Fair shone the moon, as if to lend His cheering light to guide a friend, And, circled by the starry host, Looked down upon the wild sea-coast. The Vanar cheiftain raised his eyes, And saw him sailing through the skies Like a bright swan who joys to take His pastime on a silver lake; Fair moon that calms the mourner's pain. Heaves up the waters of the main, And o'er the life beneath him throws A tender light of soft repose, The charm that clings to Mandar's hill, Gleams in the sea when winds are still, And decks the lilly's opening flower, Showed in that moon her sweetest power.

I am unable to show the difference of style in a translation.]



Canto VI. The Court.

The palace gates were guarded well By many a Rakshas sentinel, And far within, concealed from view, Were dames and female retinue For charm of form and face renowned; Whose tinkling armlets made a sound, Clashed by the wearers in their glee, Like music of a distant sea. The hall beyond the palace gate, Rich with each badge of royal state, Where lines of noble courtiers stood, Showed like a lion-guarded wood. There the wild music rose and fell Of drum and tabor and of shell, Through chambers at each holy tide By solemn worship sanctified. Through grove and garden, undismayed, From house to house the Vanar strayed, And still his wondering glances bent On terrace, dome, and battlement: Then with a light and rapid tread Prahasta's(807) home he visited, And Kumbhakarna's(808) courtyard where A cloudy pile rose high in air; And, wandering o'er the hill, explored The garden of each Rakshas lord. Each court and grove he wandered through, Then nigh to Ravan's palace drew. She-demons watched it foul of face, Each armed with sword and spear and mace, And warrior fiends of every hue, A strange and fearful retinue. There elephants in many a row, The terror of the stricken foe. Huge Airavat,(809) deftly trained In battle-fields, stood ready chained. Fair litters on the ground were set Adorned with gems and golden net. Gay bloomy creepers clothed the walls; Green bowers were there and picture halls, And chambers made for soft delight. Broad banners waved on every height. And from the roof like Mandar's hill The peacock's cry came loud and shrill.(810)



Canto VII. Ravan's Palace.

He passed within the walls and gazed On gems and gold that round him blazed, And many a latticed window bright With turkis and with lazulite. Through porch and ante-rooms he passed Each richer, fairer than the last; And spacious halls where lances lay, And bows and shells, in fair array: A glorious house that matched in show All Paradise displayed below. Upon the polished floor were spread Fresh buds and blossoms white and red, And women shone, a lovely crowd, As lightning flashes through a cloud: A palace splendid as the sky Which moon and planets glorify: Like earth whose towering hills unfold Their zones and streaks of glittering gold; Where waving on the mountain brows The tall trees bend their laden boughs, And every bough and tender spray With a bright load of bloom is gay, And every flower the breeze has bent Fills all the region with its scent. Near the tall palace pale of hue Shone lovely lakes where lilies blew, And lotuses with flower and bud Gleamed on the bosom of the flood. There shone with gems that flashed afar The marvel of the Flower-named(811) car, Mid wondrous dwellings still confessed Supreme and nobler than the rest. Thereon with wondrous art designed Were turkis birds of varied kind. And many a sculptured serpent rolled His twisted coil in burnished gold. And steeds were there of noblest form With flying feet as fleet as storm: And elephants with deftest skill Stood sculptured by a silver rill, Each bearing on his trunk a wreath Of lilies from the flood beneath. There Lakshmi,(812) beauty's heavenly queen, Wrought by the artist's skill, was seen Beside a flower-clad pool to stand Holding a lotus in her hand.



Canto VIII. The Enchanted Car.

There gleamed the car with wealth untold Of precious gems and burnished gold; Nor could the Wind-God's son withdraw His rapt gaze from the sight he saw, By Visvakarma's(813) self proclaimed The noblest work his hand had framed. Uplifted in the air it glowed Bright as the sun's diurnal road. The eye might scan the wondrous frame And vainly seek one spot to blame, So fine was every part and fair With gems inlaid with lavish care. No precious stones so rich adorn The cars wherein the Gods are borne, Prize of the all-resistless might That sprang from pain and penance rite,(814) Obedient to the master's will It moved o'er wood and towering hill, A glorious marvel well designed By Visvakarma's artist mind, Adorned with every fair device That decks the cars of Paradise. Swift moving as the master chose It flew through air or sank or rose,(815) And in its fleetness left behind The fury of the rushing wind: Meet mansion for the good and great, The holy, wise, and fortunate. Throughout the chariot's vast extent Were chambers wide and excellent, All pure and lovely to the eyes As moonlight shed from cloudless skies. Fierce goblins, rovers of the night Who cleft the clouds with swiftest flight In countless hosts that chariot drew, With earrings clashing as they flew.



Canto IX. The Ladies' Bower.

Where stately mansions rose around, A palace fairer still he found, Whose royal height and splendour showed Where Ravan's self, the king, abode. A chosen band with bow and sword Guarded the palace of their lord, Where Raksha's dames of noble race And many a princess fair of face Whom Ravan's arm had torn away From vanquished kings in slumber lay. There jewelled arches high o'erhead An ever-changing lustre shed From ruby, pearl, and every gem On golden pillars under them. Delicious came the tempered air That breathed a heavenly summer there, Stealing through bloomy trees that bore Each pleasant fruit in endless store. No check was there from jealous guard, No door was fast, no portal barred; Only a sweet air breathed to meet The stranger, as a host should greet A wanderer of his kith and kin And woo his weary steps within. He stood within a spacious hall With fretted roof and painted wall, The giant Ravan's boast and pride, Loved even as a lovely bride. 'Twere long to tell each marvel there, The crystal floor, the jewelled stair, The gold, the silver, and the shine Of chrysolite and almandine. There breathed the fairest blooms of spring; There flashed the proud swan's silver wing, The splendour of whose feathers broke Through fragrant wreaths of aloe smoke. "'Tis Indra's heaven," the Vanar cried, Gazing in joy from side to side; "The home of all the Gods is this, The mansion of eternal bliss." There were the softest carpets spread, Delightful to the sight and tread, Where many a lovely woman lay O'ercome by sleep, fatigued with play. The wine no longer cheered the feast, The sound of revelry had ceased. The tinkling feet no longer stirred, No chiming of a zone was heard. So when each bird has sought her nest, And swans are mute and wild bees rest, Sleep the fair lilies on the lake Till the sun's kiss shall bid them wake. Like the calm field of winter's sky Which stars unnumbered glorify, So shone and glowed the sumptuous room With living stars that chased the gloom. "These are the stars," the chieftain cried, "In autumn nights that earth-ward glide, In brighter forms to reappear And shine in matchless lustre here." With wondering eyes a while he viewed Each graceful form and attitude. One lady's head was backward thrown, Bare was her arm and loose her zone. The garland that her brow had graced Hung closely round another's waist. Here gleamed two little feet all bare Of anklets that had sparkled there, Here lay a queenly dame at rest In all her glorious garments dressed. There slept another whose small hand Had loosened every tie and band, In careless grace another lay With gems and jewels cast away, Like a young creeper when the tread Of the wild elephant has spread Confusion and destruction round, And cast it flowerless to the ground. Here lay a slumberer still as death, Save only that her balmy breath Raised ever and anon the lace That floated o'er her sleeping face. There, sunk in sleep, an amorous maid Her sweet head on a mirror laid, Like a fair lily bending till Her petals rest upon the rill. Another black-eyed damsel pressed Her lute upon her heaving breast, As though her loving arms were twined Round him for whom her bosom pined. Another pretty sleeper round A silver vase her arms had wound, That seemed, so fresh and fair and young A wreath of flowers that o'er it hung. In sweet disorder lay a throng Weary of dance and play and song, Where heedless girls had sunk to rest One pillowed on another's breast, Her tender cheek half seen beneath Bed roses of the falling wreath, The while her long soft hair concealed The beauties that her friend revealed. With limbs at random interlaced Round arm and leg and throat and waist, That wreath of women lay asleep Like blossoms in a careless heap.



Canto X. Ravan Asleep.

Apart a dais of crystal rose With couches spread for soft repose, Adorned with gold and gems of price Meet for the halls of Paradise. A canopy was o'er them spread Pale as the light the moon beams shed, And female figures,(816) deftly planned, The faces of the sleepers fanned, There on a splendid couch, asleep On softest skins of deer and sheep. Dark as a cloud that dims the day The monarch of the giants lay, Perfumed with sandal's precious scent And gay with golden ornament. His fiery eyes in slumber closed, In glittering robes the king reposed Like Mandar's mighty hill asleep With flowery trees that clothe his steep. Near and more near the Vanar The monarch of the fiends to view, And saw the giant stretched supine Fatigued with play and drunk with wine. While, shaking all the monstrous frame, His breath like hissing serpents' came. With gold and glittering bracelets gay His mighty arms extended lay Huge as the towering shafts that bear The flag of Indra high in air. Scars by Airavat's tusk impressed Showed red upon his shaggy breast. And on his shoulders were displayed The dints the thunder-bolt had made.(817) The spouses of the giant king Around their lord were slumbering, And, gay with sparkling earrings, shone Fair as the moon to look upon. There by her husband's side was seen Mandodari the favourite queen, The beauty of whose youthful face Beamed a soft glory through the place. The Vanar marked the dame more fair Than all the royal ladies there, And thought, "These rarest beauties speak The matchless dame I come to seek. Peerless in grace and splendour, she The Maithil queen must surely be."



Canto XI. The Banquet Hall.

But soon the baseless thought was spurned And longing hope again returned: "No: Rama's wife is none of these, No careless dame that lives at ease. Her widowed heart has ceased to care For dress and sleep and dainty fare. She near a lover ne'er would lie Though Indra wooed her from the sky. Her own, her only lord, whom none Can match in heaven, is Raghu's son."

Then to the banquet hall intent On strictest search his steps he bent. He passed within the door, and found Fair women sleeping on the ground, Where wearied with the song, perchance, The merry game, the wanton dance, Each girl with wine and sleep oppressed Had sunk her drooping head to rest. That spacious hall from side to side With noblest fare was well supplied, There quarters of the boar, and here Roast of the buffalo and deer, There on gold plate, untouched as yet The peacock and the hen were set. There deftly mixed with salt and curd Was meat of many a beast and bird, Of kid and porcupine and hare, And dainties of the sea and air. There wrought of gold, ablaze with shine Of precious stones, were cups of wine. Through court and bower and banquet hall The Vanar passed and viewed them all; From end to end, in every spot, For Sita searched, but found her not.



Canto XII. The Search Renewed.

