Death in his palace holds his court,His messengers move to and fro,Each of his mission makes report,And takes the royal orders,—Lo,Some slow before his throne appearAnd humbly in the Presence kneel:"Why hath the Prince not been brought here?The hour is past; nor is appealAllowed against foregone decree;There is the mandate with the seal!How comes it ye return to meWithout him? Shame upon your zeal!""O King, whom all men fear,—he liesDeep in the dark Medhya wood,We fled from thence in wild surprise,And left him in that solitude.We dared not touch him, for there sits,Beside him, lighting all the place,A woman fair, whose brow permitsIn its austerity of graceAnd purity,—no creatures foulAs we seemed, by her loveliness,Or soul of evil, ghost or ghoul,To venture close, and far, far less"To stretch a hand, and bear the dead;We left her leaning on her hand,Thoughtful; no tear-drop had she shed,But looked the goddess of the land,With her meek air of mild command."—"Then on this errand I must goMyself, and bear my dreaded brand,This duty unto Fate I owe;I know the merits of the prince,But merit saves not from the doomCommon to man; his death long sinceWas destined in his beauty's bloom."
Death in his palace holds his court,His messengers move to and fro,Each of his mission makes report,And takes the royal orders,—Lo,Some slow before his throne appearAnd humbly in the Presence kneel:"Why hath the Prince not been brought here?The hour is past; nor is appealAllowed against foregone decree;There is the mandate with the seal!How comes it ye return to meWithout him? Shame upon your zeal!""O King, whom all men fear,—he liesDeep in the dark Medhya wood,We fled from thence in wild surprise,And left him in that solitude.We dared not touch him, for there sits,Beside him, lighting all the place,A woman fair, whose brow permitsIn its austerity of graceAnd purity,—no creatures foulAs we seemed, by her loveliness,Or soul of evil, ghost or ghoul,To venture close, and far, far less"To stretch a hand, and bear the dead;We left her leaning on her hand,Thoughtful; no tear-drop had she shed,But looked the goddess of the land,With her meek air of mild command."—"Then on this errand I must goMyself, and bear my dreaded brand,This duty unto Fate I owe;I know the merits of the prince,But merit saves not from the doomCommon to man; his death long sinceWas destined in his beauty's bloom."
Death in his palace holds his court,His messengers move to and fro,Each of his mission makes report,And takes the royal orders,—Lo,Some slow before his throne appearAnd humbly in the Presence kneel:"Why hath the Prince not been brought here?The hour is past; nor is appealAllowed against foregone decree;There is the mandate with the seal!How comes it ye return to meWithout him? Shame upon your zeal!"
"O King, whom all men fear,—he liesDeep in the dark Medhya wood,We fled from thence in wild surprise,And left him in that solitude.We dared not touch him, for there sits,Beside him, lighting all the place,A woman fair, whose brow permitsIn its austerity of graceAnd purity,—no creatures foulAs we seemed, by her loveliness,Or soul of evil, ghost or ghoul,To venture close, and far, far less
"To stretch a hand, and bear the dead;We left her leaning on her hand,Thoughtful; no tear-drop had she shed,But looked the goddess of the land,With her meek air of mild command."—"Then on this errand I must goMyself, and bear my dreaded brand,This duty unto Fate I owe;I know the merits of the prince,But merit saves not from the doomCommon to man; his death long sinceWas destined in his beauty's bloom."
As still Savitri sat besideHer husband dying,—dying fast,She saw a stranger slowly glideBeneath the boughs that shrunk aghast.Upon his head he wore a crownThat shimmered in the doubtful light;His vestment scarlet reached low down,His waist, a golden girdle dight.His skin was dark as bronze; his faceIrradiate, and yet severe;His eyes had much of love and grace,But glowed so bright, they filled with fear.A string was in the stranger's handNoosed at its end. Her terrors nowSavitri scarcely could command.Upon the sod beneath a bough,She gently laid her husband's head,And in obeisance bent her brow."No mortal form is thine,"—she said,"Beseech thee say what god art thou?And what can be thine errand here?""Savitri, for thy prayers, thy faith,Thy frequent vows, thy fasts severe,I answer,—list,—my name is Death."And I am come myself to takeThy husband from this earth away,And he shall cross the doleful lakeIn my own charge, and let me sayTo few such honours I accord,But his pure life and thine requireNo less from me." The dreadful swordLike lightning glanced one moment dire;And then the inner man was tied,The soul no bigger than the thumb,To be borne onwards by his side:—Savitri all the while stood dumb.But when the god moved slowly onTo gain his own dominions dim,Leaving the body there—anonSavitri meekly followed him,Hoping against all hope; he turnedAnd looked surprised. "Go back, my child!"Pale, pale the stars above them burned,More weird the scene had grown and wild;"It is not for the living—hear!To follow where the dead must go,Thy duty lies before thee clear,What thou shouldst do, the Shasters show."The funeral rites that they ordainAnd sacrifices must take upThy first sad moments; not in vainIs held to thee this bitter cup;Its lessons thou shall learn in time!All that thoucanstdo, thou hast doneFor thy dear lord. Thy love sublimeMy deepest sympathy hath won.Return, for thou hast come as farAs living creature may. Adieu!Let duty be thy guiding star,As ever. To thyself be true!""Where'er my husband dear is led,Or journeys of his own free will,I too must go, though darkness spreadAcross my path, portending ill,'Tis thus my duty I have read!If I am wrong, oh! with me bear;But do not bid me backward treadMy way forlorn,—for I can dareAll things but that; ah! pity me,A woman frail, too sorely tried!And let me, let me follow thee,O gracious god,—whate'er betide."By all things sacred, I entreat,By Penitence that purifies,By prompt Obedience, full, complete,To spiritual masters, in the eyesOf gods so precious, by the loveI bear my husband, by the faithThat looks from earth to heaven above,And by thy own great name O Death,And all thy kindness, bid me notTo leave thee, and to go my way,But let me follow as I oughtThy steps and his, as best I may."I know that in this transient worldAll is delusion,—nothing true;I know its shows are mists unfurledTo please and vanish. To renewIts bubble joys, be magic boundInMaya'snetwork frail and fair,Is not my aim! The gladsome soundOf husband, brother, friend, is airTo such as know that all must die,And that at last the time must come,When eye shall speak no more to eyeAnd Love cry,—Lo, this is my sum."I know in such a world as thisNo one can gain his heart's desire,Or pass the years in perfect bliss;Like gold we must be tried by fire;And each shall suffer as he actsAnd thinks,—his own sad burden bear;No friends can help,—his sins are factsThat nothing can annul or square,And he must bear their consequence.Can I my husband save by rites?Ah, no,—that were a vain pretence,Justice eternal strict requites."He for his deeds shall get his dueAs I for mine: thus here each soulIs its own friend if it pursueThe right, and run straight for the goal;But its own worst and direst foeIf it choose evil, and in tracksForbidden, for its pleasure go.Who knows not this, true wisdom lacks,Virtue should be the turn and endOf every life, all else is vain,Duty should be its dearest friendIf higher life, it would attain.""So sweet thy words ring on mine ear,Gentle Savitri, that I fainWould give some sign to make it clearThou hast not prayed to me in vain.Satyavan's life I may not grant,Nor take before its term thy life,But I am not all adamant,I feel for thee, thou faithful wife!Ask thou aught else, and let it beSome good thing for thyself or thine,And I shall give it, child, to thee,If any power on earth be mine.""Well be it so. My husband's sire,Hath lost his sight and fair domain,Give to his eyes their former fire,And place him on his throne again.""It shall be done. Go back, my child,The hour wears late, the wind feels cold,The path becomes more weird and wild,Thy feet are torn, there's blood, behold!Thou feelest faint from weariness,Oh try to follow me no more;Go home, and with thy presence blessThose who thine absence there deplore.""No weariness, O Death, I feel,And how should I, when by the sideOf Satyavan? In woe and wealTo be a helpmate swears the bride.This is my place; by solemn oathWherever thou conductest himI too must go, to keep my troth;And if the eye at times should brim,'Tis human weakness, give me strengthMy work appointed to fulfil,That I may gain the crown at lengthThe gods give those who do their will."The power of goodness is so greatWe pray to feel its influenceFor ever on us. It is late,And the strange landscape awes my sense;But I would fain with thee go on,And hear thy voice so true and kind;The false lights that on objects shoneHave vanished, and no longer blind,Thanks to thy simple presence. NowI feel a fresher air around,And see the glory of that browWith flashing rubies fitly crowned."Men call thee Yama—conqueror,Because it is against their willThey follow thee,—and they abhorThe Truth which thou wouldst aye instil.If they thy nature knew aright,O god, all other gods above!And that thou conquerest in the fightBy patience, kindness, mercy, love,And not by devastating wrath,They would not shrink in childlike frightTo see thy shadow on their path,But hail thee as sick souls the light.""Thy words, Savitri, greet mine earAs sweet as founts that murmur lowTo one who in the deserts drearWith parchèd tongue moves faint and slow,Because thy talk is heart-sincere,Without hypocrisy or guile;Demand another boon, my dear,But not of those forbad erewhile,And I shall grant it, ere we part:Lo, the stars pale,—the way is long,Receive thy boon, and homewards start,For ah, poor child, thou art not strong.""Another boon! My sire the kingBeside myself hath children none,Oh grant that from his stock may springA hundred boughs." "It shall be done.He shall be blest with many a sonWho his old palace shall rejoice.""Each heart-wish from thy goodness won,If I am still allowed a choice,I fain thy voice would ever hear,Reluctant am I still to part,The way seems short when thou art nearAnd Satyavan, my heart's dear heart."Of all the pleasures given on earthThe company of the good is best,For weariness has never birthIn such a commerce sweet and blest;The sun runs on its wonted course,The earth its plenteous treasure yields,All for their sake, and by the forceTheir prayer united ever wields.Oh let me, let me ever dwellAmidst the good, where'er it be,Whether in lowly hermit-cellOr in some spot beyond the sea."The favours man accords to menAre never fruitless, from them riseA thousand acts beyond our kenThat float like incense to the skies;For benefits can ne'er efface,They multiply and widely spread,And honour follows on their trace.Sharp penances, and vigils dread,Austerities, and wasting fasts,Create an empire, and the blestLong as this spiritual empire lastsBecome the saviours of the rest.""O thou endowed with every graceAnd every virtue,—thou whose soulAppears upon thy lovely face,May the great gods who all controlSend thee their peace. I too would giveOne favour more before I go;Ask something for thyself, and liveHappy, and dear to all below,Till summoned to the bliss above.Savitri ask, and ask unblamed."—She took the clue, felt Death was Love,For no exceptions now he named,And boldly said,—"Thou knowest, Lord,The inmost hearts and thoughts of all!There is no need to utter word,Upon thy mercy sole, I call.If speech be needful to obtainThy grace,—oh hear a wife forlorn,Let my Satyavan live againAnd children unto us be born,Wise, brave, and valiant." "From thy stockA hundred families shall springAs lasting as the solid rock,Each son of thine shall be a king."As thus he spoke, he loosed the knotThe soul of Satyavan that bound,And promised further that their lotIn pleasant places should be foundThenceforth, and that they both should liveFour centuries, to which the nameOf fair Savitri, men would give,—And then he vanished in a flame."Adieu, great god!" She took the soul,No bigger than the human thumb,And running swift, soon reached her goal,Where lay the body stark and dumb.She lifted it with eager handsAnd as before, when he expired,She placed the head upon the bandsThat bound her breast which hope new-fired,And which alternate rose and fell;Then placed his soul upon his heartWhence like a bee it found its cell,And lo, he woke with sudden start!His breath came low at first, then deep,With an unquiet look he gazed,As one awaking from a sleepWholly bewildered and amazed.
