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of his royal sire’s domain,

      Rich in the fairest gems that shine,

      Cars, elephants, and steeds, and kine.

      The monarch mourns thy altered fate

      And vails his brow compassionate:

      Bowed down by bitter grief he lies

      And dares not lift to thine his eyes.

      Obey his word: be firm and brave,

      And with great truth the monarch save.”

      While thus with cruel words she spoke,

      No grief the noble youth betrayed;

      But forth the father’s anguish broke,

      At his dear Ráma’s lot dismayed.

      Canto 19. Ráma’s Promise.

      Calm and unmoved by threatened woe

      The noble conqueror of the foe

      Answered the cruel words she spoke,

      Nor quailed beneath the murderous stroke:

      “Yea, for my father’s promise sake

      I to the wood my way will take,

      And dwell a lonely exile there

      In hermit dress with matted hair.

      One thing alone I fain would learn,

      Why is the king this day so stern?

      Why is the scourge of foes so cold,

      Nor gives me greeting as of old?

      Now let not anger flush thy cheek:

      Before thy face the truth I speak,

      In hermit’s coat with matted hair

      To the wild wood will I repair.

      How can I fail his will to do,

      Friend, master, grateful sovereign too?

      One only pang consumes my breast:

      That his own lips have not expressed

      His will, nor made his longing known

      That Bharat should ascend the throne.

      To Bharat I would yield my wife,

      My realm and wealth, mine own dear life,

      Unasked I fain would yield them all:

      More gladly at my father’s call,

      More gladly when the gift may free

      His honour and bring joy to thee.

      Thus, lady, his sad heart release

      From the sore shame, and give him peace.

      But tell me, O, I pray thee, why

      The lord of men, with downcast eye,

      Lies prostrate thus, and one by one

      Down his pale cheek the tear-drops run.

      Let couriers to thy father speed

      On horses of the swiftest breed,

      And, by the mandate of the king,

      Thy Bharat to his presence bring.

      My father’s words I will not stay

      To question, but this very day

      To Daṇḍak’s pathless wild will fare,

      For twice seven years an exile there.”

      When Ráma thus had made reply

      Kaikeyí‘s heart with joy beat high.

      She, trusting to the pledge she held,

      The youth’s departure thus impelled:

      “’Tis well. Be messengers despatched

      On coursers ne’er for fleetness matched,

      To seek my father’s home and lead

      My Bharat back with all their speed.

      And, Ráma, as I ween that thou

      Wilt scarce endure to linger now,

      So surely it were wise and good

      This hour to journey to the wood.

      And if, with shame cast down and weak,

      No word to thee the king can speak,

      Forgive, and from thy mind dismiss

      A trifle in an hour like this.

      But till thy feet in rapid haste

      Have left the city for the waste,

      And to the distant forest fled,

      He will not bathe nor call for bread.”

      “Woe! woe!” from the sad monarch burst,

      In surging floods of grief immersed;

      Then swooning, with his wits astray,

      Upon the gold-wrought couch he lay,

      And Ráma raised the aged king:

      But the stern queen, unpitying,

      Checked not her needless words, nor spared

      The hero for all speed prepared,

      But urged him with her bitter tongue,

      Like a good horse with lashes stung,

      She spoke her shameful speech. Serene

      He heard the fury of the queen,

      And to her words so vile and dread

      Gently, unmoved in mind, he said:

      “I would not in this world remain

      A grovelling thrall to paltry gain,

      But duty’s path would fain pursue,

      True as the saints themselves are true.

      From death itself I would not fly

      My father’s wish to gratify,

      What deed soe’er his loving son

      May do to please him, think it done.

      Amid all duties, Queen, I count

      This duty first and paramount,

      That sons, obedient, aye fulfil

      Their honoured fathers’ word and will.

      Without his word, if thou decree,

      Forth to the forest will I flee,

      And there shall fourteen years be spent

      Mid lonely wilds in banishment.

      Methinks thou couldst not hope to find

      One spark of virtue in my mind,

      If thou, whose wish is still my lord,

      Hast for this grace the king implored.

      This day I go, but, ere we part,

      Must cheer my Sítá‘s tender heart,

      To my dear mother bid farewell;

      Then to the woods, a while to dwell.

      With thee, O Queen, the care must rest

      That Bharat hear his sire’s behest,

      And guard the land with righteous sway,

      For such the law that lives for aye.”

      In speechless woe the father heard,

      Wept with

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