Again the Vanar chief began Each chamber, bower, and hall to scan. In vain: he found not her he sought, And pondered thus in bitter thought: "Ah me the Maithil queen is slain: She, ever true and free from stain, The fiend's entreaty has denied, And by his cruel hand has died. Or has she sunk, by terror killed, When first she saw the palace filled With female monsters evil miened Who wait upon the robber fiend? No battle fought, no might displayed, In vain this anxious search is made; Nor shall my steps, made slow by shame, Because I failed to find the dame, Back to our lord the king be bent, For he is swift to punishment. In every bower my feet have been, The dames of Ravan have I seen; But Rama's spouse I seek in vain, And all my toil is fruitless pain. How shall I meet the Vanar band I left upon the ocean strand? How, when they bid me speak, proclaim These tidings of defeat and shame? How shall I look on Angad's eye? What words will Jambavan reply? Yet dauntless hearts will never fail To win success though foes assail, And I this sorrow will subdue And search the palace through and through, Exploring with my cautious tread Each spot as yet unvisited."

Again he turned him to explore Each chamber, hall, and corridor, And arbour bright with scented bloom, And lodge and cell and picture-room. With eager eye and noiseless feet He passed through many a cool retreat Where women lay in slumber drowned; But Sita still was nowhere found.



Canto XIII. Despair And Hope.

Then rapid as the lightning's flame From Ravan's halls the Vanar came. Each lingering hope was cold and dead, And thus within his heart he said: "Alas, my fruitless search is done: Long have I toiled for Raghu's son; And yet with all my care have seen No traces of the ravished queen. It may be, while the giant through The lone air with his captive flew, The Maithil lady, tender-souled, Slipped struggling from the robber's hold, And the wild sea is rolling now O'er Sita of the beauteous brow. Or did she perish of alarm When circled by the monster's arm? Or crushed, unable to withstand The pressure of that monstrous hand? Or when she spurned his suit with scorn, Her tender limbs were rent and torn. And she, her virtue unsubdued, Was slaughtered for the giant's food. Shall I to Raghu's son relate His well-beloved consort's fate, My crime the same if I reveal The mournful story or conceal? If with no happier tale to tell I seek our mountain citadel, How shall I face our lord the king, And meet his angry questioning? How shall I greet my friends, and brook The muttered taunt, the scornful look? How to the son of Raghu go And kill him with my tale of woe? For sure the mournful tale I bear Will strike him dead with wild despair. And Lakshman ever fond and true, Will, undivided, perish too. Bharat will learn his brother's fate, And die of grief disconsolate, And sad Satrughna with a cry Of anguish on his corpse will die. Our king Sugriva, ever found True to each bond in honour bound, Will mourn the pledge he vainly gave, And die with him he could not save. Then Ruma his devoted wife For her dead lord will leave her life, And Tara, widowed and forlorn, Will die in anguish, sorrow-worn. On Angad too the blow will fall Killing the hope and joy of all. The ruin of their prince and king The Vanars' souls with woe will wring. And each, overwhelmed with dark despair, Will beat his head and rend his hair. Each, graced and honoured long, will miss His careless life of easy bliss, In happy troops will play no more On breezy rock and shady shore, But with his darling wife and child Will seek the mountain top, and wild With hopeless desolation, throw Himself, his wife, and babe, below. Ah no: unless the dame I find I ne'er will meet my Vanar kind. Here rather in some distant dell A lonely hermit will I dwell, Where roots and berries will supply My humble wants until I die; Or on the shore will raise a pyre And perish in the kindled fire. Or I will strictly fast until With slow decay my life I kill, And ravening dogs and birds of air The limbs of Hanuman shall tear. Here will I die, but never bring Destruction on my race and king. But still unsearched one grove I see With many a bright Asoka tree. There will I enter in, and through The tangled shade my search renew. Be glory to the host on high, The Sun and Moon who light the sky, The Vasus(818) and the Maruts'(819) train, Adityas(820) and the Asvins(821) twain. So may I win success, and bring The lady back with triumphing."



Canto XIV. The Asoka Grove.

He cleared the barrier at a bound; He stood within the pleasant ground, And with delighted eyes surveyed The climbing plants and varied shade, He saw unnumbered trees unfold The treasures of their pendent gold, As, searching for the Maithil queen, He strayed through alleys soft and green; And when a spray he bent or broke Some little bird that slept awoke. Whene'er the breeze of morning blew, Where'er a startled peacock flew, The gaily coloured branches shed Their flowery rain upon his head That clung around the Vanar till He seemed a blossom-covered hill,(822) The earth, on whose fair bosom lay The flowers that fell from every spray, Was glorious as a lovely maid In all her brightest robes arrayed, He saw the breath of morning shake The lilies on the rippling lake Whose waves a pleasant lapping made On crystal steps with gems inlaid. Then roaming through the enchanted ground, A pleasant hill the Vanar found, And grottoes in the living stone With grass and flowery trees o'ergrown. Through rocks and boughs a brawling rill Leapt from the bosom of the hill, Like a proud beauty when she flies From her love's arms with angry eyes.

He clomb a tree that near him grew And leafy shade around him threw. "Hence," thought the Vanar, "shall I see The Maithil dame, if here she be, These lovely trees, this cool retreat Will surely tempt her wandering feet. Here the sad queen will roam apart. And dream of Rama in her heart."



Canto XV. Sita.

Fair as Kailasa white with snow He saw a palace flash and glow, A crystal pavement gem-inlaid, And coral steps and colonnade, And glittering towers that kissed the skies, Whose dazzling splendour charmed his eyes. There pallid, with neglected dress, Watched close by fiend and giantess, Her sweet face thin with constant flow Of tears, with fasting and with woe; Pale as the young moon's crescent when The first faint light returns to men: Dim as the flame when clouds of smoke The latent glory hide and choke; Like Rohini the queen of stars Oppressed by the red planet Mars; From her dear friends and husband torn, Amid the cruel fiends, forlorn, Who fierce-eyed watch around her kept, A tender woman sat and wept. Her sobs, her sighs, her mournful mien, Her glorious eyes, proclaimed the queen. "This, this is she," the Vanar cried, "Fair as the moon and lotus-eyed, I saw the giant Ravan bear A captive through the fields of air. Such was the beauty of the dame; Her form, her lips, her eyes the same. This peerless queen whom I behold Is Rama's wife with limbs of gold. Best of the sons of men is he, And worthy of her lord is she."



Canto XVI. Hanuman's Lament.

Then, all his thoughts on Sita bent, The Vanar chieftain made lament: "The queen to Rama's soul endeared, By Lakshman's pious heart revered, Lies here,—for none may strive with Fate, A captive, sad and desolate. The brothers' might full well she knows, And bravely bears the storm of woes, As swelling Ganga in the rains The rush of every flood sustains. Her lord, for her, fierce Bali slew, Viradha's monstrous might o'erthrew, For her the fourteen thousand slain In Janasthan bedewed the plain. And if for her Ikshvaku's son Destroyed the world 'twere nobly done. This, this is she, so far renowned, Who sprang from out the furrowed ground,(823) Child of the high-souled king whose sway The men of Mithila obey: The glorious lady wooed and won By Dasaratha's noblest son; And now these sad eyes look on her Mid hostile fiends a prisoner. From home and every bliss she fled By wifely love and duty led, And heedless of a wanderer's woes, A life in lonely forests chose. This, this is she so fair of mould. Whose limbs are bright as burnished gold. Whose voice was ever soft and mild, Who sweetly spoke and sweetly smiled. O, what is Rama's misery! how He longs to see his darling now! Pining for one of her fond looks As one athirst for water brooks. Absorbed in woe the lady sees No Rakshas guard, no blooming trees. Her eyes are with her thoughts, and they Are fixed on Rama far away."



Canto XVII. Sita's Guard.

His pitying eyes with tears bedewed, The weeping queen again he viewed, And saw around the prisoner stand Her demon guard, a fearful band. Some earless, some with ears that hung Low as their feet and loosely swung: Some fierce with single ears and eyes, Some dwarfish, some of monstrous size: Some with their dark necks long and thin With hair upon the knotty skin: Some with wild locks, some bald and bare, Some covered o'er with bristly hair: Some tall and straight, some bowed and bent With every foul disfigurement: All black and fierce with eyes of fire, Ruthless and stern and swift to ire: Some with the jackal's jaw and nose, Some faced like boars and buffaloes: Some with the heads of goats and kine, Of elephants, and dogs, and swine: With lions' lips and horses' brows, They walked with feet of mules and cows: Swords, maces, clubs, and spears they bore In hideous hands that reeked with gore, And, never sated, turned afresh To bowls of wine and piles of flesh. Such were the awful guards who stood Round Sita in that lovely wood, While in her lonely sorrow she Wept sadly neath a spreading tree. He watched the spouse of Rama there Regardless of her tangled hair, Her jewels stripped from neck and limb, Decked only with her love of him.



Canto XVIII. Ravan.

While from his shelter in the boughs The Vanar looked on Rama's spouse He heard the gathered giants raise The solemn hymn of prayer and praise.— Priests skilled in rite and ritual, who The Vedas and their branches(824) knew. Then, as loud strains of music broke His sleep, the giant monarch woke. Swift to his heart the thought returned Of the fair queen for whom he burned; Nor could the amorous fiend control The passion that absorbed his soul. In all his brightest garb arrayed He hastened to that lovely shade, Where glowed each choicest flower and fruit, And the sweet birds were never mute, And tall deer bent their heads to drink On the fair streamlet's grassy brink. Near that Asoka grove he drew,— A hundred dames his retinue. Like Indra with the thousand eyes Girt with the beauties of the skies. Some walked beside their lord to hold The chouries, fans, and lamps of gold. And others purest water bore In golden urns, and paced before. Some carried, piled on golden plates, Delicious food of dainty cates; Some wine in massive bowls whereon The fairest gems resplendent shone. Some by the monarch's side displayed, Wrought like a swan, a silken shade: Another beauty walked behind, The sceptre to her care assigned. Around the monarch gleamed the crowd As lightnings flash about a cloud, And each made music as she went With zone and tinkling ornament. Attended thus in royal state The monarch reached the garden gate, While gold and silver torches, fed With scented oil a soft light shed.(825) He, while the flame of fierce desire Burnt in his eyes like kindled fire, Seemed Love incarnate in his pride, His bow and arrows laid aside.(826) His robe, from spot and blemish free Like Amrit foamy from the sea,(827) Hung down in many a loosened fold Inwrought with flowers and bright with gold. The Vanar from his station viewed, Amazed, the wondrous multitude, Where, in the centre of that ring Of noblest women, stood the king, As stands the full moon fair to view, Girt by his starry retinue.



Canto XIX. Sita's Fear.

Then o'er the lady's soul and frame A sudden fear and trembling came, When, glowing in his youthful pride, She saw the monarch by her side. Silent she sat, her eyes depressed, Her soft arms folded o'er her breast, And,—all she could,—her beauties screened From the bold gazes of the fiend. There where the wild she-demons kept Their watch around, she sighed and wept. Then, like a severed bough, she lay Prone on the bare earth in dismay. The while her thoughts on love's fleet wings Flew to her lord the best of kings. She fell upon the ground, and there Lay struggling with her wild despair, Sad as a lady born again To misery and woe and pain, Now doomed to grief and low estate, Once noble fair and delicate: Like faded light of holy lore, Like Hope when all her dreams are o'er; Like ruined power and rank debased, Like majesty of kings disgraced: Like worship foiled by erring slips, The moon that labours in eclipse; A pool with all her lilies dead, An army when its king has fled: So sad and helpless wan and worn, She lay among the fiends forlorn.



