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that altered cheek

      Of sudden woe or danger speak.”

      Such were the words Kaikeyí said:

      Then Manthará, her eyeballs red

      With fury, skilled with treacherous art

      To grieve yet more her lady’s heart,

      From Ráma, in her wicked hate,

      Kaikeyí‘s love to alienate,

      Upon her evil purpose bent

      Began again most eloquent:

      “Peril awaits thee swift and sure,

      And utter woe defying cure;

      King Daśaratha will create

      Prince Ráma Heir Associate.

      Plunged in the depths of wild despair,

      My soul a prey to pain and care,

      As though the flames consumed me, zeal

      Has brought me for my lady’s weal,

      Thy grief, my Queen, is grief to me:

      Thy gain my greatest gain would be.

      Proud daughter of a princely line,

      The rights of consort queen are thine.

      How art thou, born of royal race,

      Blind to the crimes that kings debase?

      Thy lord is gracious, to deceive,

      And flatters, but thy soul to grieve,

      While thy pure heart that thinks no sin

      Knows not the snares that hem thee in.

      Thy husband’s lips on thee bestow

      Soft soothing word, an empty show:

      The wealth, the substance, and the power

      This day will be Kauśalyá‘s dower.

      With crafty soul thy child he sends

      To dwell among thy distant friends,

      And, every rival far from sight,

      To Ráma gives the power and might.

      Ah me! for thou, unhappy dame,

      Deluded by a husband’s name,

      With more than mother’s love hast pressed

      A serpent to thy heedless breast,

      And cherished him who works thee woe,

      No husband but a deadly foe.

      For like a snake, unconscious Queen,

      Or enemy who stabs unseen,

      King Daśaratha all untrue

      Has dealt with thee and Bharat too.

      Ah, simple lady, long beguiled

      By his soft words who falsely smiled!

      Poor victim of the guileless breast,

      A happier fate thou meritest.

      For thee and thine destruction waits

      When he Prince Ráma consecrates.

      Up, lady, while there yet is time;

      Preserve thyself, prevent the crime.

      Up, from thy careless ease, and free

      Thyself, O Queen, thy son, and me!”

      Delighted at the words she said,

      Kaikeyí lifted from the bed,

      Like autumn’s moon, her radiant head,

      And joyous at the tidings gave

      A jewel to the hump-back slave;

      And as she gave the precious toy

      She cried in her exceeding joy:

      “Take this, dear maiden, for thy news

      Most grateful to mine ear, and choose

      What grace beside most fitly may

      The welcome messenger repay.

      I joy that Ráma gains the throne:

      Kauśalyá‘s son is as mine own.”

      Canto 8. Manthará‘s Speech.

      The damsel’s breast with fury burned:

      She answered, as the gift she spurned:

      “What time, O simple Queen, is this

      For idle dreams of fancied bliss?

      Hast thou not sense thy state to know,

      Engulfed in seas of whelming woe;

      Sick as I am with grief and pain

      My lips can scarce a laugh restrain

      To see thee hail with ill-timed joy

      A peril mighty to destroy.

      I mourn for one so fondly blind:

      What woman of a prudent mind

      Would welcome, e’en as thou hast done,

      The lordship of a rival’s son,

      Rejoiced to find her secret foe

      Empowered, like death, to launch the blow;

      I see that Ráma still must fear

      Thy Bharat, to his throne too near.

      Hence is my heart disquieted,

      For those who fear are those we dread.

      Lakshmaṇ, the mighty bow who draws,

      With all his soul serves Ráma’s cause;

      And chains as strong to Bharat bind

      Śatrughna, with his heart and mind,

      Now next to Ráma, lady fair,

      Thy Bharat is the lawful heir:

      And far remote, I ween, the chance

      That might the younger two advance.

      Yes, Queen, ’tis Ráma that I dread,

      Wise, prompt, in warlike science bred;

      And oh, I tremble when I think

      Of thy dear child on ruin’s brink.

      Blest with a lofty fate is she,

      Kauśalyá; for her son will be

      Placed, when the moon and Pushya meet,

      By Bráhmans on the royal seat,

      Thou as a slave in suppliant guise

      Must wait upon Kauśalyá‘s eyes,

      With all her wealth and bliss secured

      And glorious from her foes assured.

      Her slave with us who serve thee, thou

      Wilt see thy son to Ráma bow,

      And Sítá‘s friends exult o’er all,

      While Bharat’s wife shares Bharat’s fall.”

      As thus the maid in wrath complained,

      Kaikeyí saw her heart was pained,

      And answered eager in defence

      Of Ráma’s worth and excellence:

      “Nay, Ráma, born the monarch’s heir,

      By holy fathers trained with care,

      Virtuous, grateful,

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