As still Savitri sat besideHer husband dying,—dying fast,She saw a stranger slowly glideBeneath the boughs that shrunk aghast.Upon his head he wore a crownThat shimmered in the doubtful light;His vestment scarlet reached low down,His waist, a golden girdle dight.His skin was dark as bronze; his faceIrradiate, and yet severe;His eyes had much of love and grace,But glowed so bright, they filled with fear.A string was in the stranger's handNoosed at its end. Her terrors nowSavitri scarcely could command.Upon the sod beneath a bough,She gently laid her husband's head,And in obeisance bent her brow."No mortal form is thine,"—she said,"Beseech thee say what god art thou?And what can be thine errand here?""Savitri, for thy prayers, thy faith,Thy frequent vows, thy fasts severe,I answer,—list,—my name is Death."And I am come myself to takeThy husband from this earth away,And he shall cross the doleful lakeIn my own charge, and let me sayTo few such honours I accord,But his pure life and thine requireNo less from me." The dreadful swordLike lightning glanced one moment dire;And then the inner man was tied,The soul no bigger than the thumb,To be borne onwards by his side:—Savitri all the while stood dumb.But when the god moved slowly onTo gain his own dominions dim,Leaving the body there—anonSavitri meekly followed him,Hoping against all hope; he turnedAnd looked surprised. "Go back, my child!"Pale, pale the stars above them burned,More weird the scene had grown and wild;"It is not for the living—hear!To follow where the dead must go,Thy duty lies before thee clear,What thou shouldst do, the Shasters show."The funeral rites that they ordainAnd sacrifices must take upThy first sad moments; not in vainIs held to thee this bitter cup;Its lessons thou shall learn in time!All that thoucanstdo, thou hast doneFor thy dear lord. Thy love sublimeMy deepest sympathy hath won.Return, for thou hast come as farAs living creature may. Adieu!Let duty be thy guiding star,As ever. To thyself be true!""Where'er my husband dear is led,Or journeys of his own free will,I too must go, though darkness spreadAcross my path, portending ill,'Tis thus my duty I have read!If I am wrong, oh! with me bear;But do not bid me backward treadMy way forlorn,—for I can dareAll things but that; ah! pity me,A woman frail, too sorely tried!And let me, let me follow thee,O gracious god,—whate'er betide."By all things sacred, I entreat,By Penitence that purifies,By prompt Obedience, full, complete,To spiritual masters, in the eyesOf gods so precious, by the loveI bear my husband, by the faithThat looks from earth to heaven above,And by thy own great name O Death,And all thy kindness, bid me notTo leave thee, and to go my way,But let me follow as I oughtThy steps and his, as best I may."I know that in this transient worldAll is delusion,—nothing true;I know its shows are mists unfurledTo please and vanish. To renewIts bubble joys, be magic boundInMaya'snetwork frail and fair,Is not my aim! The gladsome soundOf husband, brother, friend, is airTo such as know that all must die,And that at last the time must come,When eye shall speak no more to eyeAnd Love cry,—Lo, this is my sum."I know in such a world as thisNo one can gain his heart's desire,Or pass the years in perfect bliss;Like gold we must be tried by fire;And each shall suffer as he actsAnd thinks,—his own sad burden bear;No friends can help,—his sins are factsThat nothing can annul or square,And he must bear their consequence.Can I my husband save by rites?Ah, no,—that were a vain pretence,Justice eternal strict requites."He for his deeds shall get his dueAs I for mine: thus here each soulIs its own friend if it pursueThe right, and run straight for the goal;But its own worst and direst foeIf it choose evil, and in tracksForbidden, for its pleasure go.Who knows not this, true wisdom lacks,Virtue should be the turn and endOf every life, all else is vain,Duty should be its dearest friendIf higher life, it would attain.""So sweet thy words ring on mine ear,Gentle Savitri, that I fainWould give some sign to make it clearThou hast not prayed to me in vain.Satyavan's life I may not grant,Nor take before its term thy life,But I am not all adamant,I feel for thee, thou faithful wife!Ask thou aught else, and let it beSome good thing for thyself or thine,And I shall give it, child, to thee,If any power on earth be mine.""Well be it so. My husband's sire,Hath lost his sight and fair domain,Give to his eyes their former fire,And place him on his throne again.""It shall be done. Go back, my child,The hour wears late, the wind feels cold,The path becomes more weird and wild,Thy feet are torn, there's blood, behold!Thou feelest faint from weariness,Oh try to follow me no more;Go home, and with thy presence blessThose who thine absence there deplore.""No weariness, O Death, I feel,And how should I, when by the sideOf Satyavan? In woe and wealTo be a helpmate swears the bride.This is my place; by solemn oathWherever thou conductest himI too must go, to keep my troth;And if the eye at times should brim,'Tis human weakness, give me strengthMy work appointed to fulfil,That I may gain the crown at lengthThe gods give those who do their will."The power of goodness is so greatWe pray to feel its influenceFor ever on us. It is late,And the strange landscape awes my sense;But I would fain with thee go on,And hear thy voice so true and kind;The false lights that on objects shoneHave vanished, and no longer blind,Thanks to thy simple presence. NowI feel a fresher air around,And see the glory of that browWith flashing rubies fitly crowned."Men call thee Yama—conqueror,Because it is against their willThey follow thee,—and they abhorThe Truth which thou wouldst aye instil.If they thy nature knew aright,O god, all other gods above!And that thou conquerest in the fightBy patience, kindness, mercy, love,And not by devastating wrath,They would not shrink in childlike frightTo see thy shadow on their path,But hail thee as sick souls the light.""Thy words, Savitri, greet mine earAs sweet as founts that murmur lowTo one who in the deserts drearWith parchèd tongue moves faint and slow,Because thy talk is heart-sincere,Without hypocrisy or guile;Demand another boon, my dear,But not of those forbad erewhile,And I shall grant it, ere we part:Lo, the stars pale,—the way is long,Receive thy boon, and homewards start,For ah, poor child, thou art not strong.""Another boon! My sire the kingBeside myself hath children none,Oh grant that from his stock may springA hundred boughs." "It shall be done.He shall be blest with many a sonWho his old palace shall rejoice.""Each heart-wish from thy goodness won,If I am still allowed a choice,I fain thy voice would ever hear,Reluctant am I still to part,The way seems short when thou art nearAnd Satyavan, my heart's dear heart."Of all the pleasures given on earthThe company of the good is best,For weariness has never birthIn such a commerce sweet and blest;The sun runs on its wonted course,The earth its plenteous treasure yields,All for their sake, and by the forceTheir prayer united ever wields.Oh let me, let me ever dwellAmidst the good, where'er it be,Whether in lowly hermit-cellOr in some spot beyond the sea."The favours man accords to menAre never fruitless, from them riseA thousand acts beyond our kenThat float like incense to the skies;For benefits can ne'er efface,They multiply and widely spread,And honour follows on their trace.Sharp penances, and vigils dread,Austerities, and wasting fasts,Create an empire, and the blestLong as this spiritual empire lastsBecome the saviours of the rest.""O thou endowed with every graceAnd every virtue,—thou whose soulAppears upon thy lovely face,May the great gods who all controlSend thee their peace. I too would giveOne favour more before I go;Ask something for thyself, and liveHappy, and dear to all below,Till summoned to the bliss above.Savitri ask, and ask unblamed."—She took the clue, felt Death was Love,For no exceptions now he named,And boldly said,—"Thou knowest, Lord,The inmost hearts and thoughts of all!There is no need to utter word,Upon thy mercy sole, I call.If speech be needful to obtainThy grace,—oh hear a wife forlorn,Let my Satyavan live againAnd children unto us be born,Wise, brave, and valiant." "From thy stockA hundred families shall springAs lasting as the solid rock,Each son of thine shall be a king."As thus he spoke, he loosed the knotThe soul of Satyavan that bound,And promised further that their lotIn pleasant places should be foundThenceforth, and that they both should liveFour centuries, to which the nameOf fair Savitri, men would give,—And then he vanished in a flame."Adieu, great god!" She took the soul,No bigger than the human thumb,And running swift, soon reached her goal,Where lay the body stark and dumb.She lifted it with eager handsAnd as before, when he expired,She placed the head upon the bandsThat bound her breast which hope new-fired,And which alternate rose and fell;Then placed his soul upon his heartWhence like a bee it found its cell,And lo, he woke with sudden start!His breath came low at first, then deep,With an unquiet look he gazed,As one awaking from a sleepWholly bewildered and amazed.