Canto XX. Ravan's Wooing.

With amorous look and soft address The fiend began his suit to press: "Why wouldst thou, lady lotus-eyed, From my fond glance those beauties hide? Mine eager suit no more repel: But love me, for I love thee well. Dismiss, sweet dame, dismiss thy fear; No giant and no man is near. Ours is the right by force to seize What dames soe'er our fancy please.(828) But I with rude hands will not touch A lady whom I love so much. Fear not, dear queen: no fear is nigh: Come, on thy lover's love rely, Some little sign of favor show, Nor lie enamoured of thy woe. Those limbs upon that cold earth laid, Those tresses twined in single braid,(829) The fast and woe that wear thy frame, Beseem not thee, O beauteous dame. For thee the fairest wreaths were meant, The sandal and the aloe's scent, Rich ornaments and pearls of price, And vesture meet for Paradise. With dainty cates shouldst thou be fed, And rest upon a sumptuous bed. And festive joys to thee belong, The music, and the dance and song. Rise, pearl of women, rise and deck With gems and chains thine arms and neck. Shall not the dame I love be seen In vesture worthy of a queen? Methinks when thy sweet form was made His hand the wise Creator stayed; For never more did he design A beauty meet to rival thine. Come, let us love while yet we may, For youth will fly and charms decay, Come cast thy grief and fear aside, And be my love, my chosen bride. The gems and jewels that my hand Has reft from every plundered land,— To thee I give them all this day, And at thy feet my kingdom lay. The broad rich earth will I o'errun, And leave no town unconquered, none; Then of the whole an offering make To Janak,(830) dear, for thy sweet sake. In all the world no power I see Of God or man can strive with me. Of old the Gods and Asurs set In terrible array I met: Their scattered hosts to earth I beat, And trod their flags beneath my feet. Come, taste of bliss and drink thy fill, And rule the slave who serves thy will. Think not of wretched Rama: he Is less than nothing now to thee. Stript of his glory, poor, dethroned, A wanderer by his friends disowned, On the cold earth he lays his head, Or is with toil and misery dead. And if perchance he lingers yet, His eyes on thee shall ne'er be set. Could he, that mighty monarch, who Was named Hiranyakasipu, Could he who wore the garb of gold Win Glory back from Indra's hold?(831) O lady of the lovely smile, Whose eyes the sternest heart beguile, In all thy radiant beauty dressed My heart and soul thou ravishest. What though thy robe is soiled and worn, And no bright gems thy limbs adorn, Thou unadorned art dearer far Than all my loveliest consorts are. My royal home is bright and fair; A thousand beauties meet me there, But come, my glorious love, and be The queen of all those dames and me."



Canto XXI. Sita's Scorn.

She thought upon her lord and sighed, And thus in gentle tones replied: "Beseems thee not, O King, to woo A matron, to her husband true. Thus vainly one might hope by sin And evil deeds success to win. Shall I, so highly born, disgrace My husband's house, my royal race? Shall I, a true and loyal dame, Defile my soul with deed of shame?"

Then on the king her back she turned, And answered thus the prayer she spurned: "Turn, Ravan, turn thee from thy sin; Seek virtue's paths and walk therein. To others dames be honour shown; Protect them as thou wouldst thine own. Taught by thyself, from wrong abstain Which, wrought on thee, thy heart would pain.(832) Beware: this lawless love of thine Will ruin thee and all thy line; And for thy sin, thy sin alone, Will Lanka perish overthrown. Dream not that wealth and power can sway My heart from duty's path to stray. Linked like the Day-God and his shine, I am my lord's and he is mine. Repent thee of thine impious deed; To Rama's side his consort lead. Be wise; the hero's friendship gain, Nor perish in his fury slain. Go, ask the God of Death to spare, Or red bolt flashing through the air, But look in vain for spell or charm To stay my Rama's vengeful arm. Thou, when the hero bends his bow, Shalt hear the clang that heralds woe, Loud as the clash when clouds are rent And Indra's bolt to earth is sent. Then shall his furious shafts be sped, Each like a snake with fiery head, And in their flight shall hiss and flame Marked with the mighty archer's name.(833) Then in the fiery deluge all Thy giants round their king shall fall."



Canto XXII. Ravan's Threat.

Then anger swelled in Ravan's breast, Who fiercely thus the dame addressed: "'Tis ever thus: in vain we sue To woman, and her favour woo. A lover's humble words impel Her wayward spirit to rebel. The love of thee that fills my soul Still keeps my anger in control, As charioteers with bit and rein The swerving of the steed restrain. The love that rules me bids me spare Thy forfeit life, O thou most fair. For this, O Sita, have I borne The keen reproach, the bitter scorn, And the fond love thou boastest yet For that poor wandering anchoret; Else had the words which thou hast said Brought death upon thy guilty head. Two months, fair dame, I grant thee still To bend thee to thy lover's will. If when that respite time is fled Thou still refuse to share my bed, My cooks shall mince thy limbs with steel And serve thee for my morning meal."(834)

The minstrel daughters of the skies Looked on her woe with pitying eyes, And sun-bright children of the Gods(835) Consoled the queen with smiles and nods. She saw, and with her heart at ease, Addressed the fiend in words like these; "Hast thou no friend to love thee, none In all this isle to bid thee shun The ruin which thy crime will bring On thee and thine, O impious King? Who in all worlds save thee could woo Me, Rama's consort pure and true, As though he tempted with his love Queen Sachi(836) on her throne above? How canst thou hope, vile wretch, to fly The vengeance that e'en now is nigh, When thou hast dared, untouched by shame, To press thy suit on Rama's dame? Where woods are thick and grass is high A lion and a hare may lie; My Rama is the lion, thou Art the poor hare beneath the bough. Thou railest at the lord of men, But wilt not stand within his ken. What! is that eye unstricken yet Whose impious glance on me was set? Still moves that tongue that would not spare The wife of Dasaratha's heir?"

Then, hissing like a furious snake, The fiend again to Sita spake: "Deaf to all prayers and threats art thou, Devoted to thy senseless vow. No longer respite will I give, And thou this day shalt cease to live; For I, as sunlight kills the morn, Will slay thee for thy scathe and scorn."

The Rakshas guard was summoned: all The monstrous crew obeyed the call, And hastened to the king to take The orders which he fiercely spake: "See that ye guard her well, and tame, Like some wild thing, the stubborn dame, Until her haughty soul be bent By mingled threat and blandishment."(837)

The monsters heard: away he strode, And passed within his queens' abode.



Canto XXIII. The Demons' Threats.

Then round the helpless Sita drew With fiery eyes the hideous crew, And thus assailed her, all and each, With insult, taunt, and threatening speech: "What! can it be thou prizest not This happy chance, this glorious lot, To be the chosen wife of one So strong and great, Pulastya's son? Pulastya—thus have sages told— Is mid the Lords of Life(838) enrolled. Lord Brahma's mind-born son was he, Fourth of that glorious company. Visravas from Pulastya sprang,— Through all the worlds his glory rang. And of Visravas, large-eyed dame! Our king the mighty Ravan came. His happy consort thou mayst be: Scorn not the words we say to thee."

One awful demon, fiery-eyed, Stood by the Maithil queen and cried: 'Come and be his, if thou art wise, Who smote the sovereign of the skies, And made the thirty Gods and three,(839) O'ercome in furious battle, flee. Thy lover turns away with scorn From wives whom grace and youth adorn. Thou art his chosen consort, thou Shall be his pride and darling now."

Another, Vikata by name, In words like these addressed the dame: "The king whose blows, in fury dealt, The Nagas(840) and Gandharvas(841) felt, In battle's fiercest brunt subdued, Has stood by thee and humbly wooed. And wilt thou in thy folly miss The glory of a love like this? Scared by his eye the sun grows chill, The wanderer wind is hushed and still. The rains at his command descend, And trees with new-blown blossoms bend. His word the hosts of demons fear, And wilt thou, dame, refuse to hear? Be counselled; with his will comply, Or, lady, thou shalt surely die."



Canto XXIV. Sita's Reply.

Still with reproaches rough and rude Those fiends the gentle queen pursued: "What! can so fair a life displease, To dwell with him in joyous ease? Dwell in his bowers a happy queen In silk and gold and jewels' sheen? Still must thy woman fancy cling To Rama and reject our king? Die in thy folly, or forget That wretched wandering anchoret. Come, Sita, in luxurious bowers Spend with our lord thy happy hours; The mighty lord who makes his own The treasures of the worlds o'erthrown."

Then, as a tear bedewed her eye, The hapless lady made reply: "I loathe, with heart and soul detest The shameful life your words suggest. Eat, if you will, this mortal frame: My soul rejects the sin and shame. A homeless wanderer though he be, In him my lord, my life I see, And, till my earthly days be done, Will cling to great Ikshvaku's son."

Then with fierce eyes on Sita set They cried again with taunt and threat: Each licking with her fiery tongue The lip that to her bosom hung, And menacing the lady's life With axe, or spear or murderous knife: "Hear, Sita, and our words obey, Or perish by our hands to-day. Thy love for Raghu's son forsake, And Ravan for thy husband take, Or we will rend thy limbs apart And banquet on thy quivering heart. Now from her body strike the head, And tell the king the dame is dead. Then by our lord's commandment she A banquet for our band shall be. Come, let the wine be quickly brought That frees each heart from saddening thought. Then to the western gate repair, And we will dance and revel there."



Canto XXV. Sita's Lament.

On the bare earth the lady sank, And trembling from their presence shrank Like a strayed fawn, when night is dark, And hungry wolves around her bark. Then to a shady tree she crept, And thought upon her lord and wept. By fear and bitter woe oppressed She bathed the beauties of her breast With her hot tears' incessant flow, And found no respite from her woe. As shakes a plantain in the breeze She shook, and fell on trembling knees; While at each demon's furious look Her cheek its native hue forsook. She lay and wept and made her moan In sorrow's saddest undertone, And, wild with grief, with fear appalled, On Rama and his brother called: "O dear Kausalya,(842) hear me cry! Sweet Queen Sumitra,(843) list my sigh! True is the saw the wise declare: Death comes not to relieve despair. 'Tis vain for dame or man to pray; Death will not hear before his day; Since I, from Rama's sight debarred, And tortured by my cruel guard, Still live in hopeless woe to grieve And loathe the life I may not leave, Here, like a poor deserted thing, My limbs upon the ground I fling, And, like a bark beneath the blast, Shall sink oppressed with woes at last. Ah, blest are they, supremely blest, Whose eyes upon my lord may rest; Who mark his lion port, and hear His gentle speech that charms the ear. Alas, what antenatal crime, What trespass of forgotten time Weighs on my soul, and bids me bow Beneath this load of misery now?"



