Who brave Satrughna also bare, Second in age,—her health declare. And she, in self-conceit most sage, With selfish heart most prone to rage, My mother, fares she well? has she Sent message or command to me?"

Thus Bharat spake, the mighty-souled, And they in brief their tidings told: "All they of whom thou askest dwell, O lion lord, secure and well: Thine all the smiles of fortune are: Make ready; let them yoke the car."

Thus by the royal envoys pressed, Bharat again the band addressed: "I go with you: no long delay, A single hour I bid you stay." Thus Bharat, son of him who swayed Ayodhyas realm, his answer made, And then bespoke, his heart to please, His mother's sire in words like these: "I go to see my father, King, Urged by the envoys' summoning; And when thy soul desires to see Thy grandson, will return to thee."

The king his grandsire kissed his head, And in reply to Bharat said: "Go forth, dear child: how blest is she, The mother of a son like thee! Greet well thy sire, thy mother greet, O thou whose arms the foe defeat; The household priest, and all the rest Amid the Twice-born chief and best; And Rama and brave Lakshman, who Shoot the long shaft with aim so true."

To him the king high honour showed, And store of wealth and gifts bestowed, The choicest elephants to ride, And skins and blankets deftly dyed, A thousand strings of golden beads, And sixteen hundred mettled steeds: And boundless wealth before him piled Gave Kekaya to Kaikeyi's child. And men of counsel, good and tried, On whose firm truth he aye relied, King Asvapati gave with speed Prince Bharat on his way to lead. And noble elephants, strong and young, From sires of Indrasira sprung, And others tall and fair to view Of great Airavat's lineage true: And well yoked asses fleet of limb The prince his uncle gave to him. And dogs within the palace bred, Of body vast and massive head, With mighty fangs for battle, brave, The tiger's match in strength, he gave. Yet Bharat's bosom hardly glowed To see the wealth the king bestowed; For he would speed that hour away, Such care upon his bosom lay: Those eager envoys urged him thence, And that sad vision's influence. He left his court-yard, crowded then With elephants and steeds and men, And, peerless in immortal fame, To the great royal street he came. He saw, as farther still he went, The inner rooms most excellent, And passed the doors, to him unclosed, Where check nor bar his way oppossd. There Bharat stayed to bid adieu To grandsire and to uncle too, Then, with Satrughna by his side, Mounting his car, away he hied. The strong-wheeled cars were yoked, and they More than a hundred, rolled away: Servants, with horses, asses, kine, Followed their lord in endless line. So, guarded by his own right hand, Forth high-souled Bharat hied, Surrounded by a lordly band On whom the king relied. Beside him sat Satrughna dear, The scourge of trembling foes: Thus from the light of Indra's sphere A saint made perfect goes.



Canto LXXI. Bharat's Return.

Then Bharat's face was eastward bent As from the royal town he went. He reached Sudama's farther side, And glorious, gazed upon the tide; Passed Hladini, and saw her toss Her westering billows hard to cross. Then old Ikshvaku's famous son O'er Satadru(348) his passage won, Near Ailadhana on the strand, And came to Aparparyat's land. O'er Sila's flood he hurried fast, Akurvati's fair stream he passed, Crossed o'er Agneya's rapid rill, And Salyakartan onward still. Silavaha's swift stream he eyed, True to his vows and purified, Then crossed the lofty hills, and stood In Chaitraratha's mighty wood. He reached the confluence where meet Sarasvati(349) and Ganga fleet, And through Bharunda forest, spread Northward of Viramatsya, sped. He sought Kalinda's child, who fills The soul with joy, begirt by hills, Reached Yamuna, and passing o'er, Rested his army on the shore: He gave his horses food and rest, Bathed reeking limb and drooping crest. They drank their fill and bathed them there, And water for their journey bare. Thence through a mighty wood he sped All wild and uninhabited, As in fair chariot through the skies, Most fair in shape a Storm-God flies. At Ansudhana Ganga, hard To cross, his onward journey barred, So turning quickly thence he came To Pragvat's city dear to fame. There having gained the farther side To Kutikoshtika he hied: The stream he crossed, and onward then To Dharmavardhan brought his men. Thence, leaving Toran on the north, To Jambuprastha journeyed forth. Then onward to a pleasant grove By fair Varutha's town he drove, And when a while he there had stayed, Went eastward from the friendly shade. Eastward of Ujjihana where The Priyak trees are tall and fair, He passed, and rested there each steed Exhausted with the journey's speed. There orders to his men addressed, With quickened pace he onward pressed, A while at Sarvatirtha spent, Then o'er Uttanika he went. O'er many a stream beside he sped With coursers on the mountains bred, And passing Hastiprishthak, took The road o'er Kutika's fair brook. Then, at Lohitya's village, he Crossed o'er the swift Kapivati, Then passed, where Ekasala stands, The Sthanumati's flood and sands, And Gomati of fair renown By Vinata's delightful town. When to Kalinga near he drew, A wood of Sal trees charmed the view; That passed, the sun began to rise, And Bharat saw with happy eyes, Ayodhya's city, built and planned By ancient Manu's royal hand. Seven nights upon the road had passed, And when he saw the town at last Before him in her beauty spread, Thus Bharat to the driver said: "This glorious city from afar, Wherein pure groves and gardens are, Seems to my eager eyes to-day A lifeless pile of yellow clay. Through all her streets where erst a throng Of men and women streamed along, Uprose the multitudinous roar: To-day I hear that sound no more. No longer do mine eyes behold The leading people, as of old, On elephants, cars, horses, go Abroad and homeward, to and fro. The brilliant gardens, where we heard The wild note of each rapturous bird, Where men and women loved to meet, In pleasant shades, for pastime sweet,— These to my eyes this day appear Joyless, and desolate, and drear: Each tree that graced the garden grieves, And every path is spread with leaves. The merry cry of bird and beast, That spake aloud their joy, has ceased: Still is the long melodious note That charmed us from each warbling throat. Why blows the blessed air no more, The incense-breathing air that bore Its sweet incomparable scent Of sandal and of aloe blent? Why are the drum and tabour mute? Why is the music of the lute That woke responsive to the quill, Loved by the happy, hushed and still? My boding spirit gathers hence Dire sins of awful consequence, And omens, crowding on my sight, Weigh down my soul with wild affright. Scarce shall I find my friends who dwell Here in Ayodhya safe and well: For surely not without a cause This crushing dread my soul o'erawes."

Heart sick, dejected, every sense Confused by terror's influence, On to the town he quickly swept Which King Ikshvaku's children kept. He passed through Vaijayanta's gate, With weary steeds, disconsolate, And all who near their station held, His escort, crying Victory, swelled, With heart distracted still he bowed Farewell to all the following crowd, Turned to the driver and began To question thus the weary man: "Why was I brought, O free from blame, So fast, unknown for what I came? Yet fear of ill my heart appals, And all my wonted courage falls. For I have heard in days gone by The changes seen when monarchs die; And all those signs, O charioteer, I see to-day surround me here: Each kinsman's house looks dark and grim, No hand delights to keep it trim: The beauty vanished, and the pride, The doors, unkept, stand open wide. No morning rites are offered there, No grateful incense loads the air, And all therein, with brows o'ercast, Sit joyless on the ground and fast. Their lovely chaplets dry and dead, Their courts unswept, with dust o'erspread, The temples of the Gods to-day No more look beautiful and gay. Neglected stands each holy shrine, Each image of a Lord divine. No shop where flowery wreaths are sold Is bright and busy as of old. The women and the men I mark Absorbed in fancies dull and dark, Their gloomy eyes with tears bedewed, A poor afflicted multitude."

His mind oppressed with woe and dread, Thus Bharat to his driver said, Viewed the dire signs Ayodhya showed, And onward to the palace rode.



Canto LXXII. Bharat's Inquiry.

He entered in, he looked around, Nor in the house his father found; Then to his mother's dwelling, bent To see her face, he quickly went. She saw her son, so long away, Returning after many a day, And from her golden seat in joy Sprung forward to her darling boy. Within the bower, no longer bright, Came Bharat lover of the right, And bending with observance sweet Clasped his dear mother's lovely feet. Long kisses on his brow she pressed, And held her hero to her breast, Then fondly drew him to her knees, And questioned him in words like these: "How many nights have fled, since thou Leftest thy grandsire's home, till now? By flying steeds so swiftly borne, Art thou not weak and travel-worn? How fares the king my father, tell: Is Yudhajit thine uncle well? And now, my son, at length declare The pleasure of the visit there."