As still Savitri sat besideHer husband dying,—dying fast,She saw a stranger slowly glideBeneath the boughs that shrunk aghast.Upon his head he wore a crownThat shimmered in the doubtful light;His vestment scarlet reached low down,His waist, a golden girdle dight.His skin was dark as bronze; his faceIrradiate, and yet severe;His eyes had much of love and grace,But glowed so bright, they filled with fear.
A string was in the stranger's handNoosed at its end. Her terrors nowSavitri scarcely could command.Upon the sod beneath a bough,She gently laid her husband's head,And in obeisance bent her brow."No mortal form is thine,"—she said,"Beseech thee say what god art thou?And what can be thine errand here?""Savitri, for thy prayers, thy faith,Thy frequent vows, thy fasts severe,I answer,—list,—my name is Death.
"And I am come myself to takeThy husband from this earth away,And he shall cross the doleful lakeIn my own charge, and let me sayTo few such honours I accord,But his pure life and thine requireNo less from me." The dreadful swordLike lightning glanced one moment dire;And then the inner man was tied,The soul no bigger than the thumb,To be borne onwards by his side:—Savitri all the while stood dumb.
But when the god moved slowly onTo gain his own dominions dim,Leaving the body there—anonSavitri meekly followed him,Hoping against all hope; he turnedAnd looked surprised. "Go back, my child!"Pale, pale the stars above them burned,More weird the scene had grown and wild;"It is not for the living—hear!To follow where the dead must go,Thy duty lies before thee clear,What thou shouldst do, the Shasters show.
"The funeral rites that they ordainAnd sacrifices must take upThy first sad moments; not in vainIs held to thee this bitter cup;Its lessons thou shall learn in time!All that thoucanstdo, thou hast doneFor thy dear lord. Thy love sublimeMy deepest sympathy hath won.Return, for thou hast come as farAs living creature may. Adieu!Let duty be thy guiding star,As ever. To thyself be true!"
"Where'er my husband dear is led,Or journeys of his own free will,I too must go, though darkness spreadAcross my path, portending ill,'Tis thus my duty I have read!If I am wrong, oh! with me bear;But do not bid me backward treadMy way forlorn,—for I can dareAll things but that; ah! pity me,A woman frail, too sorely tried!And let me, let me follow thee,O gracious god,—whate'er betide.
"By all things sacred, I entreat,By Penitence that purifies,By prompt Obedience, full, complete,To spiritual masters, in the eyesOf gods so precious, by the loveI bear my husband, by the faithThat looks from earth to heaven above,And by thy own great name O Death,And all thy kindness, bid me notTo leave thee, and to go my way,But let me follow as I oughtThy steps and his, as best I may.
"I know that in this transient worldAll is delusion,—nothing true;I know its shows are mists unfurledTo please and vanish. To renewIts bubble joys, be magic boundInMaya'snetwork frail and fair,Is not my aim! The gladsome soundOf husband, brother, friend, is airTo such as know that all must die,And that at last the time must come,When eye shall speak no more to eyeAnd Love cry,—Lo, this is my sum.
"I know in such a world as thisNo one can gain his heart's desire,Or pass the years in perfect bliss;Like gold we must be tried by fire;And each shall suffer as he actsAnd thinks,—his own sad burden bear;No friends can help,—his sins are factsThat nothing can annul or square,And he must bear their consequence.Can I my husband save by rites?Ah, no,—that were a vain pretence,Justice eternal strict requites.
"He for his deeds shall get his dueAs I for mine: thus here each soulIs its own friend if it pursueThe right, and run straight for the goal;But its own worst and direst foeIf it choose evil, and in tracksForbidden, for its pleasure go.Who knows not this, true wisdom lacks,Virtue should be the turn and endOf every life, all else is vain,Duty should be its dearest friendIf higher life, it would attain."
"So sweet thy words ring on mine ear,Gentle Savitri, that I fainWould give some sign to make it clearThou hast not prayed to me in vain.Satyavan's life I may not grant,Nor take before its term thy life,But I am not all adamant,I feel for thee, thou faithful wife!Ask thou aught else, and let it beSome good thing for thyself or thine,And I shall give it, child, to thee,If any power on earth be mine."
"Well be it so. My husband's sire,Hath lost his sight and fair domain,Give to his eyes their former fire,And place him on his throne again.""It shall be done. Go back, my child,The hour wears late, the wind feels cold,The path becomes more weird and wild,Thy feet are torn, there's blood, behold!Thou feelest faint from weariness,Oh try to follow me no more;Go home, and with thy presence blessThose who thine absence there deplore."
"No weariness, O Death, I feel,And how should I, when by the sideOf Satyavan? In woe and wealTo be a helpmate swears the bride.This is my place; by solemn oathWherever thou conductest himI too must go, to keep my troth;And if the eye at times should brim,'Tis human weakness, give me strengthMy work appointed to fulfil,That I may gain the crown at lengthThe gods give those who do their will.
"The power of goodness is so greatWe pray to feel its influenceFor ever on us. It is late,And the strange landscape awes my sense;But I would fain with thee go on,And hear thy voice so true and kind;The false lights that on objects shoneHave vanished, and no longer blind,Thanks to thy simple presence. NowI feel a fresher air around,And see the glory of that browWith flashing rubies fitly crowned.
"Men call thee Yama—conqueror,Because it is against their willThey follow thee,—and they abhorThe Truth which thou wouldst aye instil.If they thy nature knew aright,O god, all other gods above!And that thou conquerest in the fightBy patience, kindness, mercy, love,And not by devastating wrath,They would not shrink in childlike frightTo see thy shadow on their path,But hail thee as sick souls the light."
"Thy words, Savitri, greet mine earAs sweet as founts that murmur lowTo one who in the deserts drearWith parchèd tongue moves faint and slow,Because thy talk is heart-sincere,Without hypocrisy or guile;Demand another boon, my dear,But not of those forbad erewhile,And I shall grant it, ere we part:Lo, the stars pale,—the way is long,Receive thy boon, and homewards start,For ah, poor child, thou art not strong."
"Another boon! My sire the kingBeside myself hath children none,Oh grant that from his stock may springA hundred boughs." "It shall be done.He shall be blest with many a sonWho his old palace shall rejoice.""Each heart-wish from thy goodness won,If I am still allowed a choice,I fain thy voice would ever hear,Reluctant am I still to part,The way seems short when thou art nearAnd Satyavan, my heart's dear heart.
"Of all the pleasures given on earthThe company of the good is best,For weariness has never birthIn such a commerce sweet and blest;The sun runs on its wonted course,The earth its plenteous treasure yields,All for their sake, and by the forceTheir prayer united ever wields.Oh let me, let me ever dwellAmidst the good, where'er it be,Whether in lowly hermit-cellOr in some spot beyond the sea.
"The favours man accords to menAre never fruitless, from them riseA thousand acts beyond our kenThat float like incense to the skies;For benefits can ne'er efface,They multiply and widely spread,And honour follows on their trace.Sharp penances, and vigils dread,Austerities, and wasting fasts,Create an empire, and the blestLong as this spiritual empire lastsBecome the saviours of the rest."
"O thou endowed with every graceAnd every virtue,—thou whose soulAppears upon thy lovely face,May the great gods who all controlSend thee their peace. I too would giveOne favour more before I go;Ask something for thyself, and liveHappy, and dear to all below,Till summoned to the bliss above.Savitri ask, and ask unblamed."—She took the clue, felt Death was Love,For no exceptions now he named,
And boldly said,—"Thou knowest, Lord,The inmost hearts and thoughts of all!There is no need to utter word,Upon thy mercy sole, I call.If speech be needful to obtainThy grace,—oh hear a wife forlorn,Let my Satyavan live againAnd children unto us be born,Wise, brave, and valiant." "From thy stockA hundred families shall springAs lasting as the solid rock,Each son of thine shall be a king."
As thus he spoke, he loosed the knotThe soul of Satyavan that bound,And promised further that their lotIn pleasant places should be foundThenceforth, and that they both should liveFour centuries, to which the nameOf fair Savitri, men would give,—And then he vanished in a flame."Adieu, great god!" She took the soul,No bigger than the human thumb,And running swift, soon reached her goal,Where lay the body stark and dumb.
She lifted it with eager handsAnd as before, when he expired,She placed the head upon the bandsThat bound her breast which hope new-fired,And which alternate rose and fell;Then placed his soul upon his heartWhence like a bee it found its cell,And lo, he woke with sudden start!His breath came low at first, then deep,With an unquiet look he gazed,As one awaking from a sleepWholly bewildered and amazed.