Canto XXVI. Sita's Lament.

"I Rama's wife, on that sad day, By Ravan's arm was borne away, Seized, while I sat and feared no ill, By him who wears each form at will. A helpless captive, left forlorn To demons' threats and taunts and scorn, Here for my lord I weep and sigh, And worn with woe would gladly die. For what is life to me afar From Rama of the mighty car? The robber in his fruitless sin Would hope his captive's love to win. My meaner foot shall never touch The demon whom I loathe so much. The senseless fool! he knows me not, Nor the proud soul his love would blot. Yea, limb from limb will I be rent, But never to his prayer consent; Be burnt and perish in the fire, But never meet his base desire. My lord was grateful, true and wise, And looked on woe with pitying eyes; But now, recoiling from the strife He pities not his captive wife. Alone in Janasthan he slew The thousands of the Rakshas crew. His arm was strong, his heart was brave, Why comes he not to free and save? Why blame my lord in vain surmise? He knows not where his lady lies. O, if he knew, o'er land and sea His feet were swift to set me free; This Lanka, girdled by the deep, Would fall consumed, a shapeless heap, And from each ruined home would rise A Rakshas widow's groans and cries."



Canto XXVII. Trijata's Dream.

Their threats unfeared, their counsel spurned, The demons' breasts with fury burned. Some sought the giant king to bear The tale of Sita's fixt despair. With threats and taunts renewed the rest Around the weeping lady pressed. But Trijata, of softer mould, A Rakshas matron wise and old, With pity for the captive moved, In words like these the fiends reproved: "Me, me," she cried, "eat me, but spare The spouse of Dasaratha's heir. Last night I dreamt a dream; and still The fear and awe my bosom chill; For in that dream I saw foreshown Our race by Rama's hand o'erthrown. I saw a chariot high in air, Of ivory exceeding fair. A hundred steeds that chariot drew As swiftly through the clouds it flew, And, clothed in white, with wreaths that shone, The sons of Raghu rode thereon. I looked and saw this lady here, Clad in the purest white, appear High on the snow white hill whose feet The angry waves of ocean beat. And she and Rama met at last Like light and sun when night is past. Again I saw them side by side. On Ravan's car they seemed to ride, And with the princely Lakshman flee To northern realms beyond the sea. Then Ravan, shaved and shorn, besmeared With oil from head to foot, appeared. He quaffed, he raved: his robes were red: Fierce was his eye, and bare his head. I saw him from his chariot thrust; I saw him rolling in the dust. A woman came and dragged away The stricken giant where he lay, And on a car which asses drew The monarch of our race she threw. He rose erect, he danced and laughed, With thirsty lips the oil he quaffed, Then with wild eyes and streaming mouth Sped on the chariot to the south.(844) Then, dropping oil from every limb, His sons the princes followed him, And Kumbhakarna,(845) shaved and shorn, Was southward on a camel borne. Then royal Lanka reeled and fell With gate and tower and citadel. This ancient city, far-renowned: All life within her walls was drowned; And the wild waves of ocean rolled O'er Lanka and her streets of gold. Warned by these signs I bid you fly; Or by the hand of Rama die, Whose vengeance will not spare the life Of one who vexed his faithful wife. Your bitter taunts and threats forgo: Comfort the lady in her woe, And humbly pray her to forgive; For so you may be spared and live."

[I omit the 28th and 29th Cantos as an unmistakeable interpolation. Instead of advancing the story it goes back to Canto XVII, containing a lamentation of Sita after Ravan has left her, and describes the the auspicious signs sent to cheer her, the throbbing of her left eye, arm, and side. The Canto is found in the Bengal recension. Gorresio translates it. and observes: "I think that Chapter XXVIII.—The Auspicious Signs—is an addition, a later interpolation by the Rhapsodists. It has no bond of connexion either with what precedes or follows it, and may be struck out not only without injury to, but positively to the advantage of the poem. The metre in which this chapter is written differs from that which is generally adopted in the course of the poem."]



Canto XXX. Hanuman's Deliberation.

The Vanar watched concealed: each word Of Sita and the fiends he heard, And in a maze of anxious thought His quick-conceiving bosom wrought. "At length my watchful eyes have seen, Pursued so long, the Maithil queen, Sought by our Vanar hosts in vain From east to west, from main to main. A cautious spy have I explored The palace of the Rakhshas lord, And thoroughly learned, concealed from sight, The giant monarch's power and might. And now my task must be to cheer The royal dame who sorrows here. For if I go, and soothe her not, A captive in this distant spot, She, when she finds no comfort nigh, Will sink beneath her woes and die. How shall my tale, if unconsoled I leave her, be to Rama told? How shall I answer Raghu's son, "No message from my darling, none?" The husband's wrath, to fury fanned, Will scorch me lifeless where I stand, Or if I urge my lord the king To Lanka's isle his hosts to bring, In vain will be his zeal, in vain The toil, the danger, and the pain. Yea, this occasion must I seize That from her guard the lady frees,(846) To win her ear with soft address And whisper hope in dire distress. Shall I, a puny Vanar, choose The Sanskrit men delight to use? If, as a man of Brahman kind, I speak the tongue by rules refined, The lady, yielding to her fears, Will think 'tis Ravan's voice she hears. I must assume my only plan— The language of a common(847) man. Yet, if the lady sees me nigh, In terror she will start and cry; And all the demon band, alarmed, Will come with various weapons armed, With their wild shouts the grove will fill, And strive to take me, or to kill. And, at my death or capture, dies The hope of Rama's enterprise. For none can leap, save only me, A hundred leagues across the sea. It is a sin in me, I own, To talk with Janak's child alone. Yet greater is the sin if I Be silent, and the lady die. First I will utter Rama's name, And laud the hero's gifts and fame. Perchance the name she holds so dear Will soothe the faithful lady's fear."



Canto XXXI. Hanuman's Speech.

Then in sweet accents low and mild The Vanar spoke to Janak's child: "A noble king, by sin unstained, The mighty Dasaratha reigned. Lord of the warrior's car and steed, The pride of old Ikshvaku's seed. A faithful friend, a blameless king, Protector of each living thing. A glorious monarch, strong to save, Blest with the bliss he freely gave. His son, the best of all who know The science of the bended bow, Was moon-bright Rama, brave and strong, Who loved the right and loathed the wrong, Who ne'er from kingly duty swerved, Loved by the lands his might preserved. His feet the path of law pursued; His arm rebellious foes subdued. His sire's command the prince obeyed And, banished, sought the forest shade, Where with his wife and brother he Wandered a saintly devotee. There as he roamed the wilds he slew The bravest of the Rakshas crew. The giant king the prince beguiled, And stole his consort, Janak's child. Then Rama roamed the country round, And a firm friend, Sugriva, found, Lord of the Vanar race, expelled From his own realm which Bali held, He conquered Bali and restored The kingdom to the rightful lord. Then by Sugriva's high decree The Vanar legions searched for thee, Sampati's counsel bade me leap A hundred leagues across the deep. And now my happy eyes have seen At last the long-sought Maithil queen. Such was the form, the eye, the grace Of her whom Rama bade me trace."

He ceased: her flowing locks she drew To shield her from a stranger's view; Then, trembling in her wild surprise, Raised to the tree her anxious eyes.



Canto XXXII. Sita's Doubt.

Her eyes the Maithil lady raised And on the monkey speaker gazed. She looked, and trembling at the sight Wept bitter tears in wild affright. She shrank a while with fear distraught, Then, nerved again, the lady thought: "Is this a dream mine eyes have seen, This creature, by our laws unclean? O, may the Gods keep Rama, still, And Lakshman, and my sire, from ill! It is no dream: I have not slept, But, trouble-worn, have watched and wept Afar from that dear lord of mine For whom in ceaseless woe I pine, No art may soothe my wild distress Or lull me to forgetfulness. I see but him: my lips can frame No syllable but Rama's name. Each sight I see, each sound I hear, Brings Rama to mine eye or ear, The wish was in my heart, and hence The sweet illusion mocked my sense. 'Twas but a phantom of the mind, And yet the voice was soft and kind. Be glory to the Eternal Sire,(848) Be glory to the Lord of Fire, The mighty Teacher in the skies,(849) And Indra with his thousand eyes, And may they grant the truth to be E'en as the words that startled me."



Canto XXXIII. The Colloquy.

Down from the tree Hanuman came And humbly stood before the dame. Then joining reverent palm to palm Addressed her thus with words of balm: "Why should the tears of sorrow rise, Sweet lady, to those lovely eyes, As when the wind-swept river floods Two half expanded lotus buds? Who art thou, O most fair of face? Of Asur,(850) or celestial race? Did Naga mother give thee birth? For sure thou art no child of earth. Do Rudras(851) claim that heavenly form? Or the swift Gods(852) who ride the storm? Or art thou Rohini(853) the blest, That star more lovely than the rest,— Reft from the Moon thou lovest well And doomed a while on earth to dwell? Or canst thou, fairest wonder, be The starry queen Arundhati,(854) Fled in thy wrath or jealous pride From her dear lord Vasishtha's side? Who is the husband, father, son Or brother, O thou loveliest one, Gone from this world in heaven to dwell, For whom those eyes with weeping swell? Yet, by the tears those sweet eyes shed, Yet, by the earth that bears thy tread,(855) By calling on a monarch's name, No Goddess but a royal dame. Art thou the queen, fair lady, say, Whom Ravan stole and bore away? Yea, by that agony of woe, That form unrivalled here below, That votive garb, thou art, I ween, King Janak's child and Rama's queen."

Hope at the name of Rama woke, And thus the gentle lady spoke: "I am that Sita wooed and won By Dasaratha's royal son, The noblest of Ikshvaku's line; And every earthly joy was mine. But Rama left his royal home In Dandak's tangled wilds to roam. Where with Sumitra's son and me, He lived a saintly devotee. The giant Ravan came with guile And bore me thence to Lanka's isle. Some respite yet the fiend allows, Two months of life, to Rama's spouse. Two moons of hopeless woe remain, And then the captive will be slain."



Canto XXXIV. Hanuman's Speech.

Thus spoke the dame in mournful mood, And Hanuman his speech renewed: "O lady, by thy lord's decree I come a messenger to thee. Thy lord is safe with steadfast friends, And greeting to his queen he sends, And Lakshman, ever faithful bows His reverent head to Rama's spouse."

Through all her frame the rapture ran, As thus again the dame began: "Now verily the truth I know Of the wise saw of long ago: "Once only in a hundred years True joy to living man appears."

He marked her rapture-beaming hue, And nearer to the lady drew, But at each onward step he took Suspicious fear her spirit shook. "Alas, Alas," she cried in fear. "False is the tale I joyed to hear. 'Tis Ravan, 'tis the fiend, who tries To mock me with a new disguise. If thou, to wring my woman's heart, Hast changed thy shape by magic art, And wouldst a helpless dame beguile, The wicked deed is doubly vile. But no: that fiend thou canst not be: Such joy I had from seeing thee. But if my fancy does not err, And thou art Rama's messenger, The glories of my lord repeat: For to these ears such words are sweet."

