Sri Valmiki Ramayanam -(Book 5) English Verse by Ralph T H Griffith Canto 1 to 35

THE

RÁMÁYAN OF VÁLMÍKI

Translated into English Verse

BY

RALPH T. H. GRIFFITH, M. A.,

[(Ralph Thomas Hotchkin Griffith), b. 1826 d. 1906]

PRINCIPAL OF THE BENARES COLLEGE

Book 5

CANTO I.: HANUMÁN'S LEAP.

Thus Rávan's foe resolved to trace
The captive to her hiding-place
Through airy pathways overhead
Which heavenly minstrels visited.
With straining nerve aud eager brows,
Like some strong husband of the cows,
In ready might he stood prepared
For the bold task his soul has dared.
O'er gem-like grass that flashed and glowed
The Vánar like a lion strode.
Roused by the thunder of his tread,
The beasts to shady coverts fled.
Tall trees he crushed or hurled aside,
And every bird was terrified.
Around him loveliest lilies grew,
Pale pink, and red, and white, and blue,
And tints of many a metal lent
The light of varied ornament.
Gandharvas, changing forms at will.
And Yakshas roamed the lovely hill,
Aud countless Serpent-Gods were seen
Where flowers and grass were fresh and green.
As some resplendent serpent takes
His pastime in the best of lakes,
So on the mountain's woody height
The Vánar wandered with delight.
Then, standing on tne flowery sod,
He paid his vows to saint and God.
Swayambhu  2 and the Sun he prayed,
And the swift Wind to lend him aid,
And Indra, sovereign of the skies,
To bless his hardy enterprise.
Then once again the chief addressed
The Vánars from tke mountain crest:
'Swift as a shaft from Ráma's bow
To Rávan's city will I go,
And if she be not there will fly
And seek the lady in the sky;
Or, if in heaven she be not found,
Will hither bring the giant bound.'
   He ceased; and mustering his might
Sprang downward from the mountain height,
While, shattered by each mighty limb,
The trees unrooted followed him.
The shadow on the ocean cast
By his vast form, as on he passed,
Flew like a ship before the gale
When the strong breeze has tilled the sail,
And where his course the Vánar held
The sea beneath him raged and swelled.
Then Gods and all the heavenly train
Poured flowerets down in gentle rain;
Their voices glad Gandharvas raised,
And saints in heaven the Vánar praised.
Fain would the Sea his succour lend
And Raghu's noble son befriend.
He, moved by zeal for Ráma's sake,
The hill Maináka  1b thus bespake:
'O strong Maináka, heavens decree
In days of old appointed thee
To be the Asurs bar, and keep
The rebels in the lowest deep.
Thou guardest those whom heaven has cursed
Lest from their prison-house they burst,
And standest by the gates of hell
Their limitary* sentinel.
To thee is given the power to spread
Or spring above thy watery bed.
Now, best of noble mountains, rise
And do the thing that I advise,
E'en now above thy buried crest
Flies mighty Hanumán, the best
Of Van*sis, moved for Ráma's sake
A wonderous deed to undertake.
Lift up thy head that he may stay
And rest him on his weary way.'
   He heard, and from his watery abroud,
As bursts the sun from ***** cloud,
Rose swifty. Crowned with plant and tree,
And stood above the foamy* sea.  2b
There with his lofty peaks apraised
Bright as a hundred suns he blazed,
And crest and crag of burnished gold
Flashed on the flood that round him rolled,*
p. 395
The Vánar thought the mountain rose
A hostile bar to interpose,
And, like a wind-swept cloud, o'erthrew
The glittering mountain as he flew.
Then from the falling hill rang out
A warning voice and joyful shout.
Again he raised him high in air
To meet the flying Vánar there,
And standing on his topmost peak
In human form began to speak: 1
'Best of the Vánars' noblest line,
A mighty task, O chief, is thine.
Here for a while, I pray thee, light
And rest upon the breezy height.
A prince of Raghu's line was he
Who gave his glory to the Sea, 2
Who now to Rama's envoy shows
High honour for the debt he owes.
He bade me lift my buried head
Uprising from my watery bed,
And woo the Vanar chief to rest
A moment on my glittering crest,
Refresh thy weary limbs, and eat
My mountain fruits for they are sweet.
I too, O chieftain, know thee well;-
Three worlds thy famous virtues tell;
And none, I ween, with thee may vie
Who spring impetuous through the sky.
To every guest, though mean and low.
The wise respect and honour show;
And how shall I neglect thee, how
Slight the great guest so near me now?
Son of the Wind,'tis thine to share
The might of him who shakes the air;
And,--for he loves his offspring,--he
Is honoured when I honour thee.
Of yore, when Krita's age  3 was new,
The little hills and mountains flew
Where'er they listed, borne on wings
More rapid the feathered king's. 4
But mighty terror came on all
The Gods and saints who feared their fall.
And Indra in his anger rent
Their pinions with the bolts he sent.
When in his ruthless fury he
Levelled his flashing bolt at me,
The great-souled Wind inclined to save,
And laid me neath the ocean's wave.
Thus by the favour of the sire
I kept my cherished wings entire;
And for this deed of kindness done
I honour thee his noble son.
O come, thy weary limbs relieve,
And honour due from me receive.'
'I may not rest,' the Vanar cried;
'I must not stay or turn aside.
Yet pleased am I, thou noblest hill,