Thus to the offspring of the king She spake with tender questioning, And to his mother made reply Young Bharat of the lotus eye: "The seventh night has come and fled Since from my grandsire's home I sped: My mother's sire is well, and he, Yudhajit, from all trouble free. The gold and every precious thing Presented by the conqueror king, The slower guards behind convey: I left them weary on the way. Urged by the men my father sent, My hasty course I hither bent: Now, I implore, an answer deign, And all I wish to know, explain. Unoccupied I now behold This couch of thine adorned with gold, And each of King Ikshvaku's race Appears with dark and gloomy face. The king is aye, my mother dear, Most constant in his visits here. To meet my sire I sought this spot: How is it that I find him not? I long to clasp my father's feet: Say where he lingers, I entreat. Perchance the monarch may be seen Where dwells Kausalya, eldest queen."

His father's fate, from him concealed, Kaikeyi to her son revealed: Told as glad news the story sad, For lust of sway had made her mad: "Thy father, O my darling, know, Has gone the way all life must go: Devout and famed, of lofty thought, In whom the good their refuge sought."

When Bharat pious, pure, and true, Heard the sad words which pierced him through, Grieved for the sire he loved so well Prostrate upon the ground he fell: Down fell the strong-armed hero, high Tossing his arms, and a sad cry, "Ah, woe is me, unhappy, slain!" Burst from his lips again, again, Afflicted for his father's fate By grief's intolerable weight, With every sense amazed and cowed The splendid hero wailed aloud: "Ah me, my royal father's bed Of old a gentle radiance shed, Like the pure sky when clouds are past, And the moon's light is o'er it cast: Ah, of its wisest lord bereft, It shows to-day faint radiance left, As when the moon has left the sky. Or mighty Ocean's depths are dry."

With choking sobs, with many a tear, Pierced to the heart with grief sincere, The best of conquerors poured his sighs, And with his robe veiled face and eyes. Kaikeyi saw him fallen there, Godlike, afflicted, in despair, Used every art to move him thence, And tried him thus with eloquence: "Arise, arise, my dearest; why Wilt thou, famed Prince, so lowly lie? Not by such grief as this are moved Good men like thee, by all approved. The earth thy father nobly swayed, And rites to Heaven he duly paid. At length his race of life was run: Thou shouldst not mourn for him, my son."

Long on the ground he wept, and rolled From side to side, still unconsoled, And then, with bitter grief oppressed, His mother with these words addressed: "This joyful hope my bosom fed When from my grandsire's halls I sped— "The king will throne his eldest son, And sacrifice, as should be done." But all is changed, my hope was vain, And this sad heart is rent in twain, For my dear father's face I miss, Who ever sought his loved ones' bliss. But in my absence, mother, say, What sickness took my sire away? Ah, happy Rama, happy they Allowed his funeral rites to pay! The glorious monarch has not learned That I his darling have returned, Or quickly had he hither sped, And pressed his kisses on my head. Where is that hand whose gentle touch, Most soft and kind I loved so much, The hand that loved to brush away The dust that on his darling lay? Quick, bear the news to Rama's ear; Tell the great chief that I am here: Brother, and sire, and friend, and all Is he, and I his trusty thrall. For noble hearts, to virtue true, Their sires in elder brothers view. To clasp his feet I fain would bow: He is my hope and refuge now. What said my glorious sire, who knew Virtue and vice, so brave and true? Firm in his vows, dear lady, say, What said he ere he passed away? What was his rede to me? I crave To hear the last advice he gave."

Thus closely questioned by the youth, Kaikeyi spoke the mournful truth: "The high-souled monarch wept and sighed, For Rama, Sita, Lakshman, cried, Then, best of all who go to bliss, Passed to the world which follows this. "Ah, blessed are the people who Shall Rama and his Sita view, And Lakshman of the mighty arm, Returning free from scathe and harm." Such were the words, the last of all, Thy father, ere he died, let fall, By Fate and Death's dread coils enwound, As some great elephant is bound."

He heard, yet deeper in despair, Her lips this double woe declare, And with sad brow that showed his pain Questioned his mother thus again: "But where is he, of virtue tried, Who fills Kausalya's heart with pride, Where is the noble Rama? where Is Lakshman brave, and Sita fair?"

Thus pressed, the queen began to tell The story as each thing befell, And gave her son in words like these, The mournful news she meant to please: "The prince is gone in hermit dress To Dandak's mighty wilderness, And Lakshman brave and Sita share The wanderings of the exile there."

Then Bharat's soul with fear was stirred Lest Rama from the right had erred, And jealous for ancestral fame, He put this question to the dame: "Has Rama grasped with lawless hold A Brahman's house, or land, or gold? Has Rama harmed with ill intent Some poor or wealthy innocent? Was Rama, faithless to his vows, Enamoured of anothers spouse? Why was he sent to Dandak's wild, Like one who kills an unborn child?"

He questioned thus: and she began To tell her deeds and crafty plan. Deceitful-hearted, fond, and blind As is the way of womankind: "No Brahman's wealth has Rama seized, No dame his wandering fancy pleased; His very eyes he ne'er allows To gaze upon a neighbour's spouse. But when I heard the monarch planned To give the realm to Rama's hand, I prayed that Rama hence might flee, And claimed the throne, my son, for thee. The king maintained the name he bare, And did according to my prayer, And Rama, with his brother, sent, And Sita, forth to banishment. When his dear son was seen no more, The lord of earth was troubled sore: Too feeble with his grief to strive, He joined the elemental Five. Up then, most dutiful! maintain The royal state, arise, and reign. For thee, my darling son, for thee All this was planned and wrought by me. Come, cast thy grief and pain aside, With manly courage fortified. This town and realm are all thine own, And fear and grief are here unknown. Come, with Vasishtha's guiding aid, And priests in ritual skilled Let the king's funeral dues be paid, And every claim fulfilled. Perform his obsequies with all That suits his rank and worth, Then give the mandate to install Thyself as lord of earth."



Canto LXXIII. Kaikeyi Reproached.

But when he heard the queen relate His brothers' doom, his father's fate, Thus Bharat to his mother said With burning grief disquieted: "Alas, what boots it now to reign, Struck down by grief and well-nigh slain? Ah, both are gone, my sire, and he Who was a second sire to me. Grief upon grief thy hand has made, And salt upon gashes laid: For my dear sire has died through thee, And Rama roams a devotee. Thou camest like the night of Fate This royal house to devastate. Unwitting ill, my hapless sire Placed in his bosom coals of fire, And through thy crimes his death he met, O thou whose heart on sin is set. Shame of thy house! thy senseless deed Has reft all joy from Raghu's seed. The truthful monarch, dear to fame, Received thee as his wedded dame, And by thy act to misery doomed Has died by flames of grief consumed. Kausalya and Sumitra too The coming of my mother rue, And if they live oppressed by woe, For their dear sons their sad tears flow. Was he not ever good and kind,— That hero of the duteous mind? Skilled in all filial duties, he As a dear mother treated thee. Kausalya too, the eldest queen, Who far foresees with insight keen, Did she not ever show thee all A sister's love at duty's call? And hast thou from the kingdom chased Her son, with bark around his waist, To the wild wood, to dwell therein, And dost not sorrow for thy sin? The love I bare to Raghu's son Thou knewest not, ambitious one, If thou hast wrought this impious deed For royal sway, in lawless greed. With him and Lakshman far away, What power have I the realm to sway? What hope will fire my bosom when I see no more these lords of men? The holy king, who loved the right Relied on Rama's power and might, His guardian and his glory, so Joys Meru in his woods below. How can I bear, a steer untrained, The load his mightier strength sustained? What power have I to brook alone This weight on feeble shoulders thrown? But if the needful power were bought By strength of mind and brooding thought, No triumph shall attend the dame Who dooms her son to lasting shame. Now should no doubt that son prevent From quitting thee on evil bent. But Rama's love o'erpowers my will, Who holds thee as his mother still. Whence did the thought, O thou whose eyes Are turned to sinful deeds, arise— A plan our ancient sires would hate, O fallen from thy virtuous state? For in the line from which we spring The eldest is anointed king: No monarchs from the rule decline, And, least of all, Ikshvaku's line. Our holy sires, to virtue true, Upon our race a lustre threw, But with subversive frenzy thou Hast marred our lineal honour now, Of lofty birth, a noble line Of previous kings is also thine: Then whence this hated folly? whence This sudden change that steals thy sense? Thou shalt not gain thine impious will, O thou whose thoughts are bent on ill, Thou from whose guilty hand descend These sinful blows my life to end. Now to the forest will I go, Thy cherished plans to overthrow, And bring my brother, free from stain, His people's darling, home again. And Rama, when again he turns, Whose glory like a beacon burns, In me a faithful slave shall find To serve him with contented mind."



Canto LXXIV. Bharat's Lament.