The Vanar knew the lady's thought,(856) And gave the answer fondly sought: "Bright as the sun that lights the sky Dear as the Moon to every eye. He scatters blessings o'er the land Like bounties from Vaisravan's(857) hand. Like Vishnu strong and unsubdued, Unmatched in might and fortitude. Wise, truthful as the Lord of Speech, With gentle words he welcomes each. Of noblest mould and form is he, Like love's incarnate deity. He quells the fury of the foe, And strikes when justice prompts the blow. Safe in the shadow of his arm The world is kept from scathe and harm. Now soon shall Ravan rue his theft, And fall, of realm and life bereft. For Rama's wrathful hand shall wing His shafts against the giant king. The day, O Maithil Queen, is near When he and Lakshman will be here, And by their side Sugriva lead His countless hosts of Vanar breed. Sugriva's servant, I, by name Hanuman, by his order came. With desperate leap I crossed the sea To Lanka's isle in search of thee, No traitor, gentle dame, am I: Upon my word and faith rely."



Canto XXXV. Hanuman's Speech.

With joyous heart she heard him tell Of the great lord she loved so well, And in sweet accents, soft and low, Spoke, half forgetful of her woe: "How didst thou stand by Rama's side? How came my lord and thou allied? How met the people of the wood With men on terms of brotherhood? Declare each grace and regal sign That decks the lords of Raghu's line. Each circumstance and look relate: Tell Rama's form and speech, and gait."

"Thy fear and doubt," he cried, "dispelled, Hear, lady, what mine eyes beheld. Hear the imperial signs that grace The glory of Ikshvaku's race. With moon-bright face and lotus eyes, Most beautiful and good and wise, With sun-like glory round his head, Long-suffering as the earth we tread, He from all foes his realm defends. Yea, o'er the world his care extends. He follows right in all his ways, And ne'er from royal duty strays. He knows the lore that strengthens kings; His heart to truth and honour clings. Each grace and gift of form and mind Adorns that prince of human kind; And virtues like his own endue His brother ever firm and true. O'er all the land they roamed distraught, And thee with vain endeavour sought, Until at length their wandering feet Trod wearily our wild retreat. Our banished king Sugriva spied The princes from the mountain side. By his command I sought the pair And led them to our monarch there. Thus Rama and Sugriva met, And joined the bonds that knit them yet, When each besought the other's aid, And friendship and alliance made. An arrow launched from Rama's bow Laid Bali dead, Sugriva's foe. Then by commandment of our lord The Vanar hosts each land explored. We reached the coast: I crossed the sea And found my way at length to thee."(858)



Canto XXXVI. Rama's Ring.

"Receive," he cried, "this precious ring,(859) Sure token from thy lord the king: The golden ring he wont to wear: See, Rama's name engraven there." Then, as she took the ring he showed, The tears that spring of rapture flowed. She seemed to touch the hand that sent The dearly valued ornament, And with her heart again at ease, Replied in gentle words like these: "O thou, whose soul no fears deter, Wise, brave, and faithful messenger! And hast thou dared, o'er wave and foam, To seek me in the giants' home? In thee, true messenger, I find The noblest of thy woodland kind. Who couldst, unmoved by terror, brook On Ravan, king of fiends, to look. Now may we commune here as friends, For he whom royal Rama sends Must needs be one in danger tried, A valiant, wise, and faithful guide. Say, is it well with Rama still? Lives Lakshman yet untouched by ill? Then why should Rama's hand be slow To free his consort from her woe? Why spare to burn, in search of me, The land encircled by the sea? Can Bharat send no army out With banners, cars and battle shout? Cannot thy king Sugriva lend His legions to assist his friend?"

His hands upon his head he laid And thus again his answer made: "Not yet has Rama learnt where lies His lady of the lotus eyes, Or he like Indra from the sky To Sachi's(860) aid, to thee would fly. Soon will he hear the tale, and then, Roused to revenge, the lord of men Will to the giants' island lead Fierce myriads of the woodland breed, Bridging his conquering way, and make The town a ruin for thy sake. Believe my words, sweet dame; I swear By roots and fruit, my woodland fare, By Meru's peak and Vindhva's chain, And Mandar of the Milky Main, Soon shalt thou see thy lord, though now He waits upon Prasravan's(861) brow, Come glorious as the breaking morn, Like Indra on Airavat(862) borne. For thee he looks with longing eyes; The wood his scanty food supplies. For thee his brow is pale and worn, For thee are meat and wine forsworn. Thine image in his heart he keeps, For thee by night he wakes and weeps. Or if perchance his eyes he close And win brief respite from his woes, E'en then the name of Sita slips In anguish from his murmuring lips. If lovely flowers or fruit he sees, Which women love, upon the trees, To thee, to thee his fancy flies. And 'Sita! O my love!' he cries."



Canto XXXVII. Sita's Speech.

"Thou bringest me," she cried again, "A mingled draught of bliss and pain: Bliss, that he wears me in his heart, Pain, that he wakes and weeps apart, O, see how Fate is king of all, Now lifts us high, now bids us fall, And leads a captive bound with cord The meanest slave, the proudest lord, Thus even now Fate's stern decree Has struck with grief my lord and me. Say, how shall Rama reach the shore Of sorrow's waves that rise and roar, A shipwrecked sailor, well nigh drowned In the wild sea that foams around? When will he smite the demon down, Lay low in dust the giants' town, And, glorious from his foes' defeat, His wife, his long-lost Sita, meet? Go, bid him speed to smite his foes Before the year shall reach its close. Ten months are fled but two remain, Then Ravan's captive must be slain. Oft has Vibhishan,(863) just and wise, Besought him to restore his prize. But deaf is Ravan's senseless ear: His brother's rede he will not hear. Vibhishan's daughter(864) loves me well: From her I learnt the tale I tell. Avindhva(865) prudent, just, and old, The giant's fall has oft foretold; But Fate impels him to despise His word on whom he most relies. In Rama's love I rest secure, For my fond heart is true and pure, And him, my noblest lord, I deem In valour, power, and might supreme."

As from her eyes the waters ran, The Vanar chief again began: "Yea, Rama, when he hears my tale, Will with our hosts these walls assail. Or I myself, O Queen, this day Will bear thee from the fiend away, Will lift thee up, and take thee hence To him thy refuge and defence; Will take thee in my arms, and flee To Rama far beyond the sea; Will place thee on Prasravan hill Where Raghu's son is waiting still." "How canst thou bear me hence?" she cried, "The way is long, the sea is wide. To bear my very weight would be A task too hard for one like thee."(866)

Swift rose before her startled eyes The Vanar in his native size, Like Mandar's hill or Meru's height, Encircled with a blaze of light. "O come," he cried, "thy fears dispel, Nor doubt that I will bear thee well. Come, in my strength and care confide, And sit in joy by Rama's side."

Again she spake: "I know thee now, Brave, resolute, and strong art thou; In glory like the Lord of Fire With storm-swift feet which naught may tire But yet with thee I may not fly: For, borne so swiftly through the sky, Mine eyes would soon grow faint and dim, My dizzy brain would reel and swim, My yielding arms relax their hold, And I in terror uncontrolled Should fall into the raging sea Where hungry sharks would feed on me. Nor can I touch, of free accord, The limbs of any save my lord. If, by the giant forced away, In his enfolding arms I lay, Not mine, O Vanar, was the blame; What could I do, a helpless dame? Go, to my lord my message bear, And bid him end my long despair."



Canto XXXVIII. Sita's Gem.

Again the Vanar chief replied, With her wise answer satisfied: "Well hast thou said: thou canst not brave The rushing wind, the roaring wave. Thy woman's heart would sink with fear Before the ocean shore were near. And for thy dread lest limb of thine Should for a while be touched by mine, The modest fear is worthy one Whose cherished lord is Raghu's son. Yet when I sought to bear thee hence I spoke the words of innocence, Impelled to set the captive free By friendship for thy lord and thee. But if with me thou wilt not try The passage of the windy sky, Give me a gem that I may show, Some token which thy lord may know."

Again the Maithil lady spoke, While tears and sobs her utterance broke: "The surest of all signs is this, To tell the tale of vanished bliss. Thus in my name to Rama speak: "Remember Chitrakuta's peak And the green margin of the rill(867) That flows beside that pleasant hill, Where thou and I together strayed Delighting in the tangled shade. There on the grass I sat with thee And laid my head upon thy knee. There came a greedy crow and pecked The meat I waited to protect And, heedless of the clods I threw, About my head in circles flew, Until by darling hunger pressed He boldly pecked me on the breast. I ran to thee in rage and grief And prayed for vengeance on the thief. Then Rama(868) from his slumber rose And smiled with pity at my woes. Upon my bleeding breast he saw The scratches made by beak and claw. He laid an arrow on his bow, And launched it at the shameless crow. That shaft, with magic power endued, The bird, where'er he flew, pursued, Till back to Raghu's son he fled And bent at Rama's feet his head.(869) Couldst thou for me with anger stirred Launch that dire shaft upon a bird, And yet canst pardon him who stole The darling of thy heart and soul? Rise up, O bravest of the brave, And come in all thy might to save. Come with the thunders of thy bow, And smite to earth the Rakshas foe."

She ceased; and from her glorious hair She took a gem that sparkled there A token which her husband's eyes With eager love would recognize. His head the Vanar envoy bent In low obeisance reverent. And on his finger bound the gem She loosened from her diadem.

[I omit two Cantos of dialogue. Sita tells Hanuman again to convey her message to Rama and bid him hasten to rescue her. Hanuman replies as before that there is no one on earth equal to Rama, who will soon come and destroy Ravan. There is not a new idea in the two Cantos: all is reiteration.]



Canto XLI. The Ruin Of The Grove.

Dismissed with every honour due The Vanar from the spot withdrew. Then joyous thought the Wind-God's son: "The mighty task is wellnigh done. The three expedients I must leave; The fourth alone can I achieve.(870) These dwellers in the giants' isle No arts of mine can reconcile. I cannot bribe: I cannot sow Dissension mid the Rakshas foe. Arts, gifts, address, these fiends despise; But force shall yet their king chastise. Perchance he may relent when all The bravest of his chieftains fall. This lovely grove will I destroy, The cruel Ravan's pride and joy. The garden where he takes his ease Mid climbing plants and flowery trees That lift their proud tops to the skies, Dear to the tyrant as his eyes. Then will he rouse in wrath, and lead His legions with the car and steed And elephants in long array, And seek me thirsty for the fray. The Rakshas legions will I meet, And all his bravest host defeat; Then, glorious from the bloody plain, Turn to my lord the king again."