And as the deed accept thy will.'
   Thus as he spoke he lightly pressed
With his broad hand the mountain's crest.
Then bounded upward to the height
Of heaven, rejoicing in his might,
And through the fields of boundless blue,
The pathway of his father, flew.
Gods, saints, and heavenly bards beheld
That flight that none had paralleled,
Then to the Nagas' mother  1b came
And thus addressed the sun-bright dame:
'See, Hauum'an with venturous leap
Would spring across the mighty deep,-
A Viinar prince, the Wind-God's seed:
Come, Suras'a, his course impede.
In Rakshas form thy shape disguise,
Terrific, like a hill in size:
Let thy red eyes with fury glow,
And high as heaven thy body grow.
With fearful tusks the chief defy.
That we his power and strength may try.
He will with guile thy hold elude,
Or own thy might, by thee subdued.'
   Pleased with the grateful honours paid,
The godlike dame their words obeyed,
Clad in a shape of terror she
Sprang from the middle of the sea,
And, with fierce accents that appalled
All creatures, to the Vanar called:
'Come, prince of Vanars, doomed to be
My food this day by heaven's decree.
Such boon from ages long ago
To Brahma's favouring will I owe.'
   She ceased, and Hanuman replied,
By shape and threat unterrified:
'Brave Rama with his Maithil spouse
Lodged in the shade of Dandak's boughs.
Thence Ravan king of giants stole
Sita the joy of Rama's soul.
p. 396
By Ráma's high behest to her
I go a willing messenger;
And never shouldst them hinder one
Who toils for Das'aratha's son.
First captive Sítá will I see,
And him who sent and waits for me,
Then come and to thy will submit,
Yea, by my truth I promise it.'
'Nay, hope not thus thy life to save;
Not such the boon that Brahma gave.
Enter my mouth,' was her reply,
'Then forward on thy journey hie!'  1
'Stretch, wider stretch thy jaws,' exclaimed
The Vánar chief, to ire inflamed;
And, as the Rákshas near him drew,
Ten leagues in height his stature grew.
Then straight, her threatening jaws between,
A gulf of twenty leagues was seen.
To fifty leagues he waxed, and still
Her mouth grew wider at her will.
Then smaller than a thumb became,
Shrunk by his power, the Vánar's frame.  2
He leaped within, and turning round
Sprang through the portal at a bound.
Then hung in air a moment, while
He thus addressed her with a smile:
'O Daksha's child,  3 farewell at last!
For I within thy mouth have passed.
Thou hast the gift of Brahmá's grace:
I go, the Maithil queen to trace.'
Then, to her former shape restored,
She thus addressed the Vánar lord:
'Then forward to the task, and may
Success and joy attend thy way!
Go, and the rescued lady bring
In triumph to her lord and king.'
Then hosts of spirits as they gazed
The daring of the Vánar praised.
Through the broad fields of ether, fast
Garud's royal self, he passed,
The region of the cloud and rain,
Loved by the gay Gandharva train,
Where mid the birds that came and went
Shone Indra's glorious bow unbent,
And like a host of wandering stars
Flashed the high Gods' celestial cars.
Fierce Sinhiká  1b who joyed in ill
And changed her form to work her will,
Descried him on his airy way
And marked the Vánar for her prey.
'This day at length,' the demon cried,
'My hunger shall be satisfied,'
And at his passing shadow caught
Delighted with the cheering thought.
The Vánar felt the power that stayed
And held him as she grasped his shade,
Like some tall ship upon the main
That struggles with the wind in vain.
Below, above, his eye he bent
And scanned the sea and firmament.
High from the briny deep upreared
The monster's hideous form appeared,
'Sugríva's tale,' he cried,'is true:
This is the demon dire to view
Of whom the Vánar monarch told,
Whose grasp a passing shade can hold.'
Then, as a cloud in rain-time grows.
His form, dilating, swelled and rose.
Wide as the space from heaven to hell
Her jaws she opened with a yell,
And rushed upon her fancied prey
With cloud-like roar to seize and slay.
The Vánar swift as thought compressed
His borrowed bulk of limb and chest,
And stood with one quick bound inside
The monstrous mouth she opened wide.
Hid like the moon when Ráhu  2b draws
The orb within his ravening jaws.
Within that ample cavern pent
The demon's form he tore and rent,
And, from the mangled carcass freed,
Came forth again with thought-like speed.  3b
p. 397
Thus with his skill the fiend he slew,
Then to his wonted stature grew.
The spirits saw the demon die.
And hailed the Vánar from the sky:
'Well hast thou fought a wondrous fight
Nor spared the fiend's terrific might,
On, on! perform the blameless deed,
And in thine every wish succeed.
Ne're can they fail in whom combine
Such valour; thought, and skill as thine.'
Pleased with their praises as they sang,
Again through fields of air he sprang,
And now, his travail wellnigh done,
The distint shore was almost won,
Before him on the margent stood
In long dark line a waving wood,
And the fair island, bright and green
With flowers and trees, was clearly seen,
And every babbling brook that gave
Her lord the sea a tribute wave.
He lighted down on Lamba's peak
Which tinted metals stain and streak,
And looked where Lanká's splendid town
Shone on the mountain like a crown.