When Bharat's anger-sharpened tongue Reproaches on the queen had flung, Again, with mighty rage possessed, The guilty dame he thus addressed: "Flee, cruel, wicked sinner, flee, Let not this kingdom harbour thee. Thou who hast thrown all right aside, Weep thou for me when I have died. Canst thou one charge against the king, Or the most duteous Rama bring? The one thy sin to death has sent, The other chased to banishment. Our line's destroyer, sin defiled Like one who kills an unborn child, Ne'er with thy lord in heaven to dwell, Thy portion shall be down in hell Because thy hand, that stayed for naught, This awful wickedness has wrought, And ruined him whom all held dear, My bosom too is stirred with fear. My father by thy sin is dead, And Rama to the wood is fled; And of thy deed I bear the stain, And fameless in the world remain. Ambitious, evil-souled, in show My mother, yet my direst foe. My throning ne'er thine eyes shall bless, Thy husband's wicked murderess. Thou art not Asvapati's child, That righteous king most sage and mild, But thou wast born a fiend, a foe My father's house to overthrow. Thou who hast made Kausalya, pure, Gentle, affectionate, endure The loss of him who was her bliss,— What worlds await thee, Queen, for this? Was it not patent to thy sense That Rama was his friends' defence, Kausalya's own true child most dear, The eldest and his father's peer? Men in the son not only trace The father's figure, form, and face, But in his heart they also find The offspring of the father's mind; And hence, though dear their kinsmen are, To mothers sons are dearer far. There goes an ancient legend how Good Surabhi, the God-loved cow, Saw two of her dear children strain, Drawing a plough and faint with pain. She saw them on the earth outworn, Toiling till noon from early morn, And as she viewed her children's woe, A flood of tears began to flow. As through the air beneath her swept The Lord of Gods, the drops she wept, Fine, laden with delicious smell, Upon his heavenly body fell. And Indra lifted up his eyes And saw her standing in the skies, Afflicted with her sorrow's weight, Sad, weeping, all disconsolate. The Lord of Gods in anxious mood Thus spoke in suppliant attitude: "No fear disturbs our rest, and how Come this great dread upon thee now? Whence can this woe upon thee fall, Say, gentle one who lovest all?"

Thus spake the God who rules the skies, Indra, the Lord supremely wise; And gentle Surabhi, well learned In eloquence, this speech returned: "Not thine the fault, great God, not thine And guiltless are the Lords divine: I mourn two children faint with toil, Labouring hard in stubborn soil. Wasted and sad I see them now, While the sun beats on neck and brow, Still goaded by the cruel hind,— No pity in his savage mind. O Indra, from this body sprang These children, worn with many a pang. For this sad sight I mourn, for none Is to the mother like her son."

He saw her weep whose offspring feed In thousands over hill and mead, And knew that in a mother's eye Naught with a son, for love, can vie. He deemed her, when the tears that came From her sad eyes bedewed his frame, Laden with their celestial scent, Of living things most excellent. If she these tears of sorrow shed Who many a thousand children bred, Think what a life of woe is left Kausalya, of her Rama reft. An only son was hers and she Is rendered childless now by thee. Here and hereafter, for thy crime, Woe is thy lot through endless time. And now, O Queen, without delay, With all due honour will I pay Both to my brother and my sire The rites their several fates require. Back to Ayodhya will I bring The long-armed chief, her lord and king, And to the wood myself betake Where hermit saints their dwelling make. For, sinner both in deed and thought! This hideous crime which thou hast wrought I cannot bear, or live to see The people's sad eyes bent on me. Begone, to Dandak wood retire, Or cast thy body to the fire, Or bind around thy neck the rope: No other refuge mayst thou hope. When Rama, lord of valour true, Has gained the earth, his right and due, Then, free from duty's binding debt, My vanished sin shall I forget."

Thus like an elephant forced to brook The goading of the driver's hook, Quick panting like a serpent maimed, He fell to earth with rage inflamed.



Canto LXXV. The Abjuration.

A while he lay: he rose at length, And slowly gathering sense and strength, With angry eyes which tears bedewed, The miserable queen he viewed, And spake with keen reproach to her Before each lord and minister: "No lust have I for kingly sway, My mother I no more obey: Naught of this consecration knew Which Dasaratha kept in view. I with Satrughna all the time Was dwelling in a distant clime: I knew of Rama's exile naught, That hero of the noble thought: I knew not how fair Sita went, And Lakshman, forth to banishment."

Thus high-souled Bharat, mid the crowd, Lifted his voice and cried aloud. Kausalya heard, she raised her head, And quickly to Sumitra said: "Bharat, Kaikeyi's son is here,— Hers whose fell deeds I loathe and fear: That youth of foresight keen I fain Would meet and see his face again." Thus to Sumitra spake the dame, And straight to Bharat's presence came With altered mien, neglected dress, Trembling and faint with sore distress. Bharat, Satrughna by his side, To meet her, toward her palace hied. And when the royal dame they viewed Distressed with dire solicitude, Sad, fallen senseless on the ground, About her neck their arms they wound. The noble matron prostrate there, Embraced, with tears, the weeping pair, And with her load of grief oppressed, To Bharat then these words addressed: "Now all is thine, without a foe, This realm for which thou longest so. Ah, soon Kaikeyi's ruthless hand Has won the empire of the land, And made my guiltless Rama flee Dressed like some lonely devotee. Herein what profit has the queen, Whose eye delights in havoc, seen? Me also, me 'twere surely good To banish to the distant wood, To dwell amid the shades that hold My famous son with limbs like gold. Nay, with the sacred fire to guide, Will I, Sumitra by my side, Myself to the drear wood repair And seek the son of Raghu there. This land which rice and golden corn And wealth of every kind adorn, Car, elephant, and steed, and gem,— She makes thee lord of it and them."

With taunts like these her bitter tongue The heart of blameless Bharat wrung And direr pangs his bosom tore Than when the lancet probes a sore. With troubled senses all astray Prone at her feet he fell and lay. With loud lament a while he plained, And slowly strength and sense regained. With suppliant hand to hand applied He turned to her who wept and sighed, And thus bespake the queen, whose breast With sundry woes was sore distressed: "Why these reproaches, noble dame? I, knowing naught, am free from blame. Thou knowest well what love was mine For Rama, chief of Raghu's line. O, never be his darkened mind To Scripture's guiding lore inclined, By whose consent the prince who led The good, the truthful hero, fled. May he obey the vilest lord, Offend the sun with act abhorred,(350) And strike a sleeping cow, who lent His voice to Rama's banishment. May the good king who all befriends, And, like his sons, the people tends, Be wronged by him who gave consent To noble Rama's banishment. On him that king's injustice fall, Who takes, as lord, a sixth of all, Nor guards, neglectful of his trust, His people, as a ruler must. The crime of those who swear to fee, At holy rites, some devotee, And then the promised gift deny, Be his who willed the prince should fly. When weapons clash and heroes bleed, With elephant and harnessed steed, Ne'er, like the good, be his to fight Whose heart allowed the prince's flight. Though taught with care by one expert May he the Veda's text pervert, With impious mind on evil bent, Whose voice approved the banishment. May he with traitor lips reveal Whate'er he promised to conceal, And bruit abroad his friend's offence, Betrayed by generous confidence. No wife of equal lineage born The wretch's joyless home adorn: Ne'er may he do one virtuous deed, And dying see no child succeed. When in the battle's awful day Fierce warriors stand in dread array, Let the base coward turn and fly, And smitten by the foeman, die. Long may he wander, rags his wear, Doomed in his hand a skull to bear, And like an idiot beg his bread, Who gave consent when Rama fled. His sin who holy rites forgets, Asleep when shows the sun and sets, A load upon his soul shall lie Whose will allowed the prince to fly. His sin who loves his Master's dame, His, kindler of destructive flame, His who betrays his trusting friend Shall, mingled all, on him descend. By him no reverence due be paid To blessed God or parted shade: May sire and mother's sacred name In vain from him obedience claim. Ne'er may he go where dwell the good, Nor win their fame and neighbourhood, But lose all hopes of bliss to-day, Who willed the prince should flee away. May he deceive the poor and weak Who look to him and comfort seek, Betray the suppliants who complain, And make the hopeful hope in vain. Long may his wife his kiss expect, And pine away in cold neglect. May he his lawful love despise, And turn on other dames his eyes, Fool, on forbidden joys intent, Whose will allowed the banishment. His sin who deadly poison throws To spoil the water as it flows, Lay on the wretch its burden dread Who gave consent when Rama fled."(351)

Thus with his words he undeceived Kausalya's troubled heart, who grieved For son and husband reft away; Then prostrate on the ground he lay. Him as he lay half-senseless there, Freed by the mighty oaths he sware, Kausalya, by her woe distressed, With melancholy words addressed: "Anew, my son, this sorrow springs To rend my heart with keener stings: These awful oaths which thou hast sworn My breast with double grief have torn. Thy soul, and faithful Lakshman's too, Are still, thank Heaven! to virtue true. True to thy promise, thou shalt gain The mansions which the good obtain."