As consciousness came slowly backHe recognised his loving wife—"Who was it, Love, through regions blackWhere hardly seemed a sign of lifeCarried me bound? Methinks I viewThe dark face yet—a noble face,He had a robe of scarlet hue,And ruby crown; far, far through spaceHe bore me, on and on, but now,"—"Thou hast been sleeping, but the manWith glory on his kingly brow,Is gone, thou seest, Satyavan!"O my belovèd,—thou art free!Sleep which had bound thee fast, hath leftThine eyelids. Try thyself to be!For late of every sense bereftThou seemedst in a rigid trance;And if thou canst, my love, arise,Regard the night, the dark expanseSpread out before us, and the skies."Supported by her, looked he longUpon the landscape dim outspread,And like some old remembered songThe past came back,—a tangled thread."I had a pain, as if an aspGnawed in my brain, and there I laySilent, for oh! I could but gasp,Till someone came that bore awayMy spirit into lands unknown:Thou, dear, who watchedst beside me,—sayWas it a dream from elfland blown,Or very truth,—my doubts to stay.""O Love, look round,—how strange and dreadThe shadows of the high trees fall,Homeward our path now let us tread,To-morrow I shall tell thee all."Arise! Be strong! Gird up thy loins!Think of our parents, dearest friend!The solemn darkness haste enjoins,Not likely is it soon to end.Hark! Jackals still at distance howl,The day, long, long will not appear,Lo, wild fierce eyes through bushes scowl,Summon thy courage, lest I fear.Was that the tiger's sullen growl?What means this rush of many feet?Can creatures wild so near us prowl?Rise up, and hasten homewards, sweet!"He rose, but could not find the track,And then, too well, Savitri knewHis wonted force had not come back.She made a fire, and from the dewEssayed to shelter him. At lastHe nearly was himself again,—Then vividly rose all the past,And with the past, new fear and pain."What anguish must my parents feelWho wait for me the livelong hours!Their sore wound let us haste to healBefore it festers, past our powers:"For broken-hearted, they may die!Oh hasten dear,—now I am strong,No more I suffer, let us fly,Ah me! each minute seems so long.They told me once, they could not liveWithout me, in their feeble age,Their food and water I must giveAnd help them in the last sad stageOf earthly life, and that BeyondIn which a son can help by rites.Oh what a love is theirs—how fond!Whom now Despair, perhaps, benights."Infirm herself, my mother dearNow guides, methinks, the tottering feetOf my blind father, for they hearAnd hasten eagerly to meetOur fancied steps. O faithful wifeLet us on wings fly back again,Upon their safety hangs my life!"He tried his feelings to restrain,But like some river swelling highThey swept their barriers weak and vain,Sudden there burst a fearful cry,Then followed tears,—like autumn rain.Hush! Hark, a sweet voice rises clear!A voice of earnestness intense,"If I have worshipped Thee in fearAnd duly paid with reverenceThe solemn sacrifices,—hear!Send consolation, and thy peaceEternal, to our parents dear,That their anxieties may cease.Oh, ever hath I loved Thy truth,Therefore on Thee I dare to call,Help us, this night, and them, for soothWithout thy help, we perish all."She took in hers Satyavan's hand,She gently wiped his falling tears,"This weakness, Love, I understand!Courage!" She smiled away his fears."Now we shall go, for thou art strong."She helped him rise up by her sideAnd led him like a child along,He, wistfully the basket eyedLaden with fruit and flowers. "Not now,To-morrow we shall fetch it hence."And so, she hung it on a bough,"I'll bear thy saw for our defence."In one fair hand the saw she took,The other with a charming graceShe twined around him, and her lookShe turnèd upwards to his face.Thus aiding him she felt anewHis bosom beat against her own—More firm his step, more clear his view,More self-possessed his words and toneBecame, as swift the minutes past,And now the pathway he discerns,And 'neath the trees, they hurry fast,For Hope's fair light before them burns.Under the faint beams of the starsHow beautiful appeared the flowers,Light scarlet, flecked with golden barsOf the palâsas,[1]in the bowersThat Nature there herself had madeWithout the aid of man. At timesTrees on their path cast densest shade,And nightingales sang mystic rhymesTheir fears and sorrows to assuage.Where two paths met, the north they chose,As leading to the hermitage,And soon before them, dim it rose.Here let us end. For all may guessThe blind old king received his sight,And ruled again with gentlenessThe country that was his by right;And that Savitri's royal sireWas blest with many sons,—a raceWhom poets praised for martial fire,And every peaceful gift and grace.As for Savitri, to this dayHer name is named, when couples wed,And to the bride the parents say,Be thou like her, in heart and head.
As consciousness came slowly backHe recognised his loving wife—"Who was it, Love, through regions blackWhere hardly seemed a sign of lifeCarried me bound? Methinks I viewThe dark face yet—a noble face,He had a robe of scarlet hue,And ruby crown; far, far through spaceHe bore me, on and on, but now,"—"Thou hast been sleeping, but the manWith glory on his kingly brow,Is gone, thou seest, Satyavan!"O my belovèd,—thou art free!Sleep which had bound thee fast, hath leftThine eyelids. Try thyself to be!For late of every sense bereftThou seemedst in a rigid trance;And if thou canst, my love, arise,Regard the night, the dark expanseSpread out before us, and the skies."Supported by her, looked he longUpon the landscape dim outspread,And like some old remembered songThe past came back,—a tangled thread."I had a pain, as if an aspGnawed in my brain, and there I laySilent, for oh! I could but gasp,Till someone came that bore awayMy spirit into lands unknown:Thou, dear, who watchedst beside me,—sayWas it a dream from elfland blown,Or very truth,—my doubts to stay.""O Love, look round,—how strange and dreadThe shadows of the high trees fall,Homeward our path now let us tread,To-morrow I shall tell thee all."Arise! Be strong! Gird up thy loins!Think of our parents, dearest friend!The solemn darkness haste enjoins,Not likely is it soon to end.Hark! Jackals still at distance howl,The day, long, long will not appear,Lo, wild fierce eyes through bushes scowl,Summon thy courage, lest I fear.Was that the tiger's sullen growl?What means this rush of many feet?Can creatures wild so near us prowl?Rise up, and hasten homewards, sweet!"He rose, but could not find the track,And then, too well, Savitri knewHis wonted force had not come back.She made a fire, and from the dewEssayed to shelter him. At lastHe nearly was himself again,—Then vividly rose all the past,And with the past, new fear and pain."What anguish must my parents feelWho wait for me the livelong hours!Their sore wound let us haste to healBefore it festers, past our powers:"For broken-hearted, they may die!Oh hasten dear,—now I am strong,No more I suffer, let us fly,Ah me! each minute seems so long.They told me once, they could not liveWithout me, in their feeble age,Their food and water I must giveAnd help them in the last sad stageOf earthly life, and that BeyondIn which a son can help by rites.Oh what a love is theirs—how fond!Whom now Despair, perhaps, benights."Infirm herself, my mother dearNow guides, methinks, the tottering feetOf my blind father, for they hearAnd hasten eagerly to meetOur fancied steps. O faithful wifeLet us on wings fly back again,Upon their safety hangs my life!"He tried his feelings to restrain,But like some river swelling highThey swept their barriers weak and vain,Sudden there burst a fearful cry,Then followed tears,—like autumn rain.Hush! Hark, a sweet voice rises clear!A voice of earnestness intense,"If I have worshipped Thee in fearAnd duly paid with reverenceThe solemn sacrifices,—hear!Send consolation, and thy peaceEternal, to our parents dear,That their anxieties may cease.Oh, ever hath I loved Thy truth,Therefore on Thee I dare to call,Help us, this night, and them, for soothWithout thy help, we perish all."She took in hers Satyavan's hand,She gently wiped his falling tears,"This weakness, Love, I understand!Courage!" She smiled away his fears."Now we shall go, for thou art strong."She helped him rise up by her sideAnd led him like a child along,He, wistfully the basket eyedLaden with fruit and flowers. "Not now,To-morrow we shall fetch it hence."And so, she hung it on a bough,"I'll bear thy saw for our defence."In one fair hand the saw she took,The other with a charming graceShe twined around him, and her lookShe turnèd upwards to his face.Thus aiding him she felt anewHis bosom beat against her own—More firm his step, more clear his view,More self-possessed his words and toneBecame, as swift the minutes past,And now the pathway he discerns,And 'neath the trees, they hurry fast,For Hope's fair light before them burns.Under the faint beams of the starsHow beautiful appeared the flowers,Light scarlet, flecked with golden barsOf the palâsas,[1]in the bowersThat Nature there herself had madeWithout the aid of man. At timesTrees on their path cast densest shade,And nightingales sang mystic rhymesTheir fears and sorrows to assuage.Where two paths met, the north they chose,As leading to the hermitage,And soon before them, dim it rose.Here let us end. For all may guessThe blind old king received his sight,And ruled again with gentlenessThe country that was his by right;And that Savitri's royal sireWas blest with many sons,—a raceWhom poets praised for martial fire,And every peaceful gift and grace.As for Savitri, to this dayHer name is named, when couples wed,And to the bride the parents say,Be thou like her, in heart and head.
As consciousness came slowly backHe recognised his loving wife—"Who was it, Love, through regions blackWhere hardly seemed a sign of lifeCarried me bound? Methinks I viewThe dark face yet—a noble face,He had a robe of scarlet hue,And ruby crown; far, far through spaceHe bore me, on and on, but now,"—"Thou hast been sleeping, but the manWith glory on his kingly brow,Is gone, thou seest, Satyavan!
"O my belovèd,—thou art free!Sleep which had bound thee fast, hath leftThine eyelids. Try thyself to be!For late of every sense bereftThou seemedst in a rigid trance;And if thou canst, my love, arise,Regard the night, the dark expanseSpread out before us, and the skies."Supported by her, looked he longUpon the landscape dim outspread,And like some old remembered songThe past came back,—a tangled thread.
"I had a pain, as if an aspGnawed in my brain, and there I laySilent, for oh! I could but gasp,Till someone came that bore awayMy spirit into lands unknown:Thou, dear, who watchedst beside me,—sayWas it a dream from elfland blown,Or very truth,—my doubts to stay.""O Love, look round,—how strange and dreadThe shadows of the high trees fall,Homeward our path now let us tread,To-morrow I shall tell thee all.