Footnotes

394:1 This Book is called Sundar or the Beatiful. To a European taste it is the most intolerably tedious of the whole poem, abounding in repetition, overloaded description, and long aud useless speeches which impede the action of the poem. Manifest interpolations of whole Cantos also occur. I have omitted none of the action of the Book, but have occasionally omitted long passages of common-place description, lamentation, and long stories which have been again and again repeated.
394:2 Brahmá the Self-Existent.
394:1b Maináka was the son of Rimálaya* and Mená or Menaka.
394:2b Thus Milton makes the hills of heaven self-moving at command:
'At his comma*d the uprooted hiils retired Each to his place, they heard his voice and went Obsequious'
395:1 The spirit of the mountain is separable from the mountain. Himalaya has also been represented as standing in human on one of his own peaks.
395:2 Sagar or the Sea is said to have derived its name from Sagar. The story is fully told in Book I, Cantos XLII, XLIII, and XLlV.
395:3 Kritu is the first of the four ages of the world, the golden age, also called Satya.
395:4 Parvata means a mountain and in the Vedas a cloud. Hence in later mythology the mountain have taken the place of the clouds as the objects of the attacks of Indra the Sun-God. The feathered king is Garuda.
395:1b "The children of Surasa were a thousand mighty many-headed serpents, traversing the sky." WlLSON'S Vishnu Purana, Vol.II. p.73.
396:1 She means, says the Commentator, pursue thy journey if thou can.
396:2 If Milton's spirits are allowed the power of infinite self-extension and compression the same must be conceded to Válmíki's supernatural beings. Given the power as in Milton the result in Válmíki is perfectly consistent.
396:3 "Daksha is the son of Brahmá and one of the Prajápatis or divine progenitors. He had sixty daughters, twenty-seven of whom married to Kas'yapa produced, according to one of the Indian cosmogonies, all mundane beings. Does the epithet, Descendant of Daksha, given to Surasá, mean that she is one of those daughters? I think not. This epithet is perhaps an appellation common to all created beings as having sprung from Daksha." GORRESIO.
396:1b Sinhiká is the mother of Ráhu the dragon's head or ascending node, the chief agent in eclipses.
396:2b Ráhu is the demon who causes eclipses by attempting to swallow the sun and moon.
396:3b According to De Gubernatis, the author of the very learned, ingenious, and interesting though too fanciful Zoological Mythology. Hanuman here represents the sun entering into and escaping from a cloud. The biblical Jonah, according to him, typifies the same phenomenon. Sádi, p. 395 speaking of sunset, says Yùnas andar-i-dihán-i máhi shud: Jonas was within the fish's mouth. See ADDITIONAL NOTES.

CANTO II.: LANKÁ.

The glorious sight a while he viewed,
Then to the town his way pursued.
Around the Vanar as he went
Breathed from the wood delicious scent,
And the soft grass beneath his feet
With gem-like flowers was bright and sweet.
Still as the Vanar nearer drew
More clearly rose the town to view
The palm her fan-like leaves displayed,
Priyálas  1 lent their pleasant shade,
And mid the lower greenery far
Conspicuous rose the Kovidár  2.
A thousand trees mid flowers that glowed
Hung down their fruit's delicious load  3,
And in their crests that rocked and swayed
Sweet birds delightful music made.
And there were pleasant pools whereon
The glories of the lotus shone;
And gleams of sparkling fountains, stirred
By many a joyous water-bird.
Around, in lovely gardens grew
Blooms sweet of scent and bright of hue,
And Lanká, seat of Rávan's sway,
Before the wondering Vánar lay:
With stately domes and turrets tall,
Encircled by a golden wall,
And moats whose waters were aglow
With lily blossoms bright below:
For Sitá's sake defended well
With bolt and bar and sentinel,
And Rakshases who roamed in bands
With ready bows in eager hands.
He saw the stately mansions rise
Like pale-hued clouds in autumn skies;
Where noble streets were broad and bright,
And banners waved on every height.
Her gates were glorious to behold
Rich with the shine of burnished gold:
A lovely city planned and decked
By heaven's creative arhitect  1b,
Fairest of earthly cities meet
To be the Gods' celestial seat.
The Vánar by the northern gate
Thus in his heart began debate
'Our mightiest host would strive in vain
To take this city on the main:
A city that may well defy
The chosen warriors of the sky;
A city never to be won
E'en by the arm of Raghu's son.
Here is no hope by guile to win
The hostile hearts of those within.
'Twere vain to war, or bribe, or sow
Dissension mid the Vánar foe.
But now my search must I pursue
Until the Maithil queen I view:
And, when I find the captive dame,
Make victory mine only aim.
But, if I wear my present shape,
How shall I enter and escape
The Rákshas troops, their guards and spies,
And sleepless watch of cruel eyes?
The fiends of giant race who hold
This mighty town are strong and bold;
And I must labour to elude
The fiercely watchful multitude.
I in a shape to mock their sight
Must steal within the town by night,
Blind with my art the demons' eyes,
And thus achieve my enterprise.
How may I see, myself unseen
Of the fierce king, the captive queen.
And meet her in some lonely place,
With none beside her, face to face?'
When the bright sun had left the skies
The Vánar dwarfed his mighty size,
p. 398
And, in the straitest bounds restrained,
The bigness of a cat retained.  1
Then, when the moon's soft light was spread,
Within the city's walls he sped.

Footnotes

397:1 The Buchanania Latifolia.
397:2 The Bauhinia Variegata.
397:3 Through the power that Rávan's stern mortifications had won for him his trees bore flowers and fruit simultaneously.
397:1b Vis'vakarmá is the architect of the Gods.