Then to her breast that youth she drew, Whose sweet fraternal love she knew, And there in strict embraces held The hero, as her tears outwelled. And Bharat's heart grew sick and faint With grief and oft-renewed complaint, And all his senses were distraught By the great woe that in him wrought. Thus he lay and still bewailed With sighs and loud lament Till all his strength and reason failed, The hours of night were spent.



Canto LXXVI. The Funeral.

The saint Vasishtha, best of all Whose words with moving wisdom fall, Bharat, Kaikeyi's son, addressed, Whom burning fires of grief distressed: "O Prince, whose fame is widely spread, Enough of grief: be comforted. The time is come: arise, and lay Upon the pyre the monarch's clay."

He heard the words Vasishtha spoke, And slumbering resolution woke. Then skilled in all the laws declare, He bade his friends the rites prepare. They raised the body from the oil, And placed it, dripping, on the soil; Then laid it on a bed, whereon Wrought gold and precious jewels shone. There, pallor o'er his features spread, The monarch, as in sleep, lay dead. Then Bharat sought his father's side, And lifted up his voice and cried: "O King, and has thy heart designed To part and leave thy son behind? Make Rama flee, who loves the right, And Lakshman of the arm of might? Whither, great Monarch, wilt thou go And leave this people in their woe, Mourning their hero, wild with grief, Of Rama reft, their lion chief? Ah, who will guard the people well Who in Ayodhya's city dwell, When thou, my sire, hast sought the sky, And Rama has been forced to fly? In widowed woe, bereft of thee, The land no more is fair to see: The city, to my aching sight, Is gloomy as a moonless night."

Thus, with o'erwhelming sorrow pained, Sad Bharat by the bed complained: And thus Vasishtha, holy sage, Spoke his deep anguish to assuage: "O Lord of men, no longer stay; The last remaining duties pay: Haste, mighty-armed, as I advise, The funeral rites to solemnize."

And Bharat heard Vasishtha's rede With due attention and agreed. He summoned straight from every side Chaplain, and priest, and holy guide. The sacred fires he bade them bring Forth from the chapel of the king, Wherein the priests in order due, And ministers, the offerings threw. Distraught in mind, with sob and tear, They laid the body on a bier, And servants, while their eyes brimmed o'er The monarch from the palace bore. Another band of mourners led The long procession of the dead: Rich garments in the way they cast, And gold and silver, as they passed. Then other hands the corse bedewed With fragrant juices that exude From sandal, cedar, aloe, pine, And every perfume rare and fine. Then priestly hands the mighty dead Upon the pyre deposited. The sacred fires they tended next, And muttered low each funeral text; And priestly singers who rehearse The Saman(352) sang their holy verse. Forth from the town in litters came, Or chariots, many a royal dame, And honoured so the funeral ground, With aged followers ringed around. With steps in inverse order bent,(353) The priests in sad procession went Around the monarch's burning pyre Who well had nursed each sacred fire: With Queen Kausalya and the rest, Their tender hearts with woe distressed. The voice of women, shrill and clear As screaming curlews, smote the ear, As from a thousand voices rose The shriek that tells of woman's woes. Then weeping, faint, with loud lament, Down Sarju's shelving bank they went. There standing on the river side With Bharat, priest, and peer, Their lips the women purified With water fresh and clear. Returning to the royal town, Their eyes with tear-drops filled, Ten days on earth they laid them down, And wept till grief was stilled.



Canto LXXVII. The Gathering Of The Ashes.

The tenth day passed: the prince again Was free from every legal stain. He bade them on the twelfth the great Remaining honour celebrate. Much gold he gave, and gems, and food, To all the Brahman multitude, And goats whose hair was white and fine, And many a thousand head of kine: Slaves, men and damsels, he bestowed, And many a car and fair abode: Such gifts he gave the Brahman race His father's obsequies to grace. Then when the morning's earliest ray Appeared upon the thirteenth day, Again the hero wept and sighed Distraught and sorrow-stupefied; Drew, sobbing in his anguish, near, The last remaining debt to clear, And at the bottom of the pyre, He thus bespake his royal sire: "O father, hast thou left me so, Deserted in my friendless woe, When he to whom the charge was given To keep me, to the wood is driven? Her only son is forced away Who was his helpless mother's stay: Ah, whither, father, art thou fled; Leaving the queen uncomforted?"

He looked upon the pile where lay The bones half-burnt and ashes grey, And uttering a piteous moan, Gave way, by anguish overthrown. Then as his tears began to well, Prostrate to earth the hero fell; So from its seat the staff they drag, And cast to earth some glorious flag. The ministers approached again The prince whom rites had freed from stain; So when Yayati fell, each seer, In pity for his fate, drew near. Satrughna saw him lying low O'erwhelmed beneath the crush of woe, And as upon the king he thought, He fell upon the earth distraught. When to his loving memory came Those noble gifts, that kingly frame, He sorrowed, by his woe distressed, As one by frenzied rage possessed: "Ah me, this surging sea of woe Has drowned us with its overflow: The source is Manthara, dire and dark, Kaikeyi is the ravening shark: And the great boons the monarch gave Lend conquering might to every wave. Ah, whither wilt thou go, and leave Thy Bharat in his woe to grieve, Whom ever 'twas thy greatest joy To fondle as a tender boy? Didst thou not give with thoughtful care Our food, our drink, our robes to wear? Whose love will now for us provide, When thou, our king and sire, hast died? At such a time bereft, forlorn, Why is not earth in sunder torn, Missing her monarch's firm control, His love of right, his lofty soul? Ah me, for Rama roams afar, My sire is where the Blessed are; How can I live deserted? I Will pass into the fire and die. Abandoned thus, I will not brook Upon Ayodhya's town to look, Once guarded by Ikshvaku's race: The wood shall be my dwelling place."

Then when the princes' mournful train Heard the sad brothers thus complain, And saw their misery, at the view Their grief burst wilder out anew. Faint with lamenting, sad and worn, Each like a bull with broken horn, The brothers in their wild despair Lay rolling, mad with misery, there. Then old Vasishtha good and true, Their father's priest, all lore who knew, Raised weeping Bharat on his feet, And thus bespake with counsel meet: "Twelve days, my lord, have past away Since flames consumed thy father's clay: Delay no more: as rules ordain, Gather what bones may yet remain. Three constant pairs are ever found To hem all mortal creatures round:(354) Then mourn not thus, O Prince, for none Their close companionship may shun."

Sumantra bade Satrughna rise, And soothed his soul with counsel wise, And skilled in truth, his hearer taught How all things are and come to naught. When rose each hero from the ground, A lion lord of men, renowned, He showed like Indra's flag,(355) whereon Fierce rains have dashed and suns have shone. They wiped their red and weeping eyes, And gently made their sad replies: Then, urged to haste, the royal pair Performed the rites that claimed their care.



Canto LXXVIII. Manthara Punished.

Satrughna thus to Bharat spake Who longed the forest road to take: "He who in woe was wont to give Strength to himself and all that live— Dear Rama, true and pure in heart, Is banished by a woman's art. Yet here was Lakshman, brave and strong, Could not his might prevent the wrong? Could not his arm the king restrain, Or make the banished free again? One loving right and fearing crime Had checked the monarch's sin in time, When, vassal of a woman's will, His feet approached the path of ill."

While Lakshman's younger brother, dread Satrughna, thus to Bharat said, Came to the fronting door, arrayed In glittering robes, the hump-back maid. There she, with sandal-oil besmeared, In garments meet for queens appeared: And lustre to her form was lent By many a gem and ornament. She girdled with her broidered zone, And many a chain about her thrown, Showed like a female monkey round Whose body many a string is bound. When on that cause of evil fell The quick eye of the sentinel, He grasped her in his ruthless hold, And hastening in, Satrughna told: "Here is the wicked pest," he cried, "Through whom the king thy father died, And Rama wanders in the wood: Do with her as thou deemest good." The warder spoke: and every word Satrughna's breast to fury stirred: He called the servants, all and each. And spake in wrath his hasty speech: "This is the wretch my sire who slew, And misery on my brothers drew: Let her this day obtain the meed, Vile sinner, of her cruel deed." He spake; and moved by fury laid His mighty hand upon the maid, Who as her fellows ringed her round, Made with her cries the hall resound. Soon as the gathered women viewed Satrughna in his angry mood, Their hearts disturbed by sudden dread, They turned and from his presence fled. "His rage," they cried, "on us will fall, And ruthless, he will slay us all. Come, to Kausalya let us flee: Our hope, our sure defence is she, Approved by all, of virtuous mind, Compassionate, and good, and kind."