"Arise! Be strong! Gird up thy loins!Think of our parents, dearest friend!The solemn darkness haste enjoins,Not likely is it soon to end.Hark! Jackals still at distance howl,The day, long, long will not appear,Lo, wild fierce eyes through bushes scowl,Summon thy courage, lest I fear.Was that the tiger's sullen growl?What means this rush of many feet?Can creatures wild so near us prowl?Rise up, and hasten homewards, sweet!"
He rose, but could not find the track,And then, too well, Savitri knewHis wonted force had not come back.She made a fire, and from the dewEssayed to shelter him. At lastHe nearly was himself again,—Then vividly rose all the past,And with the past, new fear and pain."What anguish must my parents feelWho wait for me the livelong hours!Their sore wound let us haste to healBefore it festers, past our powers:
"For broken-hearted, they may die!Oh hasten dear,—now I am strong,No more I suffer, let us fly,Ah me! each minute seems so long.They told me once, they could not liveWithout me, in their feeble age,Their food and water I must giveAnd help them in the last sad stageOf earthly life, and that BeyondIn which a son can help by rites.Oh what a love is theirs—how fond!Whom now Despair, perhaps, benights.
"Infirm herself, my mother dearNow guides, methinks, the tottering feetOf my blind father, for they hearAnd hasten eagerly to meetOur fancied steps. O faithful wifeLet us on wings fly back again,Upon their safety hangs my life!"He tried his feelings to restrain,But like some river swelling highThey swept their barriers weak and vain,Sudden there burst a fearful cry,Then followed tears,—like autumn rain.
Hush! Hark, a sweet voice rises clear!A voice of earnestness intense,"If I have worshipped Thee in fearAnd duly paid with reverenceThe solemn sacrifices,—hear!Send consolation, and thy peaceEternal, to our parents dear,That their anxieties may cease.Oh, ever hath I loved Thy truth,Therefore on Thee I dare to call,Help us, this night, and them, for soothWithout thy help, we perish all."
She took in hers Satyavan's hand,She gently wiped his falling tears,"This weakness, Love, I understand!Courage!" She smiled away his fears."Now we shall go, for thou art strong."She helped him rise up by her sideAnd led him like a child along,He, wistfully the basket eyedLaden with fruit and flowers. "Not now,To-morrow we shall fetch it hence."And so, she hung it on a bough,"I'll bear thy saw for our defence."
In one fair hand the saw she took,The other with a charming graceShe twined around him, and her lookShe turnèd upwards to his face.Thus aiding him she felt anewHis bosom beat against her own—More firm his step, more clear his view,More self-possessed his words and toneBecame, as swift the minutes past,And now the pathway he discerns,And 'neath the trees, they hurry fast,For Hope's fair light before them burns.
Under the faint beams of the starsHow beautiful appeared the flowers,Light scarlet, flecked with golden barsOf the palâsas,[1]in the bowersThat Nature there herself had madeWithout the aid of man. At timesTrees on their path cast densest shade,And nightingales sang mystic rhymesTheir fears and sorrows to assuage.Where two paths met, the north they chose,As leading to the hermitage,And soon before them, dim it rose.
Here let us end. For all may guessThe blind old king received his sight,And ruled again with gentlenessThe country that was his by right;And that Savitri's royal sireWas blest with many sons,—a raceWhom poets praised for martial fire,And every peaceful gift and grace.As for Savitri, to this dayHer name is named, when couples wed,And to the bride the parents say,Be thou like her, in heart and head.
[1]Butea frondosa.
[1]Butea frondosa.
"Hark! Lakshman! Hark, again that cry!It is,—it is my husband's voice!Oh hasten, to his succour fly,No more hast thou, dear friend, a choice.He calls on thee, perhaps his foesEnviron him on all sides round,That wail,—it means death's final throes!Why standest thou, as magic-bound?"Is this a time for thought,—oh girdThy bright sword on, and take thy bow!He heeds not, hears not any word,Evil hangs over us, I know!Swift in decision, prompt in deed,Brave unto rashness, can this be,The man to whom all looked at need?Is it my brother, that I see!"Ah no, and I must run alone,For further here I cannot stay;Art thou transformed to blind dumb stone!Wherefore this impious, strange delay!That cry,—that cry,—it seems to ringStill in my ears,—I cannot bearSuspense; if help we fail to bringHis death at least we both can share.""Oh calm thyself, Videhan Queen,No cause is there for any fear,Hast thou his prowess never seen?Wipe off for shame that dastard tear!What being of demonian birthCould ever brave his mighty arm?Is there a creature on the earthThat dares to work our hero harm?"The lion and the grisly bearCower when they see his royal look,Sun-staring eagles of the airHis glance of anger cannot brook,Pythons and cobras at his treadTo their most secret coverts glide,Bowed to the dust each serpent headErect before in hooded pride."Rakshases, Danavs, demons, ghosts,Acknowledge in their hearts his might,And slink to their remotest coasts,In terror at his very sight.Evil to him! Oh fear it not,Whatever foes against him rise!Banish for aye, the foolish thought,And be thyself,—bold, great, and wise."He call for help! Canst thou believeHe like a child would shriek for aidOr pray for respite or reprieve—Not of such metal is he made!Delusive was that piercing cry,—Some trick of magic by the foe;He has a work,—he cannot die,Beseech me not from hence to go."For here beside thee, as a guard'Twas he commanded me to stay,And dangers with my life to wardIf they should come across thy way.Send me not hence, for in this woodBands scattered of the giants lurk,Who on their wrongs and vengeance brood,And wait the hour their will to work.""Oh shame! And canst thou make my wealA plea for lingering! Now I knowWhat thou art Lakshman! And I feelFar better were an open foe.Art thou a coward? I have seenThy bearing in the battle-frayWhere flew the death-fraught arrows keen,Else had I judged thee so to-day."But then thy leader stood beside!Dazzles the cloud when shines the sun,Reft of his radiance, see it glideA shapeless mass of vapours dun;So of thy courage,—or if not,The matter is far darker dyed,What makes thee loth to leave this spot?Is there a motive thou wouldst hide?"He perishes—well, let him die!His wife henceforth shall be mine own!Can that thought deep imbedded lieWithin thy heart's most secret zone!Search well and see! one brother takesHis kingdom,—one would take his wife!A fair partition!—But it makesMe shudder, and abhor my life."Art thou in secret league with thoseWho from his hope the kingdom rent?A spy from his ignoble foesTo track him in his banishment?And wouldst thou at his death rejoice?I know thou wouldst, or sure ere nowWhen first thou heardst that well-known voiceThou shouldst have run to aid, I trow."Learn this,—whatever comes may come,But I shall not survive my Love,—Of all my thoughts here is the sum!Witness it gods in heaven above.If fire can burn, or water drown,I follow him:—choose what thou wilt,Truth with its everlasting crown,Or falsehood, treachery, and guilt."Remain here, with a vain pretenceOf shielding me from wrong and shame,Or go and die in his defenceAnd leave behind a noble name.Choose what thou wilt,—I urge no more,My pathway lies before me clear,I did not know thy mind before,I know thee now,—and have no fear."She said and proudly from him turned,—Was this the gentle Sîta? No.Flames from her eyes shot forth and burned,The tears therein had ceased to flow."Hear me, O Queen, ere I depart,No longer can I bear thy words,They lacerate my inmost heartAnd torture me, like poisoned swords."Have I deserved this at thine hand?Of lifelong loyalty and truthIs this the meed? I understandThy feelings, Sîta, and in soothI blame thee not,—but thou mightst beLess rash in judgement. Look! I go,Little I care what comes to meWert thou but safe,—God keep thee so!"In going hence I disregardThe plainest orders of my chief,A deed for me,—a soldier,—hardAnd deeply painful, but thy griefAnd language, wild and wrong, allowNo other course. Mine be the crime,And mine alone,—but oh, do thouThink better of me from this time."Here with an arrow, lo, I traceA magic circle ere I leave,No evil thing within this spaceMay come to harm thee or to grieve.Step not, for aught, across the line,Whatever thou mayst see or hear,So shalt thou balk the bad designOf every enemy I fear."And now farewell! What thou hast said,Though it has broken quite my heart,So that I wish that I were dead—I would before, O Queen, we partFreely forgive, for well I knowThat grief and fear have made thee wild,We part as friends,—is it not so?"And speaking thus,—he sadly smiled."And oh ye sylvan gods that dwellAmong these dim and sombre shades,Whose voices in the breezes swellAnd blend with noises of cascades,Watch over Sîta, whom aloneI leave, and keep her safe from harm,Till we return unto our own,I and my brother, arm in arm."For though ill omens round us riseAnd frighten her dear heart, I feelThat he is safe. Beneath the skiesHis equal is not,—and his heelShall tread all adversaries down,Whoever they may chance to be.—Farewell, O Sîta! Blessings crownAnd Peace for ever rest with thee!"He said, and straight his weapons tookHis bow and arrows pointed keen,Kind,—nay, indulgent,—was his look,No trace of anger there was seen,Only a sorrow dark, that seemedTo deepen his resolve to dareAll dangers. Hoarse the vulture screamed,As out he strode with dauntless air.