CANTO III.: THE GUARDIAN GODDESS.

There from the circling rampart's height
He gazed upon the wondrous sight;
Broad gates with burnished gold displayed,
And courts with turkises inlaid;
With gleaming silver, gems, and rows
Of crystal stairs and porticoes.
In semblance of a Rakshas dame
The city's guardian Goddess came,--
For she with glances sure and keen
The entrance of a foe had seen,--
And thus with fury in her eye
Addressed him with an angry cry:
'Who art thou? what has led thee, say,
Within these walls to find thy way?
Thou mayst not enter here in spite
Of Ravan and his warriors' might.
'And who art thou?' the Vanar cried,
By form and frown unterrified,
'Why hast thou met me by the gate,
And chid me thus infuriate?'
   He ceased: andd Lanka made reply:
'The guardian of the town am I,
Who watch for ever to fulfil
My lord the Rakshas monarch's will.
But thou shalt fall this hour, and deep
Shall be thy never-ending sleep.
Again he spake:'In spite of thee
This golden city will I see.
Her gates and towers, and all the pride
Of street and square from side to side,
And freely wander where I please
Amid her groves of flowering trees;
On all her beauties sate mine eye.
Then, as I came, will homeward hie.'
   Swift with an angry roar she smote
With her huge hand the Vanar's throat.
The smitten Vanar, rage-impelled,
With fist upraised the monster felled:
But quick repented, stirred with shame
And pity for a vanquished dame,
When with her senses troubled, weak
With terror, thus she strove to speak:
'O spare me thou whose arm is strong:
O spare me, and forgive the wrong.
The brave that law will ne'er transgress
That spares a woman's helplessness.
Hear, best of Vanars, brave and bold,
What Brahma's self of yore foretold;
'Beware,' he said, 'the fatal hour
When tbou shalt own a Vanar's power.
Then is the giants' day of fear,
For terror and defeat are near.'
Now, Vanar chief, o'ercome by thee,
I own the truth of heaven's decree.
For Sita's sake will ruin fall
On Ravan, and his town, and all.'

Footnotes

398:1 So in Paradise Lost Satan when he has stealthily entered the garden of Eden assumes the form of a cormorant.

CANTO IV.: WITHIN THE CITY.

The guardian goddess thus subdued.
The Vanar chief his way pursued,
And reached the broad imperial street
Where fresh-blown flowers were bright and sweet.
The city seemed a fairer sky
Where cloud-like houses rose on high,
Whence the soft sound of tabors came
Through many a latticed window frame,
And ever and anon rang out
The merry laugh and joyous shout.
From house to house the Vanar went
And marked each varied ornament,
Where leaves aud blossoms deftly strung
About the crystal columns hung.
Then soft and full and sweet and clear
The song of women charmed his ear,
And, blending with their dulcet tones,
Their anklets' chime and tinkling zones.
He heard the Rakshas minstrel sing
The praises of their matchless king;
And softly through the evening air
Came murmurings of text and prayer,
Here moved a priest with tonsured head,
And there an eager envoy sped,
Mid crowds with hair in matted twine
Clothed in the skins of deer and kine,--
Whose only arms, which none might blame,
Were blades of grass and holy flame  1b
There savage warriors roamed in bands
With clubs and maces in their bauds,
Some dwarfish forms, some huge of size.
With single ears and single eyes.
Some shone in glittering mail arrayed
With bow and mace and flashing blade;
Fiends of all shapes and every hue,
Some fierce and foul, some fair to view.
p. 399
He saw the grisly legions wait
In strictest watch at Rávan's gate,
Whose palace on the mountain crest
Rose proudly towering o'er the rest,
Fenced with high ramparts from the foe,
And lotus-covered moats below.
But Hanuman, unhindered, found
Quick passage through the guarded bound,
Mid elephants of noblest breed,
And gilded car and neighing steed.

Footnotes

398:1b Priests who fought only with the weapons of religion, the sacred grass used like the verbena of the Romans at sacred rites and the consecrated fire to consume the offering of ghee.

CANTO VI.  1: THE COURT.

The palace gates were guarded well
By many a Rákshas 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 Vánar strayed,
And still his wondering glances bent
On terrace, dome, and battlement:
Then with a light and rapid tread
Prahasta's  1b home he visited,
And Kumbhakarna's  2b courtyard where
A cloudy pile rose high in air;
And, wandering o'er the hill, explored
The garden of each Rákshas lord.
Each court and grove he wandered through,
Then nigh to Rávan's palace drew.
She-demons watched it foul of face,
Eace* 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 Airávat,  3b 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.  4b

Footnotes

399:1 I omit Canto V. which corresponds to chapter XI. in Gorresio's edition. That scholar justly observes: "The eleventh chapter, Description of Evening, is certainly the work of the Rhapsodists and an interpolation of later date. The chapter might be omitted without any injury to the action of the poem, and besides the metre, style, conceits and images differ from the general tenour of the poem; and that continual repetition of the same sounds at the end of each hemistich which is not exactly rime, but assonance, reveals the artificial labour of a more recent age.' The following sample will probably be enough. I am unable to show the difference of style in a translation:

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 Vánar 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 *hie 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.

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.
p. 400
Through porch and ante-rooms he passed
Each richer, fairer thau the last;
And spacious halls were 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  1 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.
Aud 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,  2 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.