Then every lovely tree that bore Fair blossoms, from the soil he tore, Till each green bough that lent its shade To singing birds on earth was laid. The wilderness he left a waste, The fountains shattered and defaced: O'erthrew and levelled with the ground Each shady seat and pleasure-mound. Each arbour clad with climbing bloom, Each grotto, cell, and picture room, Each lawn by beast and bird enjoyed, Each walk and terrace was destroyed. And all the place that was so fair Was left a ruin wild and bare, As if the fury of the blast Or raging fire had o'er it passed.



Canto XLII. The Giants Roused.

The cries of startled birds, the sound Of tall trees crashing to the ground, Struck with amaze each giant's ear, And filled the isle with sudden fear. Then, wakened by the crash and cries, The fierce shefiends unclosed their eyes, And saw the Vanar where he stood Amid the devastated wood. The more to scare them with the view To size immense the Vanar grew; And straight the Rakshas warders cried Janak's daughter terrified "Whose envoy, whence, and who is he, Why has he come to talk with thee? Speak, lady of the lovely eyes, And let not fear thy joy disguise."

Then thus replied the Maithil dame Of noble soul and perfect frame. "Can I discern, with scanty skill, These fiends who change their forms at will? 'Tis yours to say: your kin you meet; A serpent knows a serpent's feet.

I weet not who he is: the sight Has filled my spirit with affright." Some pressed round Sita in a ring; Some bore the story to their king: "A mighty creature of our race, In monkey form, has reached the place. He came within the grove," they cried, "He stood and talked by Sita's side, He comes from Indra's court to her, Or is Kuvera's messenger; Or Rama sent the spy to seek His consort, and her wrongs to wreak. His crushing arm, his trampling feet Have marred and spoiled that dear retreat, And all the pleasant place which thou So lovest is a ruin now. The tree where Sita sat alone Is spared where all are overthrown. Perchance he saved the dame from harm: Perchance the toil had numbed his arm."

Then flashed the giant's eye with fire Like that which lights the funeral pyre. He bade his bravest Kinkars(871) speed And to his feet the spoiler lead. Forth from the palace, at his hest, Twice forty thousand warriors pressed. Burning for battle, strong and fierce, With clubs to crush and swords to pierce, They saw Hanuman near a porch, And, thick as moths around a torch, Rushed on the foe with wild attacks Of mace and club and battle-axe. As round him pressed the Rakshas crowd, The wondrous monkey roared aloud, That birds fell headlong from the sky: Then spake he with a mighty cry: "Long life to Dasaratha's heir, And Lakshman, ever-glorious pair! Long life to him who rules our race, Preserved by noblest Rama's grace! I am the slave of Kosal's king,(872) Whose wondrous deeds the minstrels sing. Hanuman I, the Wind-God's seed: Beneath this arm the foemen bleed. I fear not, unapproached in might, A thousand Ravan's ranged for fight, Although in furious hands they rear The hill and tree for sword and spear, I will, before the giants' eyes, Their city and their king chastise; And, having communed with the dame, Depart in triumph as I came."

At that terrific roar and yell The heart of every giant fell. But still their king's command they feared And pressed around with arms upreared. Beside the porch a club was laid: The Vanar caught it up, and swayed The weapon round his head, and slew The foremost of the Rakshas crew. Thus Indra vanquished, thousand-eyed, The Daityas who the Gods defied. Then on the porch Hanuman sprang, And loud his shout of triumph rang. The giants looked upon the dead, And turning to their monarch fled. And Ravan with his spirit wrought To frenzy by the tale they brought, Urged to the fight Prahasta's son, Of all his chiefs the mightiest one.



Canto XLIII. The Ruin Of The Temple.

The Wind-God's son a temple(873) scaled Which, by his fury unassailed, High as the hill of Meru, stood Amid the ruins of the wood; And in his fury thundered out Again his haughty battle-shout: "I am the slave of Kosal's King Whose wondrous deeds the minstrels sing." Forth hurried, by that shout alarmed, The warders of the temple armed With every weapon haste supplied, And closed him in on every side, With bands that strove to pierce and strike With shaft and axe and club and pike. Then from its base the Vanar tore A pillar with the weight it bore. Against the wall the mass he dashed, And forth the flames in answer flashed, That wildly ran o'er roofs and wall In hungry rage consuming all. He whirled the pillar round his head And struck a hundred giants dead. Then high upheld on air he rose And called in thunder to his foes: "A thousand Vanar chiefs like me Roam at their will o'er land and sea, Terrific might we all possess: Our stormy speed is limitless. And all, unconquered in the fray, Our king Sugriva's word obey. Backed by his bravest myriads, he Our warrior lord will cross the sea. Then Lanka's lofty towers, and all Your hosts and Ravan's self shall fall. None shall be left unslaughtered; none Who braves the wrath of Raghu's son."



Canto XLIV. Jambumali's Death.

Then Jambumali, pride and boast For valour of the Rakshas host, Prahasta's son supremely brave, Obeyed the hest that Ravan gave: Fierce warrior with terrific teeth, With saguine robes and brilliant wreath. A bow like Indra's own(874), and store Of glittering shafts the chieftain bore. And ever as the string he tried The weapon with a roar replied, Loud as the crashing thunder sent By him who rules the firmament. Soon as the foeman came in view Borne on a car which asses drew, The Vanar chieftain mighty-voiced Shouted in triumph and rejoiced. Prahasta's son his bow-string drew, And swift the winged arrows flew, One in the face the Vanar smote, Another quivered in his throat. Ten from the deadly weapon sent His brawny arms and shoulders rent. Then as he felt each galling shot The Vanar's rage waxed fiercely hot. He looked, and saw a mass of stone That lay before his feet o'erthrown. The mighty block he raised and threw, And crashing through the air it flew. But Jambumali shunned the blow, And rained fresh arrows from his bow. The Vanar's limbs were red with gore: A Sal tree from the earth he tore, And, ere he hurled it undismayed, Above his head the missile swayed. But shafts from Jambumali's bow Cut through it ere his hand could throw. And thigh and arm and chest and side With streams of rushing blood were dyed. Still unsubdued though wounded oft The shattered trunk he raised aloft, And down with well-directed aim On Jambumali's chest it came. There crushed upon the trampled grass He lay an undistinguished mass, The foeman's eye no more could see His head or chest or arm or knee. And bow and car and steeds(875) and store Of glittering shafts were seen no more.

When Jambumali's death he heard, King Ravan's heart with rage was stirred And forth his general's sons he sent, For power and might preeminent.



Canto XLV. The Seven Defeated.

Forth went the seven in brave attire, In glory brilliant as the fire, Impetuous chiefs with massive bows, The quellers of a host of foes: Trained from their youth in martial lore, And masters of the arms they bore: Each emulous and fiercely bold, And banners wrought with glittering gold Waved o'er their chariots, drawn at speed By coursers of the noblest breed. On through the ruins of the grove At Hanuman they fiercely drove, And from the ponderous bows they strained A shower of deadly arrows rained. Then scarce was seen the Vanar's form Enveloped in the arrowy storm. So stands half veiled the Mountains' King When rainy clouds about him cling. By nimble turn, by rapid bound He shunned the shafts that rained around, Eluding, as in air he rose, The rushing chariots of his foes. The mighty Vanar undismayed Amid his archer foemen played, As plays the frolic wind on high Mid bow-armed(876) clouds that fill the sky. He raised a mighty roar and yell That fear on all the army fell, And then, his warrior soul aglow With fury, rushed upon the foe, Some with his open hand he beat To death and trampled with his feet; Some with fierce nails he rent and slew, And others with his fists o'erthrew; Some with his legs, as on he rushed, Some with his bulky chest he crushed; While some struck senseless by his roar Dropped on the ground and breathed no more, The remnant, seized with sudden dread, Turned from the grove and wildly fled. The trampled earth was thickly strown With steed and car and flag o'erthrown, And the red blood in rivers flowed From slaughtered fiends o'er path and road.



Canto XLVI. The Captains.

Mad with the rage of injured pride King Ravan summoned to his side The valiant five who led his host, Supreme in war and honoured most. "Go forth," he cried, "with car and steed, And to my feet this monkey lead, But watch each chance of time and place To seize this thing of silvan race. For from his wondrous exploits he No monkey of the woods can be, But some new kind of creature meant To work us woe, by Indra sent. Gandharvas, Nagas, and the best Of Yakshas have our might confessed. Have we not challenged and subdued The whole celestial multitude? Yet will you not, if you are wise, A chief of monkey race despise. For I myself have Bali known, And King Sugriva's power I own. But none of all their woodland throng Was half so terrible and strong."

Obedient to the words he spake They hastened forth the foe to take. Swift were the cars whereon they rode, And bright their weapons flashed and glowed. They saw: they charged in wild career With sword and mace and axe and spear. From Durdhar's bow five arrows sped And quivered in the Vanar's head. He rose and roared: the fearful sound Made all the region echo round. Then from above his weight he threw On Durdhar's car that near him drew. The weight that came with lightning speed Crushed pole and axle, car and steed. It shattered Durdhar's head and neck, And left him lifeless mid the wreck. Yupaksha saw the warrior die, And Virupaksha heard his cry, And, mad for vengeance for the slain, They charged their Vanar foe again. He rose in air: they onward pressed And fiercely smote him on the breast. In vain they struck his iron frame: With eagle swoop to earth he came, Tore from the ground a tree that grew Beside him, and the demons slew. Then Bhasakama raised his spear, And Praghas with a laugh drew near, And, maddened at the sight, the two Against the undaunted Vanar flew. As from his wounds the torrents flowed, Like a red sun the Vanar showed. He turned, a mountain peak to seize With all its beasts and snakes and trees. He hurled it on the pair: and they Crushed, overwhelmed, beneath it lay.



Canto XLVII. The Death Of Aksha.

But Ravan, as his fury burned, His eyes on youthful Aksha(877) turned, Who rose impetuous at his glance And shouted for his bow and lance. He rode upon a glorious car That shot the light of gems afar. His pennon waved mid glittering gold And bright the wheels with jewels rolled, By long and fierce devotion won That car was splendid as the sun. With rows of various weapons stored; And thought-swift horses whirled their lord Racing along the earth, or rose High through the clouds whene'er he chose. Then fierce and fearful war between The Vanar and the fiend was seen. The Gods and Asurs stood amazed, And on the wondrous combat gazed. A cry from earth rose long and shrill, The wind was hushed, the sun grew chill. The thunder bellowed from the sky, And troubled ocean roared reply. Thrice Aksha strained his dreadful bow, Thrice smote his arrow on the foe, And with full streams of crimson bled Three gashes in the Vanar's head. Then rose Hanuman in the air To shun the shafts no life could bear. But Aksha in his car pursued, And from on high the fight renewed With storm of arrows, thick as hail When angry clouds some hill assail. Impatient of that arrowy shower The Vanar chief put forth his power, Again above his chariot rose And smote him with repeated blows. Terrific came each deadly stroke: Breast neck and arm and back he broke; And Aksha fell to earth, and lay With all his life-blood drained away.