"Hark! Lakshman! Hark, again that cry!It is,—it is my husband's voice!Oh hasten, to his succour fly,No more hast thou, dear friend, a choice.He calls on thee, perhaps his foesEnviron him on all sides round,That wail,—it means death's final throes!Why standest thou, as magic-bound?"Is this a time for thought,—oh girdThy bright sword on, and take thy bow!He heeds not, hears not any word,Evil hangs over us, I know!Swift in decision, prompt in deed,Brave unto rashness, can this be,The man to whom all looked at need?Is it my brother, that I see!"Ah no, and I must run alone,For further here I cannot stay;Art thou transformed to blind dumb stone!Wherefore this impious, strange delay!That cry,—that cry,—it seems to ringStill in my ears,—I cannot bearSuspense; if help we fail to bringHis death at least we both can share.""Oh calm thyself, Videhan Queen,No cause is there for any fear,Hast thou his prowess never seen?Wipe off for shame that dastard tear!What being of demonian birthCould ever brave his mighty arm?Is there a creature on the earthThat dares to work our hero harm?"The lion and the grisly bearCower when they see his royal look,Sun-staring eagles of the airHis glance of anger cannot brook,Pythons and cobras at his treadTo their most secret coverts glide,Bowed to the dust each serpent headErect before in hooded pride."Rakshases, Danavs, demons, ghosts,Acknowledge in their hearts his might,And slink to their remotest coasts,In terror at his very sight.Evil to him! Oh fear it not,Whatever foes against him rise!Banish for aye, the foolish thought,And be thyself,—bold, great, and wise."He call for help! Canst thou believeHe like a child would shriek for aidOr pray for respite or reprieve—Not of such metal is he made!Delusive was that piercing cry,—Some trick of magic by the foe;He has a work,—he cannot die,Beseech me not from hence to go."For here beside thee, as a guard'Twas he commanded me to stay,And dangers with my life to wardIf they should come across thy way.Send me not hence, for in this woodBands scattered of the giants lurk,Who on their wrongs and vengeance brood,And wait the hour their will to work.""Oh shame! And canst thou make my wealA plea for lingering! Now I knowWhat thou art Lakshman! And I feelFar better were an open foe.Art thou a coward? I have seenThy bearing in the battle-frayWhere flew the death-fraught arrows keen,Else had I judged thee so to-day."But then thy leader stood beside!Dazzles the cloud when shines the sun,Reft of his radiance, see it glideA shapeless mass of vapours dun;So of thy courage,—or if not,The matter is far darker dyed,What makes thee loth to leave this spot?Is there a motive thou wouldst hide?"He perishes—well, let him die!His wife henceforth shall be mine own!Can that thought deep imbedded lieWithin thy heart's most secret zone!Search well and see! one brother takesHis kingdom,—one would take his wife!A fair partition!—But it makesMe shudder, and abhor my life."Art thou in secret league with thoseWho from his hope the kingdom rent?A spy from his ignoble foesTo track him in his banishment?And wouldst thou at his death rejoice?I know thou wouldst, or sure ere nowWhen first thou heardst that well-known voiceThou shouldst have run to aid, I trow."Learn this,—whatever comes may come,But I shall not survive my Love,—Of all my thoughts here is the sum!Witness it gods in heaven above.If fire can burn, or water drown,I follow him:—choose what thou wilt,Truth with its everlasting crown,Or falsehood, treachery, and guilt."Remain here, with a vain pretenceOf shielding me from wrong and shame,Or go and die in his defenceAnd leave behind a noble name.Choose what thou wilt,—I urge no more,My pathway lies before me clear,I did not know thy mind before,I know thee now,—and have no fear."She said and proudly from him turned,—Was this the gentle Sîta? No.Flames from her eyes shot forth and burned,The tears therein had ceased to flow."Hear me, O Queen, ere I depart,No longer can I bear thy words,They lacerate my inmost heartAnd torture me, like poisoned swords."Have I deserved this at thine hand?Of lifelong loyalty and truthIs this the meed? I understandThy feelings, Sîta, and in soothI blame thee not,—but thou mightst beLess rash in judgement. Look! I go,Little I care what comes to meWert thou but safe,—God keep thee so!"In going hence I disregardThe plainest orders of my chief,A deed for me,—a soldier,—hardAnd deeply painful, but thy griefAnd language, wild and wrong, allowNo other course. Mine be the crime,And mine alone,—but oh, do thouThink better of me from this time."Here with an arrow, lo, I traceA magic circle ere I leave,No evil thing within this spaceMay come to harm thee or to grieve.Step not, for aught, across the line,Whatever thou mayst see or hear,So shalt thou balk the bad designOf every enemy I fear."And now farewell! What thou hast said,Though it has broken quite my heart,So that I wish that I were dead—I would before, O Queen, we partFreely forgive, for well I knowThat grief and fear have made thee wild,We part as friends,—is it not so?"And speaking thus,—he sadly smiled."And oh ye sylvan gods that dwellAmong these dim and sombre shades,Whose voices in the breezes swellAnd blend with noises of cascades,Watch over Sîta, whom aloneI leave, and keep her safe from harm,Till we return unto our own,I and my brother, arm in arm."For though ill omens round us riseAnd frighten her dear heart, I feelThat he is safe. Beneath the skiesHis equal is not,—and his heelShall tread all adversaries down,Whoever they may chance to be.—Farewell, O Sîta! Blessings crownAnd Peace for ever rest with thee!"He said, and straight his weapons tookHis bow and arrows pointed keen,Kind,—nay, indulgent,—was his look,No trace of anger there was seen,Only a sorrow dark, that seemedTo deepen his resolve to dareAll dangers. Hoarse the vulture screamed,As out he strode with dauntless air.
"Hark! Lakshman! Hark, again that cry!It is,—it is my husband's voice!Oh hasten, to his succour fly,No more hast thou, dear friend, a choice.He calls on thee, perhaps his foesEnviron him on all sides round,That wail,—it means death's final throes!Why standest thou, as magic-bound?
"Is this a time for thought,—oh girdThy bright sword on, and take thy bow!He heeds not, hears not any word,Evil hangs over us, I know!Swift in decision, prompt in deed,Brave unto rashness, can this be,The man to whom all looked at need?Is it my brother, that I see!
"Ah no, and I must run alone,For further here I cannot stay;Art thou transformed to blind dumb stone!Wherefore this impious, strange delay!That cry,—that cry,—it seems to ringStill in my ears,—I cannot bearSuspense; if help we fail to bringHis death at least we both can share."
"Oh calm thyself, Videhan Queen,No cause is there for any fear,Hast thou his prowess never seen?Wipe off for shame that dastard tear!What being of demonian birthCould ever brave his mighty arm?Is there a creature on the earthThat dares to work our hero harm?
"The lion and the grisly bearCower when they see his royal look,Sun-staring eagles of the airHis glance of anger cannot brook,Pythons and cobras at his treadTo their most secret coverts glide,Bowed to the dust each serpent headErect before in hooded pride.
"Rakshases, Danavs, demons, ghosts,Acknowledge in their hearts his might,And slink to their remotest coasts,In terror at his very sight.Evil to him! Oh fear it not,Whatever foes against him rise!Banish for aye, the foolish thought,And be thyself,—bold, great, and wise.
"He call for help! Canst thou believeHe like a child would shriek for aidOr pray for respite or reprieve—Not of such metal is he made!Delusive was that piercing cry,—Some trick of magic by the foe;He has a work,—he cannot die,Beseech me not from hence to go.
"For here beside thee, as a guard'Twas he commanded me to stay,And dangers with my life to wardIf they should come across thy way.Send me not hence, for in this woodBands scattered of the giants lurk,Who on their wrongs and vengeance brood,And wait the hour their will to work."
"Oh shame! And canst thou make my wealA plea for lingering! Now I knowWhat thou art Lakshman! And I feelFar better were an open foe.Art thou a coward? I have seenThy bearing in the battle-frayWhere flew the death-fraught arrows keen,Else had I judged thee so to-day.
"But then thy leader stood beside!Dazzles the cloud when shines the sun,Reft of his radiance, see it glideA shapeless mass of vapours dun;So of thy courage,—or if not,The matter is far darker dyed,What makes thee loth to leave this spot?Is there a motive thou wouldst hide?
"He perishes—well, let him die!His wife henceforth shall be mine own!Can that thought deep imbedded lieWithin thy heart's most secret zone!Search well and see! one brother takesHis kingdom,—one would take his wife!A fair partition!—But it makesMe shudder, and abhor my life.
"Art thou in secret league with thoseWho from his hope the kingdom rent?A spy from his ignoble foesTo track him in his banishment?And wouldst thou at his death rejoice?I know thou wouldst, or sure ere nowWhen first thou heardst that well-known voiceThou shouldst have run to aid, I trow.
"Learn this,—whatever comes may come,But I shall not survive my Love,—Of all my thoughts here is the sum!Witness it gods in heaven above.If fire can burn, or water drown,I follow him:—choose what thou wilt,Truth with its everlasting crown,Or falsehood, treachery, and guilt.
"Remain here, with a vain pretenceOf shielding me from wrong and shame,Or go and die in his defenceAnd leave behind a noble name.Choose what thou wilt,—I urge no more,My pathway lies before me clear,I did not know thy mind before,I know thee now,—and have no fear."
She said and proudly from him turned,—Was this the gentle Sîta? No.Flames from her eyes shot forth and burned,The tears therein had ceased to flow."Hear me, O Queen, ere I depart,No longer can I bear thy words,They lacerate my inmost heartAnd torture me, like poisoned swords.
"Have I deserved this at thine hand?Of lifelong loyalty and truthIs this the meed? I understandThy feelings, Sîta, and in soothI blame thee not,—but thou mightst beLess rash in judgement. Look! I go,Little I care what comes to meWert thou but safe,—God keep thee so!
"In going hence I disregardThe plainest orders of my chief,A deed for me,—a soldier,—hardAnd deeply painful, but thy griefAnd language, wild and wrong, allowNo other course. Mine be the crime,And mine alone,—but oh, do thouThink better of me from this time.
"Here with an arrow, lo, I traceA magic circle ere I leave,No evil thing within this spaceMay come to harm thee or to grieve.Step not, for aught, across the line,Whatever thou mayst see or hear,So shalt thou balk the bad designOf every enemy I fear.
"And now farewell! What thou hast said,Though it has broken quite my heart,So that I wish that I were dead—I would before, O Queen, we partFreely forgive, for well I knowThat grief and fear have made thee wild,We part as friends,—is it not so?"And speaking thus,—he sadly smiled.