His eyes with burning wrath aglow, Satrughna, shatterer of the foe, Dragged on the ground the hump-back maid Who shrieked aloud and screamed for aid. This way and that with no remorse He dragged her with resistless force, And chains and glittering trinkets burst Lay here and there with gems dispersed, Till like the sky of Autumn shone The palace floor they sparkled on. The lord of men, supremely strong, Haled in his rage the wretch along: Where Queen Kaikeyi dwelt he came, And sternly then addressed the dame. Deep in her heart Kaikeyi felt The stabs his keen reproaches dealt, And of Satrughna's ire afraid, To Bharat flew and cried for aid. He looked and saw the prince inflamed With burning rage, and thus exclaimed: "Forgive! thine angry arm restrain: A woman never may be slain. My hand Kaikeyi's blood would spill, The sinner ever bent on ill, But Rama, long in duty tried, Would hate the impious matricide: And if he knew thy vengeful blade Had slaughtered e'en this hump-back maid, Never again, be sure, would he Speak friendly word to thee or me."

When Bharat's speech Satrughna heard He calmed the rage his breast that stirred, Releasing from her dire constraint The trembling wretch with terror faint. Then to Kaikeyi's feet she crept, And prostrate in her misery wept. Kaikeyi on the hump-back gazed, And saw her weep and gasp. Still quivering, with her senses dazed, From fierce Satrughna's grasp. With gentle words of pity she Assuaged her wild despair, E'en as a tender hand might free A curlew from the snare.



Canto LXXIX. Bharat's Commands.

Now when the sun's returning ray Had ushered in the fourteenth day, The gathered peers of state addressed To Bharat's ear their new request: "Our lord to heaven has parted hence, Long served with deepest reverence; Rama, the eldest, far from home, And Lakshman, in the forest roam. O Prince, of mighty fame, be thou Our guardian and our monarch now, Lest secret plot or foeman's hate Assail our unprotected state. With longing eyes, O Lord of men, To thee look friend and citizen, And ready is each sacred thing To consecrate our chosen king. Come, Bharat, and accept thine own Ancient hereditary throne. Thee let the priests this day install As monarch to preserve us all."

Around the sacred gear he bent His circling footsteps reverent, And, firm to vows he would not break, Thus to the gathered people spake: "The eldest son is ever king: So rules the house from which we spring: Nor should ye, Lords, like men unwise, With words like these to wrong advise. Rama is eldest born, and he The ruler of the land shall be. Now to the woods will I repair, Five years and nine to lodge me there. Assemble straight a mighty force, Cars, elephants, and foot and horse, For I will follow on his track And bring my eldest brother back. Whate'er the rites of throning need Placed on a car the way shall lead: The sacred vessels I will take To the wild wood for Rama's sake. I o'er the lion prince's head The sanctifying balm will shed, And bring him, as the fire they bring Forth from the shrine, with triumphing. Nor will I let my mother's greed In this her cherished aim succeed: In pathless wilds will I remain, And Rama here as king shall reign. To make the rough ways smooth and clear Send workman out and pioneer: Let skilful men attend beside Our way through pathless spots to guide." As thus the royal Bharat spake, Ordaining all for Rama's sake, The audience gave with one accord Auspicious answer to their lord: "Be royal Fortune aye benign To thee for this good speech of thine, Who wishest still thine elder's hand To rule with kingly sway the land." Their glorious speech, their favouring cries Made his proud bosom swell: And from the prince's noble eyes The tears of rapture fell.(356)



Canto LXXX. The Way Prepared.

All they who knew the joiner's art, Or distant ground in every part; Each busied in his several trade, To work machines or ply the spade; Deft workmen skilled to frame the wheel, Or with the ponderous engine deal; Guides of the way, and craftsmen skilled, To sink the well, make bricks, and build; And those whose hands the tree could hew, And work with slips of cut bamboo, Went forward, and to guide them, they Whose eyes before had seen the way. Then onward in triumphant mood Went all the mighty multitude. Like the great sea whose waves leap high When the full moon is in the sky. Then, in his proper duty skilled, Each joined him to his several guild, And onward in advance they went With every tool and implement. Where bush and tangled creeper lay With trenchant steel they made the way; They felled each stump, removed each stone, And many a tree was overthrown. In other spots, on desert lands, Tall trees were reared by busy hands. Where'er the line of road they took, They plied the hatchet, axe, and hook. Others, with all their strength applied, Cast vigorous plants and shrubs aside, In shelving valleys rooted deep, And levelled every dale and steep. Each pit and hole that stopped the way They filled with stones, and mud, and clay, And all the ground that rose and fell With busy care was levelled well. They bridged ravines with ceaseless toil, And pounded fine the flinty soil. Now here, now there, to right and left, A passage through the ground they cleft, And soon the rushing flood was led Abundant through the new-cut bed, Which by the running stream supplied With ocean's boundless waters vied. In dry and thirsty spots they sank Full many a well and ample tank, And altars round about them placed To deck the station in the waste. With well-wrought plaster smoothly spread, With bloomy trees that rose o'erhead, With banners waving in the air, And wild birds singing here and there, With fragrant sandal-water wet, With many a flower beside it set, Like the Gods' heavenly pathway showed That mighty host's imperial road. Deft workmen, chosen for their skill To do the high-souled Bharat's will, In every pleasant spot where grew Trees of sweet fruit and fair to view, As he commanded, toiled to grace With all delights his camping-place. And they who read the stars, and well Each lucky sign and hour could tell, Raised carefully the tented shade Wherein high-minded Bharat stayed. With ample space of level ground, With broad deep moat encompassed round; Like Mandar in his towering pride, With streets that ran from side to side; Enwreathed with many a palace tall Surrounded by its noble wall; With roads by skilful workmen made, Where many a glorious banner played; With stately mansions, where the dove Sat nestling in her cote above. Rising aloft supremely fair Like heavenly cars that float in air, Each camp in beauty and in bliss Matched Indra's own metropolis. As shines the heaven on some fair night, With moon and constellations filled, The prince's royal road was bright, Adorned by art of workmen skilled.



Canto LXXXI. The Assembly.

Ere yet the dawn had ushered in The day should see the march begin, Herald and bard who rightly knew Each nice degree of honour due, Their loud auspicious voices raised, And royal Bharat blessed and praised. With sticks of gold the drum they smote, Which thundered out its deafening note, Blew loud the sounding shell, and blent Each high and low-toned instrument. The mingled sound of drum and horn Through all the air was quickly borne, And as in Bharat's ear it rang, Gave the sad prince another pang.

Then Bharat, starting from repose, Stilled the glad sounds that round him rose, "I am not king; no more mistake:" Then to Satrughna thus he spake: "O see what general wrongs succeed Sprung from Kaikeyi's evil deed! The king my sire has died and thrown Fresh miseries on me alone. The royal bliss, on duty based, Which our just high-souled father graced, Wanders in doubt and sore distress Like a tossed vessel rudderless. And he who was our lordly stay Roams in the forest far away, Expelled by this my mother, who To duty's law is most untrue."

As royal Bharat thus gave vent To bitter grief in wild lament, Gazing upon his face the crowd Of pitying women wept aloud. His lamentation scarce was o'er, When Saint Vasishtha, skilled in lore Of royal duty, dear to fame, To join the great assembly came. Girt by disciples ever true Still nearer to that hall he drew, Resplendent, heavenly to behold, Adorned with wealth of gems and gold: E'en so a man in duty tried Draws near to meet his virtuous bride. He reached his golden seat o'erlaid With coverlet of rich brocade, There sat, in all the Vedas read, And called the messengers, and said: "Go forth, let Brahman, Warrior, peer, And every captain gather here: Let all attentive hither throng: Go, hasten: we delay too long. Satrughna, glorious Bharat bring, The noble children of the king,(357) Yudhajit(358) and Sumantra, all The truthful and the virtuous call."

He ended: soon a mighty sound Of thickening tumult rose around, As to the hall they bent their course With car, and elephant, and horse, The people all with glad acclaim Welcomed Prince Bharat as he came: E'en as they loved their king to greet, Or as the Gods Lord Indra(359) meet. The vast assembly shone as fair With Bharat's kingly face As Dasaratha's self were there To glorify the place. It gleamed like some unruffled lake Where monsters huge of mould With many a snake their pastime take O'er shells, sand, gems, and gold.



Canto LXXXII. The Departure.