Footnotes

399:1b One of the Rákshas lords.
399:2b The brother Rávan.
399:3b Indra's elephant.
399:4b Rávan's palace appears to have occupied the whole extent of ground, and to uave contained within its outer walls the mansions of all the great Rakshas chiefs. Ravan's own dwelling seems to have been situated within the enchanted chariot Pushpak: but the description is involved and confused, and it is difficult to say whether the chariot was inside the palace or the palace inside the chariot.

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 Vis'vakarmá's  1b 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,  2b
Obedient to the master's will
It moved o'er wood and towering hill,
A glorious marvel well designed
By Vis'vakarmá'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,  3b
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.

Footnotes

400:1 Pushpak from pushpa a flower. The car has been mentioned before in Ravan's expedition to carry off Sitá, Book III. Canto XXXV.
400:2 Lakshmi is the wife of Vishnu and the Goddess of Beauty and Felicity. She rose, like Aphrodite, from the foam of the sea. For an account of her birth aud beauty, see Book 1. Canto XLV.

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 Ráksha's dames of noble race
And many a princess fair of face
Whom Rávan's arm had torn away
From vanquished kings in slumber lay.
p. 401
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 Rávan'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 lndra's heaven,' the Vánar 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
Wide 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 arm's 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 anothers 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
Bound arm and leg and throat and waist,
Wreath of women lay asleep
Blossoms in a careless heap.

Footnotes

400:1b Vis'vakarmá is the architect of the Gods, the Hephaestos or Mulciber of the Indian heaven.
400:2b Rávan in the resistless power which his long austerities had endowed him with, had conquered his brother Kuvera the God of Gold and taken from him his greatest treasure this enchanted car.
400:3b Like Milton's heavenly car    'Itself instinct with spirit.'

CANTO X.: RÁVAN 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, 1 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.
p. 402
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 Vánar
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 Airávat's impressed
Showed red upon his shaggy breast.
And on his shoulders were displayed
The dints the thunder-bolt had made.  1
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
Mandodarífavourite queen,
The beauty of whose youthful face
Beamed a soft glory through the place.
The Vánared 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.'

Footnotes

401:1 Women, says Válmíki. But the commentator says that automatic figures only are meant. Women would have seen Hanumán and given the alarm.

CANTO XI.: THE BANQUET HALL.

But soon the baseless thought was spurned
And longing hope again returned:
'No: Ráma'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 gait 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 Vánared and viewed them all;
From end to end, in every spot,
For Sítá but found her not.

Footnotes

402:1 Rávan fought against Indra and the Gods, and his body was still scarred by the wounds inflicted by the tusks of Indra's elephant and by the fiery bolts of the Thunderer.

CANTO XII.: THE SEARCH RENEWED.

Again the Vánar 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 Rávan I seen;
But Ráma's spouse I seek in vain,
And all my toil is fruitless pain.
How shall I meet the Vánar
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 Jámbaván
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.
p. 403
With eager eye and noiseless feet
He passed through many a cool retreat
Where women lay in slumber drowned;
But Sítá nowhere found.

CANTO XIII.: DESPAIR AND HOPE.

Then rapid as the lightning's flame
From Rávan's halls the Vánar 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 Sítá 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 Sugrívar found;
True to each bond in honour bound.
Will mourn the pledge he vainly gave,
And die with him he could not save.
Then Rumá his devoted wife
For her dead lord will leave her life,
And Tára, 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 Vánarsls 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.
All no: unless the dame I find
I ne'er will meet my Vánar,
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 Hanumánl 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 As'oka 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  1 and the Maruts'  2 train,
Ádityas  3 and the As'vins  4 twain.
So may I win success, and bring
The lady back with triumphing,'

CANTO XIV.: THE AS'OKA GROVE.

He cleared the barrier at a bound;
He stood within the pleasant ground,
p. 404
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 Vánar till
He seemed a blossom-covered hill,  1
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 Vánar 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 Vánar, '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 Ráma in her heart,'

Footnotes

403:1 The Vasus are a class of eight deities, originally personifications of natural phenomena.
403:2 The Maruts are the winds or Storm-Gods.
403:3 The Ádityas originally seven deities of the heavenly sphere of whom Varuna is the chief. The name Áditya was afterwards given to any God, specially to Súrya the Sun.
403:4 The As'vins are the Heavenly Twins, the Castor and Pollux of the Hindus.

CANTO XV.: SÍTÁ.

Fair as Kailása 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 Rohiní 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 Vánar cried,
'Fair as the moon and lotus-eyed,
I saw the giant Rávan 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 Ráma's wife with limbs of gold.
Best of the sons of men is he,
And worthy of her lord is she.'

Footnotes

404:1 The poet forgets that Hanumán has reduced himself to the size of a cat.

CANTO XVI.: HANUMÁN'S LAMENT.

Then, all his thoughts on Sítá bent,
The Vánar chieftain made lament:
'The queen to Ráma'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 Gangá in the rains
The rush of every flood sustains.
Her lord, for her, fierce Báli slew,
Virádha's monstrous might o'erthrew,
For her the fourteen thousand slain
In Janasthán bedewed the plain.
And if for her Ikshváku's son
Destroyed the world 'twere nobly done.
This, this is she, so far renowned,
Who sprang from out the furrowed ground,  1b
Child of the high-souled king whose sway
The men of Mithilá obey;
The glorious lady wooed and won
By Das'aratha'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.
p. 405
Whose voice was ever soft and mild.
Who sweetly spoke and sweetly smiled.
O, what is Ráma'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 Rákshas guard, no blooming trees.
Her eyes are with her thoughts, and they
Are fixed on Ráma far away.'