"And oh ye sylvan gods that dwellAmong these dim and sombre shades,Whose voices in the breezes swellAnd blend with noises of cascades,Watch over Sîta, whom aloneI leave, and keep her safe from harm,Till we return unto our own,I and my brother, arm in arm.
"For though ill omens round us riseAnd frighten her dear heart, I feelThat he is safe. Beneath the skiesHis equal is not,—and his heelShall tread all adversaries down,Whoever they may chance to be.—Farewell, O Sîta! Blessings crownAnd Peace for ever rest with thee!"
He said, and straight his weapons tookHis bow and arrows pointed keen,Kind,—nay, indulgent,—was his look,No trace of anger there was seen,Only a sorrow dark, that seemedTo deepen his resolve to dareAll dangers. Hoarse the vulture screamed,As out he strode with dauntless air.
"Shell-bracelets ho! Shell-bracelets ho!Fair maids and matrons come and buy!"Along the road, in morning's glow,The pedlar raised his wonted cry.The road ran straight, a red, red line,To Khirogram, for cream renowned,Through pasture-meadows where the kine,In knee-deep grass, stood magic boundAnd half awake, involved in mist,That floated in dun coils profound,Till by the sudden sunbeams kistRich rainbow hues broke all around."Shell-bracelets ho! Shell-bracelets ho!"The roadside trees still dripped with dew,And hung their blossoms like a show.Who heard the cry? 'Twas but a few,A ragged herd-boy, here and there,With his long stick and naked feet;A ploughman wending to his care,The field from which he hopes the wheat;An early traveller, hurrying fastTo the next town; an urchin slowBound for the school; these heard and past,Unheeding all,—"Shell-bracelets ho!"Pellucid spread a lake-like tankBeside the road now lonelier still,High on three sides arose the bankWhich fruit-trees shadowed at their will;Upon the fourth side was the Ghat,With its broad stairs of marble white,And at the entrance-arch there sat,Full face against the morning light,A fair young woman with large eyes,And dark hair falling to her zone,She heard the pedlar's cry arise,And eager seemed his ware to own."Shell-bracelets ho! See, maiden see!The rich enamel sunbeam-kist!Happy, oh happy, shalt thou be,Let them but clasp that slender wrist;These bracelets are a mighty charm,They keep a lover ever true,And widowhood avert, and harm,Buy them, and thou shalt never rue.Just try them on!"—She stretched her hand,"Oh what a nice and lovely fit!No fairer hand, in all the land,And lo! the bracelet matches it."Dazzled the pedlar on her gazedTill came the shadow of a fear,While she the bracelet arm upraisedAgainst the sun to view more clear.Oh she was lovely, but her lookHad something of a high commandThat filled with awe. Aside she shookIntruding curls by breezes fannedAnd blown across her brows and face,And asked the price, which when she heardShe nodded, and with quiet graceFor payment to her home referred."And where, O maiden, is thy house?But no, that wrist-ring has a tongue,No maiden art thou, but a spouse,Happy, and rich, and fair, and young.""Far otherwise, my lord is poor,And him at home thou shalt not find;Ask for my father; at the doorKnock loudly; he is deaf, but kind.Seest thou that lofty gilded spireAbove these tufts of foliage green?That is our place; its point of fireWill guide thee o'er the tract between.""That is the temple spire."—"Yes, thereWe live; my father is the priest,The manse is near, a building fairBut lowly, to the temple's east.When thou hast knocked, and seen him, say,His daughter, at Dhamaser Ghat,Shell-bracelets bought from thee to-day,And he must pay so much for that.Be sure, he will not let thee passWithout the value, and a meal,If he demur, or cry alas!No money hath he,—then reveal,"Within the small box, marked with streaksOf bright vermilion, by the shrine,The key whereof has lain for weeksUntouched, he'll find some coin,—'tis mine.That will enable him to payThe bracelet's price, now fare thee well!"She spoke, the pedlar went away,Charmed with her voice, as by some spell;While she left lonely there, preparedTo plunge into the water pure,And like a rose her beauty bared,From all observance quite secure.Not weak she seemed, nor delicate,Strong was each limb of flexile grace,And full the bust; the mien elate,Like hers, the goddess of the chaseOn Latmos hill,—and oh, the faceFramed in its cloud of floating hair,No painter's hand might hope to traceThe beauty and the glory there!Well might the pedlar look with awe,For though her eyes were soft, a rayLit them at times, which kings who sawWould never dare to disobey.Onwards through groves the pedlar spedTill full in front the sunlit spireArose before him. Paths which ledTo gardens trim in gay attireLay all around. And lo! the manse,Humble but neat with open door!He paused, and blest the lucky chanceThat brought his bark to such a shore.Huge straw ricks, log huts full of grain,Sleek cattle, flowers, a tinkling bell,Spoke in a language sweet and plain,"Here smiling Peace and Plenty dwell."Unconsciously he raised his cry,"Shell-bracelets ho!" And at his voiceLooked out the priest, with eager eye,And made his heart at once rejoice."Ho,Sankhapedlar! Pass not by,But step thou in, and share the foodJust offered on our altar high,If thou art in a hungry mood.Welcome are all to this repast!The rich and poor, the high and low!Come, wash thy feet, and break thy fast,Then on thy journey strengthened go.""Oh thanks, good priest! Observance dueAnd greetings! May thy name be blest!I came on business, but I knew,Here might be had both food and restWithout a charge; for all the poorTen miles around thy sacred shrineKnow that thou keepest open door,And praise that generous hand of thine:But let my errand first be told,For bracelets sold to thine this day,So much thou owest me in gold,Hast thou the ready cash to pay?"The bracelets were enamelled,—soThe price is high."—"How! Sold to mine?Who bought them, I should like to know.""Thy daughter, with the large black eyne,Now bathing at the marble ghat."Loud laughed the priest at this reply,"I shall not put up, friend, with that;No daughter in the world have I,An only son is all my stay;Some minx has played a trick, no doubt,But cheer up, let thy heart be gay.Be sure that I shall find her out.""Nay, nay, good father, such a faceCould not deceive, I must aver;At all events, she knows thy place,'And if my father should demurTo pay thee'—thus she said,—'or cryHe has no money, tell him straightThe box vermilion-streaked to try,That's near the shrine.'" "Well, wait, friend, wait!"The priest said thoughtful, and he ranAnd with the open box came back,"Here is the price exact, my man,No surplus over, and no lack."How strange! how strange! Oh blest art thouTo have beheld her, touched her hand,Before whom Vishnu's self must bow,And Brahma and his heavenly band!Here have I worshipped her for yearsAnd never seen the vision bright;Vigils and fasts and secret tearsHave almost quenched my outward sight;And yet that dazzling form and faceI have not seen, and thou, dear friend,To thee, unsought for, comes the grace,What may its purport be, and end?"How strange! How strange! Oh happy thou!And couldst thou ask no other boonThan thy poor bracelet's price? That browResplendent as the autumn moonMust have bewildered thee, I trow,And made thee lose thy senses all."A dim light on the pedlar nowBegan to dawn; and he let fallHis bracelet basket in his haste,And backward ran the way he came;What meant the vision fair and chaste,Whose eyes were they,—those eyes of flame?Swift ran the pedlar as a hind,The old priest followed on his trace,They reached the Ghat but could not findThe lady of the noble face.The birds were silent in the wood,The lotus flowers exhaled a smellFaint, over all the solitude,A heron as a sentinelStood by the bank. They called,—in vain,No answer came from hill or fell,The landscape lay in slumber's chain,E'en Echo slept within her cell.Broad sunshine, yet a hush profound!They turned with saddened hearts to go;Then from afar there came a soundOf silver bells;—the priest said low,"O Mother, Mother, deign to hear,The worship-hour has rung; we waitIn meek humility and fear.Must we return home desolate?Oh come, as late thou cam'st unsought,Or was it but an idle dream?Give us some sign if it was not,A word, a breath, or passing gleam."Sudden from out the water sprungA rounded arm, on which they sawAs high the lotus buds amongIt rose, the bracelet white, with awe.Then a wide ripple tost and swungThe blossoms on that liquid plain,And lo! the arm so fair and youngSank in the waters down again.They bowed before the mystic Power,And as they home returned in thought,Each took from thence a lotus flowerIn memory of the day and spot.Years, centuries, have passed away,And still before the temple shrineDescendants of the pedlar payShell bracelets of the old designAs annual tribute. Much they ownIn lands and gold,—but they confessFrom that eventful day aloneDawned on their industry,—success.Absurd may be the tale I tell,Ill-suited to the marching times,I loved the lips from which it fell,So let it stand among my rhymes.