Canto XLVIII. Hanuman Captured.

To Indrajit(878) the bold and brave The giant king his mandate gave: "O trained in warlike science, best In arms of all our mightiest, Whose valour in the conflict shown To Asurs and to Gods is known, The Kinkars whom I sent are slain, And Jambumali and his train; The lords who led our giant bands Have fallen by the monkey's hands; With shattered cars the ground is spread, And Aksha lies amid the dead. Thou art my best and bravest: go, Unmatched in power, and slay the foe." He heard the hest: he bent his head; Athirst for battle forth he sped. Four tigers fierce, of tawny hue, With fearful teeth, his chariot drew.

Hanuman heard his strong bow clang, And swiftly from the earth he sprang, While weak and ineffective fell The archer's shafts though pointed well. The Rakshas saw that naught might kill The wondrous foe who mocked his skill, And launched a magic shaft to throw A binding spell about his foe. Forth flew the shaft: the mystic charm Stayed his swift feet and numbed his arm, Through all his frame he felt the spell, And motionless to earth he fell. Nor would the reverent Vanar loose The bonds that bound him as a noose. He knew that Brahma's self had charmed The weapon that his might disarmed.

They saw him helpless on the ground, And all the giants pressed around, And bonds of hemp and bark were cast About his limbs to hold him fast. They drew the ropes round feet and wrists; They beat him with their hands and fists, And dragged him as they strained the cord With shouts of triumph to their lord.(879)



Canto XLIX. Ravan.

On the fierce king Hanuman turned His angry eyes that glowed and burned. He saw him decked with wealth untold Of diamond and pearl and gold, And priceless was each wondrous gem That sparkled in his diadem. About his neck rich chains were twined, The best that fancy e'er designed, And a fair robe with pearls bestrung Down from his mighty shoulders hung. Ten heads he reared,(880) as Mandar's hill Lifts woody peaks which tigers fill, Bright were his eyes, and bright, beneath, The flashes of his awful teeth. His brawny arms of wondrous size Were decked with rings and scented dyes. His hands like snakes with five long heads Descending from their mountain beds. He sat upon a crystal throne Inlaid with wealth of precious stone, Whereon, of noblest work, was set A gold-embroidered coverlet. Behind the monarch stood the best Of beauteous women gaily dressed, And each her giant master fanned, Or waved a chourie in her hand. Four noble courtiers(881) wise and good In counsel, near the monarch stood, As the four oceans ever stand About the sea-encompassed land. Still, though his heart with rage was fired, The Vanar marvelled and admired: "O what a rare and wondrous sight! What beauty, majesty, and might! All regal pomp combines to grace This ruler of the Rakshas race. He, if he scorned not right and law, Might guide the world with tempered awe: Yea, Indra and the Gods on high Might on his saving power rely."



Canto L. Prahasta's Questions.

Then fierce the giant's fury blazed As on Hanuman's form he gazed, And shaken by each wild surmise He spake aloud with flashing eyes: "Can this be Nandi(882) standing here, The mighty one whom all revere? Who once on high Kailasa's hill Pronounced the curse that haunts me still? Or is the woodland creature one Of Asur race, or Bali's(883) son? The wretch with searching question try: Learn who he is, and whence; and why He marred the glory of the grove, And with my captains fiercely strove." Prahasta heard his lord's behest, And thus the Vanar chief addressed: "O monkey stranger be consoled: Fear not, and let thy heart be bold. If thou by Indra's mandate sent Thy steps to Lanka's isle hast bent, With fearless words the cause explain, And freedom thou shalt soon regain. Or if thou comest as a spy Despatched by Vishnu in the sky, Or sent by Yama, or the Lord Of Riches, hast our town explored; Proved by the prowess thou hast shown No monkey save in form alone; Speak boldly all the truth, and be Released from bonds, unharmed and free. But falsehood spoken to our king Swift punishment of death will bring."

He ceased: the Vanar made reply; "Not Indra's messenger am I, Nor came I hither to fulfil Kuvera's hest or Vishnu's will. I stand before the giants here A Vanar e'en as I appear. I longed to see the king: 'twas hard To win my way through gate and guard. And so to gain my wish I laid In ruin that delightful shade. No fiend, no God of heavenly kind With bond or chain these limbs may bind. The Eternal Sire himself of old Vouchsafed the boon that makes me bold, From Brahma's magic shaft released(884) I knew the captor's power had ceased, The fancied bonds I freely brooked, And thus upon the king have looked. My way to Lanka have I won, A messenger from Raghu's son."



Canto LI. Hanuman's Reply.

"My king Sugriva greets thee fair, And bids me thus his rede declare. Son of the God of Wind, by name Hanuman, to this isle I came. To set the Maithil lady free I crossed the barrier of the sea. I roamed in search of her and found Her weeping in that lovely ground. Thou in the lore of duty trained, Who hast by stern devotion gained This wondrous wealth and power and fame Shouldst fear to wrong another's dame. Hear thou my counsel, and be wise: No fiend, no dweller in the skies Can bear the shafts by Lakshman shot, Or Rama when his wrath is hot. O Giant King, repent the crime And soothe him while there yet is time. Now be the Maithil queen restored Uninjured to her sorrowing lord. Soon wilt thou rue thy dire mistake: She is no woman but a snake, Whose very deadly bite will be The ruin of thy house and thee. Thy pride has led thy thoughts astray, That fancy not a hand may slay The monarch of the giants, screened From mortal blow of God and fiend. Sugriva still thy death may be: No Yaksha, fiend, or God is he, And Rama from a woman springs, The mortal seed of mortal kings. O think how Bali fell subdued; Think on thy slaughtered multitude. Respect those brave and strong allies; Consult thy safety, and be wise. I, even I, no helper need To overthrow, with car and steed, Thy city Lanka half divine: The power but not the will is mine. For Raghu's son, before his friend The Vanar monarch, swore to end With his own conquering arm the life Of him who stole his darling wife. Turn, and be wise, O Ravan turn; Or thou wilt see thy Lanka burn, And with thy wives, friends, kith and kin Be ruined for thy senseless sin."



Canto LII. Vibhishan's Speech.

Then Ravan spake with flashing eye: "Hence with the Vanar: let him die." Vibhishan heard the stern behest, And pondered in his troubled breast; Then, trained in arts that soothe and please Addressed the king in words like these:

"Revoke, my lord, thy fierce decree, And hear the words I speak to thee. Kings wise and noble ne'er condemn To death the envoys sent to them. Such deed the world's contempt would draw On him who breaks the ancient law.(885) Observe the mean where justice lies, And spare his life but still chastise." Then forth the tyrant's fury broke, And thus in angry words he spoke: "O hero, when the wicked bleed No sin or shame attends the deed. The Vanar's blood must needs be spilt, The penalty of heinous guilt."

Again Vibhishan made reply: "Nay, hear me, for he must not die. Hear the great law the wise declare: "Thy foeman's envoy thou shalt spare." 'Tis true he comes an open foe: 'Tis true his hands have wrought us woe, But law allows thee, if thou wilt, A punishment to suit the guilt. The mark of shame, the scourge, the brand, The shaven head, the wounded hand. Yea, were the Vanar envoy slain, Where, King of giants, were the gain? On them alone, on them who sent The message, be the punishment. For spake he well or spake he ill, He spake obedient to their will, And, if he perish, who can bear Thy challenge to the royal pair? Who, cross the ocean and incite Thy death-doomed enemies to fight?"



Canto LIII. The Punishment.

King Ravan, by his pleading moved, The counsel of the chief approved: "Thy words are wise and true: to kill An envoy would beseem us ill. Yet must we for his crime invent Some fitting mode of punishment. The tail, I fancy, is the part Most cherished by a monkey's heart. Make ready: set his tail aflame, And let him leave us as he came, And thus disfigured and disgraced Back to his king and people haste."

The giants heard their monarch's speech; And, filled with burning fury, each Brought strips of cotton cloth, and round The monkey's tail the bandage wound. As round his tail the bands they drew His mighty form dilating grew Vast as the flame that bursts on high Where trees are old and grass is dry. Each band and strip they soaked in oil, And set on fire the twisted coil. Delighted as they viewed the blaze, The cruel demons stood at gaze: And mid loud drums and shells rang out The triumph of their joyful shout. They pressed about him thick and fast As through the crowded streets he passed, Observing with attentive care Each rich and wondrous structure there, Still heedless of the eager cry That rent the air, The spy! the spy!

Some to the captive lady ran, And thus in joyous words began: "That copper-visaged monkey, he Who in the garden talked with thee, Through Lanka's town is led a show, And round his tail the red flames glow." The mournful news the lady heard That with fresh grief her bosom stirred. Swift to the kindled fire she went And prayed before it reverent: "If I my husband have obeyed, And kept the ascetic vows I made, Free, ever free, from stain and blot, O spare the Vanar; harm him not."

Then leapt on high the flickering flame And shone in answer to the dame. The pitying fire its rage forbore: The Vanar felt the heat no more. Then, to minutest size reduced, The bonds that bound his limbs he loosed, And, freed from every band and chain, Rose to his native size again. He seized a club of ponderous weight That lay before him by the gate, Rushed at the fiends that hemmed him round, And laid them lifeless on the ground. Through Lanka's town again he strode, And viewed each street and square and road,— Still wreathed about with harmless blaze, A sun engarlanded with rays.



Canto LIV. The Burning Of Lanka.

"What further deed remains to do To vex the Rakshas king anew? The beauty of his grove is marred, Killed are the bravest of his guard. The captains of his host are slain; But forts and palaces remain, Swift is the work and light the toil Each fortress of the foe to spoil."

Reflecting thus, his tail ablaze As through the cloud red lightning plays, He scaled the palaces and spread The conflagration where he sped. From house to house he hurried on, And the wild flames behind him shone. Each mansion of the foe he scaled, And furious fire its roof assailed Till all the common ruin shared: Vibhishan's house alone was spared. From blazing pile to pile he sprang, And loud his shout of triumph rang, As roars the doomsday cloud when all The worlds in dissolution fall. The friendly wind conspired to fan The hungry flames that leapt and ran, And spreading in their fury caught The gilded walls with pearls inwrought, Till each proud palace reeled and fell As falls a heavenly citadel.

Loud was the roar the demons raised Mid walls that split and beams that blazed, As each with vain endeavour strove To stay the flames in house or grove. The women, with dishevelled hair, Flocked to the roofs in wild despair, Shrieked out for succour, wept aloud, And fell, like lightning from a cloud. He saw the flames ascend and curl Round turkis, diamond, and pearl, While silver floods and molten gold From ruined wall and latice rolled. As fire grows fiercer as he feeds On wood and grass and crackling reeds, So Hanuman the ruin eyed With fury still unsatisfied.



Canto LV. Fear For Sita.