The prudent prince the assembly viewed Thronged with its noble multitude, Resplendent as a cloudless night When the full moon is in his height; While robes of every varied hue A glory o'er the synod threw. The priest in lore of duty skilled Looked on the crowd the hall that filled, And then in accents soft and grave To Bharat thus his counsel gave: "The king, dear son, so good and wise, Has gone from earth and gained the skies, Leaving to thee, her rightful lord, This rich wide land with foison stored. And still has faithful Rama stood Firm to the duty of the good, And kept his father's hest aright, As the moon keeps its own dear light. Thus sire and brother yield to thee This realm from all annoyance free: Rejoice thy lords: enjoy thine own: Anointed king, ascend the throne. Let vassal Princes hasten forth From distant lands, west, south, and north, From Kerala,(360) from every sea, And bring ten million gems to thee." As thus the sage Vasishtha spoke, A storm of grief o'er Bharat broke. And longing to be just and true, His thoughts to duteous Rama flew. With sobs and sighs and broken tones, E'en as a wounded mallard moans, He mourned with deepest sorrow moved, And thus the holy priest reproved: "O, how can such as Bharat dare The power and sway from him to tear, Wise, and devout, and true, and chaste, With Scripture lore and virtue graced? Can one of Dasaratha's seed Be guilty of so vile a deed? The realm and I are Rama's: thou, Shouldst speak the words of justice now. For he, to claims of virtue true, Is eldest born and noblest too: Nahush, Dilipa could not be More famous in their lives than he. As Dasaratha ruled of right, So Rama's is the power and right. If I should do this sinful deed And forfeit hope of heavenly meed, My guilty act would dim the shine Of old Ikshvaku's glorious line. Nay, as the sin my mother wrought Is grievous to my inmost thought, I here, my hands together laid, Will greet him in the pathless shade. To Rama shall my steps be bent, My King, of men most excellent, Raghu's illustrious son, whose sway Might hell, and earth, and heaven obey."

That righteous speech, whose every word Bore virtue's stamp, the audience heard; On Rama every thought was set, And with glad tears each eye was wet. "Then, if the power I still should lack To bring my noble brother back, I in the wood will dwell, and share His banishment with Lakshman there. By every art persuasive I To bring him from the wood will try, And show him to your loving eyes, O Brahmans noble, good, and wise. E'en now, the road to make and clear, Each labourer pressed, and pioneer Have I sent forward to precede The army I resolve to lead."

Thus, by fraternal love possessed, His firm resolve the prince expressed, Then to Sumantra, deeply read In holy texts, he turned and said: "Sumantra, rise without delay, And as I bid my words obey. Give orders for the march with speed, And all the army hither lead."

The wise Sumantra, thus addressed, Obeyed the high-souled chief's behest. He hurried forth with joy inspired And gave the orders he desired. Delight each soldier's bosom filled, And through each chief and captain thrilled, To hear that march proclaimed, to bring Dear Rama back from wandering. From house to house the tidings flew: Each soldier's wife the order knew, And as she listened blithe and gay Her husband urged to speed away. Captain and soldier soon declared The host equipped and all prepared With chariots matching thought for speed, And wagons drawn by ox and steed. When Bharat by Vasishtha's side, His ready host of warriors eyed, Thus in Sumantra's ear he spoke: "My car and horses quickly yoke." Sumantra hastened to fulfil With ready joy his master's will, And quickly with the chariot sped Drawn by fleet horses nobly bred. Then glorious Bharat, true, devout, Whose genuine valour none could doubt, Gave in fit words his order out; For he would seek the shade Of the great distant wood, and there Win his dear brother with his prayer: "Sumantra, haste! my will declare The host be all arrayed. I to the wood my way will take, To Rama supplication make, And for the world's advantage sake, Will lead him home again." Then, ordered thus, the charioteer Who listened with delighted ear, Went forth and gave his orders clear To captains of the train. He gave the popular chiefs the word, And with the news his friends he stirred, And not a single man deferred Preparing for the road. Then Brahman, Warrior, Merchant, thrall, Obedient to Sumantra's call, Each in his house arose, and all Yoked elephant or camel tall, Or ass or noble steed in stall, And full appointed showed.



Canto LXXXIII. The Journey Begun.

Then Bharat rose at early morn, And in his noble chariot borne Drove forward at a rapid pace Eager to look on Rama's face. The priests and lords, a fair array, In sun-bright chariots led the way. Behind, a well appointed throng, Nine thousand elephants streamed along. Then sixty thousand cars, and then, With various arms, came fighting men. A hundred thousand archers showed In lengthened line the steeds they rode— A mighty host, the march to grace Of Bharat, pride of Raghu's race. Kaikeyi and Sumitra came, And good Kausalya, dear to fame: By hopes of Rama's coming cheered They in a radiant car appeared. On fared the noble host to see Rama and Lakshman, wild with glee, And still each other's ear to please, Of Rama spoke in words like these: "When shall our happy eyes behold Our hero true, and pure, and bold, So lustrous dark, so strong of arm, Who keeps the world from woe and harm? The tears that now our eyeballs dim Will vanish at the sight of him, As the whole world's black shadows fly When the bright sun ascends the sky."

Conversing thus their way pursued The city's joyous multitude, And each in mutual rapture pressed A friend or neighbour to his breast. Thus every man of high renown, And every merchant of the town, And leading subjects, joyous went Toward Rama in his banishment. And those who worked the potter's wheel, And artists skilled in gems to deal; And masters of the weaver's art, And those who shaped the sword and dart; And they who golden trinkets made, And those who plied the fuller's trade; And servants trained the bath to heat, And they who dealt in incense sweet; Physicians in their business skilled, And those who wine and mead distilled; And workmen deft in glass who wrought, And those whose snares the peacock caught; With them who bored the ear for rings, Or sawed, or fashioned ivory things; And those who knew to mix cement, Or lived by sale of precious scent; And men who washed, and men who sewed, And thralls who mid the herds abode; And fishers of the flood, and they Who played and sang, and women gay; And virtuous Brahmans, Scripture-wise, Of life approved in all men's eyes; These swelled the prince's lengthened train, Borne each in car or bullock wain. Fair were the robes they wore upon Their limbs where red-hued unguents shone. These all in various modes conveyed Their journey after Bharat made; The soldiers' hearts with rapture glowed, Following Bharat on his road, Their chief whose tender love would fain Bring his dear brother home again. With elephant, and horse, and car, The vast procession travelled far, And came where Ganga's waves below The town of Sringavera(361) flow. There, with his friends and kinsmen nigh, Dwelt Guha, Rama's dear ally, Heroic guardian of the land With dauntless heart and ready hand. There for a while the mighty force That followed Bharat stayed its course, Gazing on Ganga's bosom stirred By many a graceful water-bird. When Bharat viewed his followers there, And Ganga's water, blest and fair, The prince, who lore of words possessed, His councillors and lords addressed: "The captains of the army call: Proclaim this day a halt for all, That so to-morrow, rested, we May cross this flood that seeks the sea. Meanwhile, descending to the shore, The funeral stream I fain would pour From Ganga's fair auspicious tide To him, my father glorified."

Thus Bharat spoke: each peer and lord Approved his words with one accord, And bade the weary troops repose In separate spots where'er they chose. There by the mighty stream that day, Most glorious in its vast array The prince's wearied army lay In various groups reclined. There Bharat's hours of night were spent, While every eager thought he bent On bringing home from banishment His brother, great of mind.



Canto LXXXIV. Guha's Anger.

King Guha saw the host spread o'er The wide expanse of Ganga's shore, With waving flag and pennon graced, And to his followers spoke in haste: "A mighty army meets my eyes, That rivals Ocean's self in size: Where'er I look my very mind No limit to the host can find. Sure Bharat with some evil thought His army to our land has brought. See, huge of form, his flag he rears, That like an Ebony-tree appears. He comes with bonds to take and chain, Or triumph o'er our people slain: And after, Rama will he slay,— Him whom his father drove away: The power complete he longs to gain, And—task too hard—usurp the reign. So Bharat comes with wicked will His brother Rama's blood to spill. But Rama's slave and friend am I; He is my lord and dear ally. Keep here your watch in arms arrayed Near Ganga's flood to lend him aid, And let my gathered servants stand And line with troops the river strand. Here let the river keepers meet, Who flesh and roots and berries eat; A hundred fishers man each boat Of the five hundred here afloat, And let the youthful and the strong Assemble in defensive throng. But yet, if, free from guilty thought 'Gainst Rama, he this land have sought, The prince's happy host to-day Across the flood shall make its way."

He spoke: then bearing in a dish A gift of honey, meat, and fish, The king of the Nishadas drew Toward Bharat for an interview. When Bharat's noble charioteer Observed the monarch hastening near, He duly, skilled in courteous lore, The tidings to his master bore: "This aged prince who hither bends His footsteps with a thousand friends, Knows, firm ally of Rama, all That may in Dandak wood befall: Therefore, Kakutstha's son, admit The monarch, as is right and fit: For doubtless he can clearly tell Where Rama now and Lakshman dwell."