Footnotes

404:1b Sítá 'not of woman born,' was found by King Janak as be was turning up the ground in preparation for a sacrifice, See Book II. Canto CXVIII.

CANTO XVII.: SÍTÁ'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. 1
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 Sítá in that lovely wood,
While in her lonely sorrow she
Wept sadly neath a spreading tree.
He watched the spouse of Ráma there
Regardless of her tangled hair,
Her jewels stripped from neck and limb,
Decked only with her love of him.

Footnotes

405:1 Somewhat similarly has Ariosto described the band of monster at the gate of the city of Alcina:

"Non fu veduta mai piú strana torma,
Piú monstruosi volti e peggio fatti;
Alcun' dal collo in giú d'uomini han forma,
Col viso altri di simie, altri di gatti;
Stampano alcun con pié caprigni l'orma,
Alcuni son centauri agili ed atti."

CANTO XVIII.: RÁVAN.

While from his shelter in the boughs
The Vánar looked on Ráma'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  1b 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 As'oka 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.  2b
p. 406
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.  1
His robe, from spot and blemish free
Like Amrit foamy from the sea,  2
Hung down in many a loosened fold
Inwrought with flowers and bright with gold.
The Vánar 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.

Footnotes

405:1b The six Angas or subordinate branches of the Vedas are 1. Sikshá, the science of proper articulation and pronunciation: 2. Chhandas,metre: 3. Vyakarana, linguistic analysis or grammar: 4. Nirukta, explanation of difficult Vedic words: 5. Jyotisha, Astronomy, or rather the Vedic Calendar: 6. Kalpa, ceremonial.
405:2b There appears to be some confusion, of time here. It was already morning when Hanumán entered the grove, and the torches would be needless.

CANTO XIX.: SÍTA'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 woman *** led by erring slips,
The moon that labors in eclipse
A pool with all her lillies* dead
An army when its king has fled:
So sad and helpless wan and worn,
She lay among the fiends forlorn.

Footnotes

406:1 Rávan is one of those beings who can 'limb* them as they will' and can of course assume the loveliest form to please human eyes as well as the terrific* shape that sits * the king of the Rákshas.
406:2 White and lovely as the Arant or nectar recovered from the depths of the Milky Sea when churned by the assembled Gods. See Book I. Canto XLV.

CANTO XX.: RÁVAN'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.  1b
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,  2b
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 venture 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 we yet may,
For youth will fly and charms decay.
Come cast thy *** fear aside
And to my lo*e, my chosen bride.
The gem*s and jewels that my hands
Has reft from every plundered land,--
To thee I give th*** this day
And at thy feet my kingdom lay.
p. 407
The broad rich earth will I o'errun,
And leave no town unconquered, none;
Then of the whole an offering make
To Janak, 1 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 Ráma: 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 Hiranyakas'ipu.
Could he who wore the garb of gold
Win Glory back from Indra's hold?  2
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.'

Footnotes

406:1b Rávan in his magic car carrying off the most beautiful women reminds us of the magician in Orlando Furioso, possesor of the flying horse.

"Volando talor s'aza ne le stelle, *
E por quasis talor 'a terra rade'; *
Bie porta con tui tutte le belle *
Donna che trova perquelle contrade." *

406:2b Indian women twisted their long hair in a single braid as a sign of mourning for their absent husbands.

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, Rávan, 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.  1b
Beware: this lawless love of thine
Will ruin thee and all thy line;
And for thy sin, thy sin alone,
Will Lanká 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 Ráma'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 Ráma'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.  2b
Then in the fiery deluge all
Thy giants round their king shall fall.'
p. 408

Footnotes

407:1 Janak, king of Mithilá, was Sitá's father.
407:2 Hiranyakas'ipu was a king of the Daityas celebrated for his blasphemous impieties. When his pious son Prahlada praised Vishun the Daitya tried to kill him, when the God appeared in the incarnation of the man-lion and tore the tyrant to pieces.
407:1b Do unto others as thou wouldst they should do unto thee, is a precept frequently occurring in the old Indian poems.
This charity is to embrace not human beings only, but bird and beast as well: "He prayeth best who loveth best all things both great and small"
407:2b It was the custom of Indian warriors to mark their arrows with their ciphers or names, and it seems to have been regarded as a point of honour to give an enemy the satisfaction of knowing who had shot at him. This passage however contains, if my memory serves me well, the first mention in the poem of this practice, and as arrows have been so frequently mentioned and described with almost every conceivable epithet, its occurrence here seems suspicious. No mention of, or allusion to writing has hitherto occurred in the poem.

CANTO XXII.: RÁVAN'S THREAT.

Then anger swelled in Rávan'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 forefeit life, O thou most fair.
For this, O Sítá, 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.'  1
   The minstrel daughters of the skies
Looked on her woe with pitying eyes,
And sun-bright children of the Gods  2
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, Ráma's consort pure and true,
As though he tempted with his love
Queen Sachí 3 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 Ráma's dame?
Where woods are thick and grass is high
A lion and a hare may lie;
My Ráma 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 Das'aratha's heir?'
   Then, hissing like a furious snake,
The fiend again to Sítá 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;
Now I, as sunlight kills the morn,
Will slay thee for thy scathe and scorn.'
   The Rákshas 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 boul be bent
By mingled threat and blandishment.'  1b
   The monsters heard: away he strode,
And passed within his queens' abode.