But other thoughts resumed their sway When Lanka's town in ruin lay; And, as his bosom felt their weight He stood a while to meditate. "What have I done?", he thought with shame, "Destroyed the town with hostile flame. O happy they whose firm control Checks the wild passion of the soul; Who on the fires of anger throw The cooling drops that check their glow. But woe is me, whom wrath could lead To do this senseless shameless deed. The town to fire and death I gave, Nor thought of her I came to save,— Doomed by my own rash folly, doomed To perish in the flames consumed. If I, when anger drove me wild, Have caused the death of Janak's child, The kindled flame shall end my woe, Or the deep fires that burn below,(886) Or my forsaken corse shall be Food for the monsters of the sea. How can I meet Sugriva? how Before the royal brothers bow,— I whose rash deed has madly foiled, The noble work in which we toiled? Or has her own bright virtue shed Its guardian influence round her head? She lives untouched,—the peerless dame; Flame has no fury for the flame.(887) The very fire would ne'er consent To harm a queen so excellent,— The high-souled Rama's faithful wife, Protected by her holy life. She lives, she lives. Why should I fear For one whom Raghu's sons hold dear? Has not the pitying fire that spared The Vanar for the lady cared?"

Such were his thoughts: he pondered long, And fear grew faint and hope grew strong. Then round him heavenly voices rang, And, sweetly tuned, his praises sang: "O glorious is the exploit done By Hanuman the Wind-God's son. The flames o'er Lanka's city rise: The giants' home in ruin lies. O'er roof and wall the fires have spread, Nor harmed a hair of Sita's head."



Canto LVI. Mount Arishta.

He looked upon the burning waste, Then sought the queen in joyous haste, With words of hope consoled her heart, And made him ready to depart. He scaled Arishta's glorious steep Whose summits beetled o'er the deep. The woods in varied beauty dressed Hung like a garland round his crest, And clouds of ever changing hue A robe about his shoulders threw. On him the rays of morning fell To wake the hill they loved so well, And bid unclose those splendid eyes That glittered in his mineral dyes. He woke to hear the music made By thunders of the white cascade, While every laughing rill that sprang From crag to crag its carol sang. For arms, he lifted to the stars His towering stems of Deodars, And morning heard his pealing call In tumbling brook and waterfall. He trembled when his woods were pale And bowed beneath the autumn gale, And when his vocal reeds were stirred His melancholy moan was heard.

Far down against the mountain's feet The Vanar heard the wild waves beat; Then turned his glances to the north. Sprang from the peak and bounded forth, The mountain felt the fearful shock And trembled through his mass of rock. The tallest trees were crushed and rent And headlong to the valley sent, And as the rocking shook each cave Loud was the roar the lions gave. Forth from the shaken cavern came Fierce serpents with their tongues aflame; And every Yaksha, wild with dread, And Kinnar and Gandharva, fled.



Canto LVII. Hanuman's Return.

Still, like a winged mountain, he Sprang forward through the airy sea,(888) And rushing through the ether drew The clouds to follow as he flew, Through the great host around him spread, Grey, golden, dark, and white, and red. Now in a sable cloud immersed, Now from its gloomy pall he burst, Like the bright Lord of Stars concealed A moment, and again revealed. Sunabha(889) passed, he neared the coast Where waited still the Vanar host. They heard a rushing in the skies, And lifted up their wondering eyes. His wild triumphant shout they knew That louder still and louder grew, And Jambavan with eager voice Called on the Vanars to rejoice: "Look he returns, the Wind-God's son, And full success his toils have won; Triumphant is the shout that comes Like music of a thousand drums."

Up sprang the Vanars from the ground And listened to the wondrous sound Of hurtling arm and thigh as through The region of the air he flew, Loud as the wind, when tempests rave, Roars in the prison of the cave. From crag to crag, from height to height; They bounded in their mad delight, And when he touched the mountain's crest, With reverent welcome round him pressed. They brought him of their woodland fruits, They brought him of the choicest roots, And laughed and shouted in their glee The noblest of their chiefs to see. Nor Hanuman delayed to greet Sage Jambavan with reverence meet; To Angad and the chiefs he bent For age and rank preeminent, And briefly spoke: "These eyes have seen, These lips addressed, the Maithil queen." They sat beneath the waving trees, And Angad spoke in words like these: "O noblest of the Vanar kind For valour power and might combined, To thee triumphant o'er the foe Our hopes, our lives and all we owe. O faithful heart in perils tried, Which toil nor fear could turn aside, Thy deed the lady will restore, And Rama's heart will ache no more."(890)



Canto LVIII. The Feast Of Honey.

They rose in air: the region grew Dark with their shadow as they flew. Swift to a lovely grove(891) they came That rivalled heavenly Nandan's(892) fame; Where countless bees their honey stored,— The pleasance of the Vanars' lord, To every creature fenced and barred, Which Dadhimukh was set to guard, A noble Vanar, brave and bold, Sugriva's uncle lofty-souled. To Angad came with one accord The Vanars, and besought their lord That they those honeyed stores might eat That made the grove so passing sweet.

He gave consent: they sought the trees Thronged with innumerable bees. They rifled all the treasured store, And ate the fruit the branches bore, And still as they prolonged the feast Their merriment and joy increased. Drunk with the sweets, they danced and bowed, They wildly sang, they laughed aloud, Some climbed and sprang from tree to tree, Some sat and chattered in their glee. Some scaled the trees which creepers crowned, And rained the branches to the ground. There with loud laugh a Vanar sprang Close to his friend who madly sang, In doleful mood another crept To mix his tears with one who wept.

Then Dadhimukh with fury viewed The intoxicated multitude. He looked upon the rifled shade, And all the ruin they had made; Then called with angry voice, and strove To save the remnant of the grove. But warning cries and words were spurned, And angry taunt and threat returned. Then fierce and wild contention rose: With furious words he mingled blows. They by no shame or fear withheld, By drunken mood and ire impelled, Used claws, and teeth, and hands, and beat The keeper under trampling feet.

[Three Cantos consisting of little but repetitions are omitted. Dadhimukh escapes from the infuriated monkeys and hastens to Sugriva to report their misconduct. Sugriva infers that Hanuman and his band have been successful in their search, and that the exuberance of spirits and the mischief complained of, are but the natural expression of their joy. Dadhimukh obtains little sympathy from Sugriva, and is told to return and send the monkeys on with all possible speed.]



Canto LXV. The Tidings.

On to Prasravan's hill they sped Where blooming trees their branches spread. To Raghu's sons their heads they bent And did obeisance reverent. Then to their king, by Angad led, Each Vanar chieftain bowed his head; And Hanuman the brave and bold His tidings to the monarch told; But first in Rama's hand he placed The gem that Sita's brow had graced: "I crossed the sea: I searched a while For Sita in the giants' isle. I found her vext with taunt and threat By demon guards about her set. Her tresses twined in single braid, On the bare earth her limbs were laid. Sad were her eyes: her cheeks were pale As shuddering flowers in winter's gale. I stood beside the weeping dame, And gently whispered Rama's name: With cheering words her grief consoled, And then the whole adventure told. She weeps afar beyond the sea, And her true heart is still with thee. She gave a sign that thou wouldst know, She bids thee think upon the crow, And bright mark pressed upon her brow When none was nigh but she and thou. She bids thee take this precious stone, The sea-born gem thou long hast known. "And I," she said, "will dull the sting Of woe by gazing on the ring. One little month shall I sustain This life oppressed with woe and pain: And when the month is ended, I The giants' prey must surely die.' "



Canto LXVI. Rama's Speech.

There ceased the Vanar: Rama pressed The treasured jewel to his breast, And from his eyes the waters broke As to the Vanar king he spoke: "As o'er her babe the mother weeps, This flood of tears the jewel steeps. This gem that shone on Sita's head Was Janak's gift when we were wed, And the pure brow that wore it lent New splendour to the ornament. This gem, bright offspring of the wave, The King of Heaven to Janak gave, Whose noble sacrificial rite Had filled the God with new delight. Now, as I gaze upon the prize, Methinks I see my father's eyes. Methinks I see before me stand The ruler of Videha's land.(893) Methinks mine arms are folded now Round her who wore it on her brow. Speak, Hanuman, O say, dear friend, What message did my darling send? O speak, and let thy words impart Their gentle dew to cool my heart. Ah, 'tis the crown of woe to see This gem and ask "Where, where is she?" If for one month her heart be strong, Her days of life will yet be long. But I, with naught to lend relief, This very day must die of grief. Come, Hanuman, and quickly guide The mourner to his darling's side. O lead me—thou hast learnt the way— I cannot and I will not stay. How can my gentle love endure, So timid, delicate, and pure, The dreadful demons fierce and vile Who watch her in the guarded isle? No more the light of beauty shines From Sita as she weeps and pines. But pain and sorrow, cloud on cloud Her moonlight glory dim and shroud. O speak, dear Hanuman, and tell Each word that from her sweet lips fell, Her words, her words alone can give The healing balm to make me live."(894)



BOOK VI.(895)



Canto I. Rama's Speech.

The son of Raghu heard, consoled, The wondrous tale Hanuman told; And, as his joyous hope grew high, In friendly words he made reply:

"Behold a mighty task achieved, Which never heart but his conceived. Who else across the sea can spring, Save Vayu(896) and the Feathered King?(897) Who, pass the portals strong and high Which Nagas,(898) Gods, and fiends defy, Where Ravan's hosts their station keep,— And come uninjured o'er the deep? By such a deed the Wind-God's son Good service to the king has done, And saved from ruin and disgrace Lakshman and me and Raghu's race. Well has he planned and bravely fought, And with due care my lady sought. But of the sea I sadly think, And the sweet hopes that cheered me sink. How can we cross the leagues of foam That keep us from the giant's home? What can the Vanar legions more Than muster on the ocean shore?"



Canto II. Sugriva's Speech.

He ceased: and King Sugriva tried To calm his grief, and thus replied: "'Be to thy nobler nature true, Nor let despair thy soul subdue. This cloud of causeless woe dispel, For all as yet has prospered well, And we have traced thy queen, and know The dwelling of our Rakshas foe. Arise, consult: thy task must be To cast a bridge athwart the sea, The city of our foe to reach That crowns the mountain by the beach; And when our feet that isle shall tread, Rejoice and deem thy foeman dead. The sea unbridged, his walls defy Both fiends and children of the sky, Though at the fierce battalions' head Lord Indra's self the onset led. Yea, victory is thine before The long bridge touch the farther shore, So fleet and fierce and strong are these Who limb them as their fancies please. Away with grief and sad surmise That mar the noblest enterprise, And with their weak suspicion blight The sage's plan, the hero's might. Come, this degenerate weakness spurn, And bid thy dauntless heart return, For each fair hope by grief is crossed When those we love are dead or lost. Arise, O best of those who know, Arm for the giant's overthrow. None in the triple world I see Who in the fight may equal thee; None who before thy face may stand And brave the bow that arms thy hand, Trust to these mighty Vanars: they With full success thy trust will pay, When thou shalt reach the robber's hold, And loving arms round Sita fold."