When Bharat heard Sumantra's rede, To his fair words the prince agreed: "Go quickly forth," he cried, "and bring Before my face the aged king." King Guha, with his kinsmen near, Rejoiced the summoning to hear: He nearer drew, bowed low his head, And thus to royal Bharat said: "No mansions can our country boast, And unexpected comes thy host: But what we have I give thee all: Rest in the lodging of thy thrall. See, the Nishadas here have brought The fruit and roots their hands have sought: And we have woodland fare beside, And store of meat both fresh and dried. To rest their weary limbs, I pray This night at least thy host may stay: Then cheered with all we can bestow To-morrow thou with it mayst go."



Canto LXXXV. Guha And Bharat.

Thus the Nishadas' king besought: The prince with spirit wisdom-fraught Replied in seemly words that blent Deep matter with the argument: "Thou, friend of him whom I revere, With honours high hast met me here, For thou alone wouldst entertain And feed to-day so vast a train." In such fair words the prince replied, Then, pointing to the path he cried: "Which way aright will lead my feet To Bharadvaja's calm retreat; For all this land near Ganga's streams Pathless and hard to traverse seems?"

Thus spoke the prince: King Guha heard Delighted every prudent word, And gazing on that forest wide, Raised suppliant hands, and thus replied: "My servants, all the ground who know, O glorious Prince, with thee shall go With constant care thy way to guide, And I will journey by thy side. But this thy host so wide dispread Wakes in my heart one doubt and dread, Lest, threatening Rama good and great, Ill thoughts thy journey stimulate."

But when King Guha, ill at ease, Declared his fear in words like these, As pure as is the cloudless sky With soft voice Bharat made reply: "Suspect me not: ne'er come the time For me to plot so foul a crime! He is my eldest brother, he Is like a father dear to me. I go to lead my brother thence Who makes the wood his residence. No thought but this thy heart should frame: This simple truth my lips proclaim."

Then with glad cheer King Guha cried, With Bharat's answer gratified: "Blessed art thou: on earth I see None who may vie, O Prince, with thee, Who canst of thy free will resign The kingdom which unsought is thine. For this, a name that ne'er shall die, Thy glory through the worlds shall fly, Who fain wouldst balm thy brother's pain And lead the exile home again."

As Guha thus, and Bharat, each To other spoke in friendly speech, The Day-God sank with glory dead, And night o'er all the sky was spread. Soon as King Guha's thoughtful care Had quartered all the army there, Well honoured, Bharat laid his head Beside Satrughna on a bed. But grief for Rama yet oppressed High-minded Bharat's faithful breast— Such torment little was deserved By him who ne'er from duty swerved. The fever raged through every vein And burnt him with its inward pain: So when in woods the flames leap free The fire within consumes the tree. From heat of burning anguish sprung The sweat upon his body hung, As when the sun with fervid glow On high Himalaya melts the snow. As, banished from the herd, a bull Wanders alone and sorrowful. Thus sighing and distressed, In misery and bitter grief, With fevered heart that mocked relief, Distracted in his mind, the chief Still mourned and found no rest.



Canto LXXXVI. Guha's Speech.

Guha the king, acquainted well With all that in the wood befell, To Bharat the unequalled told The tale of Lakshman mighty-souled: "With many an earnest word I spake To Lakshman as he stayed awake, And with his bow and shaft in hand To guard his brother kept his stand: "Now sleep a little, Lakshman, see This pleasant bed is strewn for thee: Hereon thy weary body lay, And strengthen thee with rest, I pray, Inured to toil are men like these, But thou hast aye been nursed in ease. Rest, duteous-minded! I will keep My watch while Rama lies asleep: For in the whole wide world is none Dearer to me than Raghu's son. Harbour no doubt or jealous fear: I speak the truth with heart sincere: For from the grace which he has shown Will glory on my name be thrown: Great store of merit shall I gain, And duteous, form no wish in vain. Let me enforced by many a row Of followers, armed with shaft and bow For well-loved Rama's weal provide Who lies asleep by Sita's side. For through this wood I often go, And all its shades conceal I know: And we with conquering arms can meet A four-fold host arrayed complete." "With words like these I spoke, designed To move the high-souled Bharat's mind, But he upon his duty bent, Plied his persuasive argument: "O, how can slumber close mine eyes When lowly couched with Sita lies The royal Rama? can I give My heart to joy, or even live? He whom no mighty demon, no, Nor heavenly God can overthrow, See, Guha, how he lies, alas, With Sita couched on gathered grass. By varied labours, long, severe, By many a prayer and rite austere, He, Dasaratha's cherished son, By Fortune stamped, from Heaven was won. Now as his son is forced to fly, The king ere long will surely die: Reft of his guardian hand, forlorn In widowed grief this land will mourn. E'en now perhaps, with toil o'erspent, The women cease their loud lament, And cries of woe no longer ring Throughout the palace of the king. But ah for sad Kausalya! how Fare she and mine own mother now? How fares the king? this night, I think, Some of the three in death will sink. With hopes upon Satrughna set My mother may survive as yet, But the sad queen will die who bore The hero, for her grief is sore. His cherished wish that would have made Dear Rama king, so long delayed, "Too late! too late!" the king will cry, And conquered by his misery die. When Fate has brought the mournful day Which sees my father pass away, How happy in their lives are they Allowed his funeral rites to pay. Our exile o'er, with him who ne'er Turns from the oath his lips may swear, May we returning safe and well gain in fair Ayodhya dwell." Thus Bharat stood with many a sigh Lamenting, and the night went by. Soon as the morning light shone fair In votive coils both bound their hair. And then I sent them safely o'er And left them on the farther shore. With Sita then they onward passed, Their coats of bark about them cast, Their locks like hermits' bound, The mighty tamers of the foe, Each with his arrows and his bow, Went over the rugged ground, Proud in their strength and undeterred Like elephants that lead the herd, And gazing oft around."



Canto LXXXVII. Guha's Story.

That speech of Guha Bharat heard With grief and tender pity stirred, And as his ears the story drank, Deep in his thoughtful heart it sank. His large full eyes in anguish rolled, His trembling limbs grew stiff and cold; Then fell he, like a tree uptorn, In woe too grievous to be borne. When Guha saw the long-armed chief Whose eye was like a lotus leaf, With lion shoulders strong and fair, High-mettled, prostrate in despair,— Pale, bitterly afflicted, he Reeled as in earthquake reels a tree. But when Satrughna standing nigh Saw his dear brother helpless lie, Distraught with woe his head he bowed, Embraced him oft and wept aloud. Then Bharat's mothers came, forlorn Of their dear king, with fasting worn, And stood with weeping eyes around The hero prostrate on the ground. Kausalya, by her woe oppressed, The senseless Bharat's limbs caressed, As a fond cow in love and fear Caresses oft her youngling dear: Then yielding to her woe she said, Weeping and sore disquieted: "What torments, O my son, are these Of sudden pain or swift disease? The lives of us and all the line Depend, dear child, on only thine. Rama and Lakshman forced to flee, I live by naught but seeing thee: For as the king has past away Thou art my only help to-day. Hast thou, perchance, heard evil news Of Lakshman, which thy soul subdues, Or Rama dwelling with his spouse— My all is he—neath forest boughs?"

Then slowly gathering sense and strength The weeping hero rose at length, And words like these to Guha spake, That bade Kausalya comfort take: "Where lodged the prince that night? and where Lakshman the brave, and Sita fair? Show me the couch whereon he lay, Tell me the food he ate, I pray."

Then Guha the Nishadas' king Replied to Bharat's questioning: "Of all I had I brought the best To serve my good and honoured guest Food of each varied kind I chose, And every fairest fruit that grows. Rama the hero truly brave Declined the gift I humbly gave: His Warrior part he ne'er forgot, And what I brought accepted not: "No gifts, my friend, may we accept: Our law is, Give, and must be kept." The high-souled chief, O Monarch, thus With gracious words persuaded us. Then calm and still, absorbed in thought, He drank the water Lakshman brought, And then, obedient to his vows, He fasted with his gentle spouse. So Lakshman too from food abstained, And sipped the water that remained: Then with ruled lips, devoutly staid, The three(362) their evening worship paid. Then Lakshman with unwearied care Brought heaps of sacred grass, and there With his own hands he quickly spread, For Rama's rest, a pleasant bed, And faithful Sita's too, where they Reclining each by other lay. Then Lakshman bathed their feet, and drew A little distance from the two. Here stands the tree which lent them shade, Here is the grass beneath it laid, Where Rama and his consort spent The night together ere they went. Lakshman, whose arms the foeman quell, Watched all the night as sentinel, And kept his great bow strung: His hand was gloved, his arm was braced, Two well-filled quivers at his waist, With deadly arrows, hung. I took my shafts and trusty bow, And with that tamer of the foe Stood ever wakeful near, And with my followers, bow in hand, Behind me ranged, a ready band, Kept watch o'er Indra's peer."