Footnotes

408:1 This threat in the same words occurs in Book III. Canto LVI.
408:2 Rávan carried off and kept in his palace not only earthly princesses but the daughters of Gods and Gandharvas.
408:3 The wife of Indra.

CANTO XXIII.: THE DEMONS' THREATS

Then round the helpless Sítá 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  2b enrolled.
Lord Brahmá's mind-born son was he,
Fourth of that glorious company.
Vis'ravas from Pulastya sprang,--
Through all the worlds his glory rang.
And of Vis'ravas, large-eyed dame!
Our king the mighty Rávan 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, 3b
O'ercome in furious battle, flee.
p. 409
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, Vikatá by name,
In words like these addressed the dame:
The king whose blows, in fury dealt,
The Nágas  1 and Gandharvas  2 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.'

Footnotes

408:1b These four lines have occurred before. Book III. Canto LVI.
408:2b Prajápatis are the ten lords of created beings first created by Brahmá; somewhat like the Demiurgi of the Gnostics.
408:3b "This is the number of the Vedic divinities mentioned in the Rig-veda. In p. 409 Ashtaka I. Súkta XXXIV. the Rishi Hiranyastúpa invoking the As'vins says: À Násatyá tribhirekádasair iha devebniryátam: "O Násatyas (As'vins) come hither with the thrice eleven Gods," And in Súkta XLV. the Rishi Praskanva addressing his hymn to Agni (ignis, fire), thus invokes him: "Lord of the red steeds, propitiated by our prayers lead hither the thirty-three Gods." This number must certainly have been the actual number in the early days of the Vedic religion: although it appears probable enough that the thirty-three Vedic divinities could not then be found co-ordinated in so systematic a way as they were arranged more recently by the authors of the Upanishads. In the later ages of Bramanism the number went on increasing without measure by successive mythical and religious creations which peopled the Indian Olympus with abstract beings of every kind. But through lasting veneration of the word of tha Veda the custom regained of giving the name of "the thirty-three Gods" to the immense phalanx of the multiplied deities." GORRESIO.
409:1 Serpent-Gods who dwell in the regions under the earth.
409:2 In the mythology of the epics the Gandharvas are the heavenly singers or musicians who form the orchestra at the banquets of the Gods, and they belong to the heaven of India in whose battles they share.

CANTO XXIV.: SÍTÁ'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 Ráma 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 Ikshváku's son.
Then with fierce eyes on Sítá 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, Sítá, and our words obey.
Or perish by our hands to-day,
Thy love for Raghu's son forsake,
And Rávan 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.: SÍTÁ'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.
p. 410
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 Ráma and his brother called:
'O dear Kaus'alyá, 1 hear me cry!
Sweet Queen Sumitrá  2, 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 Ráma'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
Waighs on my soul, and bids me bow
Beneath this load of misery now?'

CANTO XXVI.: SITÁ'S LAMENT

'I Ráma's wife, on that sad day.
By Rávan'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 Ráma of the mighty car?
The robber in his fruitless sin
Would hope his captives 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 piting eyes;
But now, recoiling from the strife
He pities not his captive wife.
Alone in Janasthán he slew
The thousands of the Rákshas 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 Lanká, girdled by the deep.
Would fall consumed, a shapeless heap,
And from each ruined home would rise
A Rákshas widow's groans and cries.'

Footnotes

410:1 The mother of Ráma.
410:2 The mother of Lakshman.

CANTO XXVII.: TRIJATÁ'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 Trijatá, of softer mould,
A Rákshas matron wife 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 Das'aratha'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 Ráma's hand o'erthrown.
I saw a chariot high in the 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 Ráma met at last
Like light and sun when night is past,
Again I saw them side by side.
On Rávan's car they seemed to ride,
And with the princely Lakshman flee
To northern realms beyond the sea.
p. 411
Then Rávan, 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.  1
Then, dropping oil from every limb,
His sons the princes followed him,
And Kumbhakarna,  2 shaved and shorn,
Was southward on a camel borne.
Then royal Lanká 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 Lanká and her streets of gold.
Warned by these signs I bid you fly;
Or by the hand of Ráma 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,'

CANTO XXX. 3: HANUMÁN'S DELIBERATION.

The Vánar watched concealed: each word
Of Sítá 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 Vánar hosts in vain
From east to west, from main to main,
A cautious spy have I explored
The palace of the Rákhshas 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 sooth 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 Ráma 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 Lanká'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,  1b
To win her ear with soft address
And whisper hope in dire distress.
Shall I, a puny Vánar, choose
The Sanskrit men delight to use?
If. as a man of Bráhman kind,
I speak the tongue by rules refined.
The lady, yielding to her fears,
Will think 'tis Rávan's voice she hears.
I must assume my only plan--
The language of a common  2b man.
Yet, if the lidy sees me nigh,
second passage, may perhaps be understood
not a language in which words different
from Sanskrit were used, but the employment
of formal and elaborate diction,
MUIR'S Sanskrit Texts, Part II. p. 166.}
p. 412
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 Ráma'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 Ráma's name.
And laud the hero's gifts and fame.
Perchance the name she holds so dear
Will soothe the faithful lady's fear.'

Footnotes

411:1 In the south is the region of Yama the God of Death, the place of departed spirits.
411:2 Kumbhakarna was one of Rávan's brothers.
411:3 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 Sítá after Rávan 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.'
411:1b The guards are still in the grove, but they are asleep; and Sítá has crept to a tree at some distance from them.
411:2b "As the reason assigned in these passages for not addressing Sítá in Sanskrit such as a Bráhman would use is not that she would not understand it, but that it would alarm her and be unsuitable to the speaker, we must take them as indicating that Sanskrit, if not spoken by women of the upper classes at the time when the Rámáyana was written (whenever that may have been), was at least understood by them, and was commonly spoken by men of the priestly class, and other educated persons, By the Sanskrit proper to p. 412 an [ordinary

CANTO XXXI.: HANUMÁN'S SPEECH.

Then in sweet accents low and mild
The Vánar spoke to Janak's child:
'A noble king, by sin unstained,
The mighty Das'aratha reigned.
Lord of the warrior's car and steed,
The pride of old Ikshváku'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 Ráma, 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 Rákshas crew.
The giant king the prince beguiled,
And stole his consort, Janak's child.
Then Ráma roamed the country round,
And a firm friend, Sugríva, found,
Lord of the Vánar race, expelled
From his own realm which Báli held,
He conquered Báli and restored
The kingdom to the rightful lord.
Then by Sugríva's high decree
The Vánarlegions searched for thee,
Sampáti'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 Ráma 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.: SÍTÁ'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 Ráma, 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 Ráma's name.
Each sight I see, each sound I hear,
Brings Ráma 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,  1
Be glory to the Lord of Fire,
The mighty Teacher in the skies,  2
And Indra with his thousand eyes,
And may they grant the truth to be
E'en as the words that startled me.'
p. 413

Footnotes

412:1 Svayambhu, the Self-existent, Brahmá.
412:2 Vrihaspati or Váchaspati, the Lord of Speech and preceptor of the Gods.

CANTO XXXIII.: THE COLLOQUY.

Down from the tree Hanumán 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, 1 or celestial race?
Did Nága mother give thee birth?
For sure thou art no child of earth.
Do Rudras  2 claim that heavenly form?
Or the swift Gods  3 who ride the storm?
Or art thou Rohiní  4 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 Arundhatí, 5
Fled in thy wrath or jealous pride
From her dear lord Vas'ishtha'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, 6
By calling on a monarch's name,
No Goddess but a royal dame.
Art thou the queen, fair lady, say,
Whom Rávan 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 Ráma's queen.'
Hope at the name of Ráma woke,
And thus the gentle lady spoke:
'I am that Sítá wooed and won
By Das'aratha's royal son,
The noblest of Ikshváku's line;
And every earthly joy was mine.
But Ráma left his royal home
In Dandak's tangled wilds to roam.
Where with Sumitrá's son and me,
He lived a saintly devotee.
The giant Rávan came with guile
And bore me thence to Lanká's isle.
Some respite yet the fiend allows,
Two months of life, to Ráma's spouse.
Two moons of hopeless woe remain.
And then the captive will be slain.'

Footnotes

413:1 The Asurs were the fierce enemies of the Gods.
413:2 The Rudras are manifestations of S'iva.
413:3 The Maruts or Storm Gods.
413:4 Rohiní is an asterism personified as the daughter of Daksha and the favourite wife of the Moon. The chief star in the constellation is Aldebaran.
413:5 Arundhatí was the wife of the great sage Vas'ishtha, and regarded as the pattern of conjugal excellence. She was raised to the heavens as one of the Pleiades.
413:6 The Gods do not shed tears; nor do they touch the ground when they walk or stand. Similarly Milton's angels marched above the ground and "the passive air upbore their nimble tread."
Virgil's 'vera incessu patuit dea' may refer to the same belief.

CANTO XXXIV.: HANUMÁN'S SPEECH.

Thus spoke the dame in mournful mood,
And Hanumán 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 Ráma'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 Rávan, '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 Ráma's messenger,
The glories of my lord repeat:
For to these ears such words are sweet.
   The Vánar knew the lady's thought, 1b
And gave the answer fondly sought:
p. 414
'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 Vais'ravan's  1 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 Rávan rue his theft,
And fall, of realm and life bereft.
For Ráma's wrathful hand shall wing
His shafts against the giant king.
The day, O Maithil Queen, is near
When he and Lakshman will he here,
And by their side Sugríva lead
His countless hosts of Vánar breed.
Sugríva's servant, I, by name
Hanúmán, by his order came.
With desperate leap I crossed the sea
To Lanká's isle in search of thee,
No traitor, gentle dame, am I:
Upon my word and faith rely.'

Footnotes

413:1b That a friend of Rama would praise him as he should be praised, and that if the stranger were Rávan in disguise he would avoid the subject.

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 Ráma'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 Ráma'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 Ikshváku'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 distaught,
And thee with vain endeavour sought,
Until at length their wandering feet
Trod wearily our wild retreat.
Our banished king Sugríva spied
The princes from the mountain side.
By his command I sought the pair
And led them to our monarch there.
Thus Ráma and Sugríva 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 Ráma's bow
Laid Báli dead, Sugríva's foe.
Then by commandment of our lord
The Vánar hosts each land explored.
We reached the coast: I crossed the sea
And found my way at length to thee.'  1b

(Contined ... )

(My humble salutations to Sreeman Ralph T H Griffith for the collection)