Canto LXXXVIII. The Ingudi Tree.

When Bharat with each friend and peer Had heard that tale so full and clear, They went together to the tree The bed which Rama pressed to see. Then Bharat to his mothers said: "Behold the high-souled hero's bed: These tumbled heaps of grass betray Where he that night with Sita lay: Unmeet, the heir of fortune high Thus on the cold bare earth should lie, The monarch's son, in counsel sage, Of old imperial lineage. That lion-lord whose noble bed With finest skins of deer was spread,— How can he now endure to press The bare earth, cold and comfortless! This sudden fall from bliss to grief Appears untrue, beyond belief: My senses are distraught: I seem To view the fancies of a dream. There is no deity so great, No power in heaven can master Fate, If Rama, Dasaratha's heir, Lay on the ground and slumbered there; And lovely Sita, she who springs From fair Videha's ancient kings, Rama's dear wife, by all adored, Lay on the earth beside her lord. Here was his couch, upon this heap He tossed and turned in restless sleep: On the hard soil each manly limb Has stamped the grass with signs of him. That night, it seems, fair Sita spent Arrayed in every ornament, For here and there my eyes behold Small particles of glistering gold. She laid her outer garment here, For still some silken threads appear, How dear in her devoted eyes Must be the bed where Rama lies, Where she so tender could repose And by his side forget her woes. Alas, unhappy, guilty me! For whom the prince was forced to flee, And chief of Raghu's sons and best, A bed like this with Sita pressed. Son of a royal sire whose hand Ruled paramount o'er every land, Could he who every joy bestows, Whose body like the lotus shows, The friend of all, who charms the sight, Whose flashing eyes are darkly bright, Leave the dear kingdom, his by right, Unmeet for woe, the heir of bliss, And lie upon a bed like this? Great joy and happy fate are thine, O Lakshman, marked with each fair sign, Whose faithful footsteps follow still Thy brother in his hour of ill. And blest is Sita, nobly good, Who dwells with Rama in the wood. Ours is, alas, a doubtful fate Of Rama reft and desolate. My royal sire has gained the skies, In woods the high-souled hero lies; The state is wrecked and tempest-tossed, A vessel with her rudder lost. Yet none in secret thought has planned With hostile might to seize the land: Though forced in distant wilds to dwell, The hero's arm protects it well. Unguarded, with deserted wall, No elephant or steed in stall, My father's royal city shows Her portals open to her foes, Of bold protectors reft and bare, Defenceless in her dark despair: But still her foes the wish restrain, As men from poisoned cates refrain. I from this hour my nights will pass Couched on the earth or gathered grass, Eat only fruit and roots, and wear A coat of bark, and matted hair. I in the woods will pass, content, For him the term of banishment; So shall I still unbroken save The promise which the hero gave. While I remain for Rama there, Satrughna will my exile share, And Rama in his home again, With Lakshman, o'er Ayodhya reign, for him, to rule and guard the state, The twice-born men shall consecrate. O, may the Gods I serve incline To grant this earnest wish of mine! If when I bow before his feet And with all moving arts entreat, He still deny my prayer, Then with my brother will I live: He must, he must permission give, Roaming in forests there."



Canto LXXXIX. The Passage Of Ganga.

That night the son of Raghu lay On Ganga's bank till break of day: Then with the earliest light he woke And thus to brave Satrughna spoke. "Rise up, Satrughna, from thy bed: Why sleepest thou the night is fled. See how the sun who chases night Wakes every lotus with his light. Arise, arise, and first of all The lord of Sringavera call, For he his friendly aid will lend Our army o'er the flood to send."

Thus urged, Satrughna answered: "I, Remembering Rama, sleepless lie." As thus the brothers, each to each, The lion-mettled, ended speech, Came Guha, the Nishadas' king, And spoke with kindly questioning: "Hast thou in comfort passed," he cried, "The night upon the river side? With thee how fares it? and are these, Thy soldiers, healthy and at ease?" Thus the Nishadas' lord inquired In gentle words which love inspired, And Bharat, Rama's faithful slave, Thus to the king his answer gave: "The night has sweetly passed, and we Are highly honoured, King, by thee. Now let thy servants boats prepare, Our army o'er the stream to bear."

The speech of Bharat Guha heard, And swift to do his bidding stirred. Within the town the monarch sped And to his ready kinsmen said: "Awake, each kinsman, rise, each friend! May every joy your lives attend. Gather each boat upon the shore And ferry all the army o'er." Thus Guha spoke: nor they delayed, But, rising quick, their lord obeyed, And soon, from every side secured, Five hundred boats were ready moored. Some reared aloft the mystic sign,(363) And mighty bells were hung in line: Of firmest build, gay flags they bore, And sailors for the helm and oar. One such King Guha chose, whereon, Of fair white cloth, an awning shone, And sweet musicians charmed the ear,— And bade his servants urge it near. Then Bharat swiftly sprang on board, And then Satrughna, famous lord, To whom, with many a royal dame, Kausalya and Sumitra came. The household priest went first in place, The elders, and the Brahman race, And after them the monarch's train Of women borne in many a wain. Then high to heaven the shouts of those Who fired the army's huts,(364) arose, With theirs who bathed along the shore, Or to the boats the baggage bore. Full freighted with that mighty force The boats sped swiftly on their course, By royal Guha's servants manned, And gentle gales the banners fanned. Some boats a crowd of dames conveyed, In others noble coursers neighed; Some chariots and their cattle bore, Some precious wealth and golden store. Across the stream each boat was rowed, There duly disembarked its load, And then returning on its way, Sped here and there in merry play. Then swimming elephants appeared With flying pennons high upreared. And as the drivers urged them o'er, The look of winged mountains wore. Some men in barges reached the strand, Others on rafts came safe to land: Some buoyed with pitchers crossed the tide, And others on their arms relied. Thus with the help the monarch gave The army crossed pure Ganga's wave: Then in auspicious hour it stood Within Prayaga's famous wood. The prince with cheering words addressed His weary men, and bade them rest Where'er they chose and he, With priest and deacon by his side, To Bharadvaja's dwelling hied That best of saints to see.



Canto XC. The Hermitage.

The prince of men a league away Saw where the hermit's dwelling lay, Then with his lords his path pursued, And left his warrior multitude. On foot, as duty taught his mind, He left his warlike gear behind; Two robes of linen cloth he wore, And bade Vasishtha walk before. Then Bharat from his lords withdrew When Bharadvaja came in view, And toward the holy hermit went Behind Vasishtha, reverent. When Bharadvaja, saint austere, Saw good Vasishtha drawing near, He cried, upspringing from his seat, "The grace-gift bring, my friend to greet." When Saint Vasishtha near him drew, And Bharat paid the reverence due, The glorious hermit was aware That Dasaratha's son was there. The grace-gift, water for their feet He gave, and offered fruit to eat; Then, duty-skilled, with friendly speech In seemly order questioned each: "How fares it in Ayodhya now With treasury and army? how With kith and kin and friends most dear, With councillor, and prince, and peer?" But, for he knew the king was dead, Of Dasaratha naught he said. Vasishtha and the prince in turn Would of the hermit's welfare learn: Of holy fires they fain would hear, Of pupils, trees, and birds, and deer. The glorious saint his answer made That all was well in holy shade: Then love of Rama moved his breast, And thus he questioned of his guest: "Why art thou here, O Prince, whose band With kingly sway protects the land? Declare the cause, explain the whole, For yet some doubt disturbs my soul. He whom Kausalya bare, whose might The foemen slays, his line's delight, He who with wife and brother sent Afar now roam in banishment, Famed prince, to whom his father spake This order for a woman's sake: "Away! and in the forest spend Thy life till fourteen years shall end"— Has thou the wish to harm him, bent On sin against the innocent? Wouldst thou thine elder's realm enjoy Without a thorn that can annoy?"

With sobbing voice and tearful eye Thus Bharat sadly made reply: "Ah lost am I, if thou, O Saint, Canst thus in thought my heart attaint: No warning charge from thee I need; Ne'er could such crime from me proceed. The words my guilty mother spake When fondly jealous for my sake— Think not that I, to triumph moved, Those words approve or e'er approved. O Hermit, I have sought this place To win the lordly hero's grace, To throw me at my brother's feet And lead him to his royal seat. To this, my journey's aim and end, Thou shouldst, O Saint, thy favour lend: Where is the lord of earth? do thou, Most holy, say, where roams he now?"