"Shell-bracelets ho! Shell-bracelets ho!Fair maids and matrons come and buy!"Along the road, in morning's glow,The pedlar raised his wonted cry.The road ran straight, a red, red line,To Khirogram, for cream renowned,Through pasture-meadows where the kine,In knee-deep grass, stood magic boundAnd half awake, involved in mist,That floated in dun coils profound,Till by the sudden sunbeams kistRich rainbow hues broke all around."Shell-bracelets ho! Shell-bracelets ho!"The roadside trees still dripped with dew,And hung their blossoms like a show.Who heard the cry? 'Twas but a few,A ragged herd-boy, here and there,With his long stick and naked feet;A ploughman wending to his care,The field from which he hopes the wheat;An early traveller, hurrying fastTo the next town; an urchin slowBound for the school; these heard and past,Unheeding all,—"Shell-bracelets ho!"Pellucid spread a lake-like tankBeside the road now lonelier still,High on three sides arose the bankWhich fruit-trees shadowed at their will;Upon the fourth side was the Ghat,With its broad stairs of marble white,And at the entrance-arch there sat,Full face against the morning light,A fair young woman with large eyes,And dark hair falling to her zone,She heard the pedlar's cry arise,And eager seemed his ware to own."Shell-bracelets ho! See, maiden see!The rich enamel sunbeam-kist!Happy, oh happy, shalt thou be,Let them but clasp that slender wrist;These bracelets are a mighty charm,They keep a lover ever true,And widowhood avert, and harm,Buy them, and thou shalt never rue.Just try them on!"—She stretched her hand,"Oh what a nice and lovely fit!No fairer hand, in all the land,And lo! the bracelet matches it."Dazzled the pedlar on her gazedTill came the shadow of a fear,While she the bracelet arm upraisedAgainst the sun to view more clear.Oh she was lovely, but her lookHad something of a high commandThat filled with awe. Aside she shookIntruding curls by breezes fannedAnd blown across her brows and face,And asked the price, which when she heardShe nodded, and with quiet graceFor payment to her home referred."And where, O maiden, is thy house?But no, that wrist-ring has a tongue,No maiden art thou, but a spouse,Happy, and rich, and fair, and young.""Far otherwise, my lord is poor,And him at home thou shalt not find;Ask for my father; at the doorKnock loudly; he is deaf, but kind.Seest thou that lofty gilded spireAbove these tufts of foliage green?That is our place; its point of fireWill guide thee o'er the tract between.""That is the temple spire."—"Yes, thereWe live; my father is the priest,The manse is near, a building fairBut lowly, to the temple's east.When thou hast knocked, and seen him, say,His daughter, at Dhamaser Ghat,Shell-bracelets bought from thee to-day,And he must pay so much for that.Be sure, he will not let thee passWithout the value, and a meal,If he demur, or cry alas!No money hath he,—then reveal,"Within the small box, marked with streaksOf bright vermilion, by the shrine,The key whereof has lain for weeksUntouched, he'll find some coin,—'tis mine.That will enable him to payThe bracelet's price, now fare thee well!"She spoke, the pedlar went away,Charmed with her voice, as by some spell;While she left lonely there, preparedTo plunge into the water pure,And like a rose her beauty bared,From all observance quite secure.Not weak she seemed, nor delicate,Strong was each limb of flexile grace,And full the bust; the mien elate,Like hers, the goddess of the chaseOn Latmos hill,—and oh, the faceFramed in its cloud of floating hair,No painter's hand might hope to traceThe beauty and the glory there!Well might the pedlar look with awe,For though her eyes were soft, a rayLit them at times, which kings who sawWould never dare to disobey.Onwards through groves the pedlar spedTill full in front the sunlit spireArose before him. Paths which ledTo gardens trim in gay attireLay all around. And lo! the manse,Humble but neat with open door!He paused, and blest the lucky chanceThat brought his bark to such a shore.Huge straw ricks, log huts full of grain,Sleek cattle, flowers, a tinkling bell,Spoke in a language sweet and plain,"Here smiling Peace and Plenty dwell."Unconsciously he raised his cry,"Shell-bracelets ho!" And at his voiceLooked out the priest, with eager eye,And made his heart at once rejoice."Ho,Sankhapedlar! Pass not by,But step thou in, and share the foodJust offered on our altar high,If thou art in a hungry mood.Welcome are all to this repast!The rich and poor, the high and low!Come, wash thy feet, and break thy fast,Then on thy journey strengthened go.""Oh thanks, good priest! Observance dueAnd greetings! May thy name be blest!I came on business, but I knew,Here might be had both food and restWithout a charge; for all the poorTen miles around thy sacred shrineKnow that thou keepest open door,And praise that generous hand of thine:But let my errand first be told,For bracelets sold to thine this day,So much thou owest me in gold,Hast thou the ready cash to pay?"The bracelets were enamelled,—soThe price is high."—"How! Sold to mine?Who bought them, I should like to know.""Thy daughter, with the large black eyne,Now bathing at the marble ghat."Loud laughed the priest at this reply,"I shall not put up, friend, with that;No daughter in the world have I,An only son is all my stay;Some minx has played a trick, no doubt,But cheer up, let thy heart be gay.Be sure that I shall find her out.""Nay, nay, good father, such a faceCould not deceive, I must aver;At all events, she knows thy place,'And if my father should demurTo pay thee'—thus she said,—'or cryHe has no money, tell him straightThe box vermilion-streaked to try,That's near the shrine.'" "Well, wait, friend, wait!"The priest said thoughtful, and he ranAnd with the open box came back,"Here is the price exact, my man,No surplus over, and no lack."How strange! how strange! Oh blest art thouTo have beheld her, touched her hand,Before whom Vishnu's self must bow,And Brahma and his heavenly band!Here have I worshipped her for yearsAnd never seen the vision bright;Vigils and fasts and secret tearsHave almost quenched my outward sight;And yet that dazzling form and faceI have not seen, and thou, dear friend,To thee, unsought for, comes the grace,What may its purport be, and end?"How strange! How strange! Oh happy thou!And couldst thou ask no other boonThan thy poor bracelet's price? That browResplendent as the autumn moonMust have bewildered thee, I trow,And made thee lose thy senses all."A dim light on the pedlar nowBegan to dawn; and he let fallHis bracelet basket in his haste,And backward ran the way he came;What meant the vision fair and chaste,Whose eyes were they,—those eyes of flame?Swift ran the pedlar as a hind,The old priest followed on his trace,They reached the Ghat but could not findThe lady of the noble face.The birds were silent in the wood,The lotus flowers exhaled a smellFaint, over all the solitude,A heron as a sentinelStood by the bank. They called,—in vain,No answer came from hill or fell,The landscape lay in slumber's chain,E'en Echo slept within her cell.Broad sunshine, yet a hush profound!They turned with saddened hearts to go;Then from afar there came a soundOf silver bells;—the priest said low,"O Mother, Mother, deign to hear,The worship-hour has rung; we waitIn meek humility and fear.Must we return home desolate?Oh come, as late thou cam'st unsought,Or was it but an idle dream?Give us some sign if it was not,A word, a breath, or passing gleam."Sudden from out the water sprungA rounded arm, on which they sawAs high the lotus buds amongIt rose, the bracelet white, with awe.Then a wide ripple tost and swungThe blossoms on that liquid plain,And lo! the arm so fair and youngSank in the waters down again.They bowed before the mystic Power,And as they home returned in thought,Each took from thence a lotus flowerIn memory of the day and spot.Years, centuries, have passed away,And still before the temple shrineDescendants of the pedlar payShell bracelets of the old designAs annual tribute. Much they ownIn lands and gold,—but they confessFrom that eventful day aloneDawned on their industry,—success.Absurd may be the tale I tell,Ill-suited to the marching times,I loved the lips from which it fell,So let it stand among my rhymes.
"Shell-bracelets ho! Shell-bracelets ho!Fair maids and matrons come and buy!"Along the road, in morning's glow,The pedlar raised his wonted cry.The road ran straight, a red, red line,To Khirogram, for cream renowned,Through pasture-meadows where the kine,In knee-deep grass, stood magic boundAnd half awake, involved in mist,That floated in dun coils profound,Till by the sudden sunbeams kistRich rainbow hues broke all around.
"Shell-bracelets ho! Shell-bracelets ho!"The roadside trees still dripped with dew,And hung their blossoms like a show.Who heard the cry? 'Twas but a few,A ragged herd-boy, here and there,With his long stick and naked feet;A ploughman wending to his care,The field from which he hopes the wheat;An early traveller, hurrying fastTo the next town; an urchin slowBound for the school; these heard and past,Unheeding all,—"Shell-bracelets ho!"
Pellucid spread a lake-like tankBeside the road now lonelier still,High on three sides arose the bankWhich fruit-trees shadowed at their will;Upon the fourth side was the Ghat,With its broad stairs of marble white,And at the entrance-arch there sat,Full face against the morning light,A fair young woman with large eyes,And dark hair falling to her zone,She heard the pedlar's cry arise,And eager seemed his ware to own.
"Shell-bracelets ho! See, maiden see!The rich enamel sunbeam-kist!Happy, oh happy, shalt thou be,Let them but clasp that slender wrist;These bracelets are a mighty charm,They keep a lover ever true,And widowhood avert, and harm,Buy them, and thou shalt never rue.Just try them on!"—She stretched her hand,"Oh what a nice and lovely fit!No fairer hand, in all the land,And lo! the bracelet matches it."
Dazzled the pedlar on her gazedTill came the shadow of a fear,While she the bracelet arm upraisedAgainst the sun to view more clear.Oh she was lovely, but her lookHad something of a high commandThat filled with awe. Aside she shookIntruding curls by breezes fannedAnd blown across her brows and face,And asked the price, which when she heardShe nodded, and with quiet graceFor payment to her home referred.
"And where, O maiden, is thy house?But no, that wrist-ring has a tongue,No maiden art thou, but a spouse,Happy, and rich, and fair, and young.""Far otherwise, my lord is poor,And him at home thou shalt not find;Ask for my father; at the doorKnock loudly; he is deaf, but kind.Seest thou that lofty gilded spireAbove these tufts of foliage green?That is our place; its point of fireWill guide thee o'er the tract between."
"That is the temple spire."—"Yes, thereWe live; my father is the priest,The manse is near, a building fairBut lowly, to the temple's east.When thou hast knocked, and seen him, say,His daughter, at Dhamaser Ghat,Shell-bracelets bought from thee to-day,And he must pay so much for that.Be sure, he will not let thee passWithout the value, and a meal,If he demur, or cry alas!No money hath he,—then reveal,
"Within the small box, marked with streaksOf bright vermilion, by the shrine,The key whereof has lain for weeksUntouched, he'll find some coin,—'tis mine.That will enable him to payThe bracelet's price, now fare thee well!"She spoke, the pedlar went away,Charmed with her voice, as by some spell;While she left lonely there, preparedTo plunge into the water pure,And like a rose her beauty bared,From all observance quite secure.
Not weak she seemed, nor delicate,Strong was each limb of flexile grace,And full the bust; the mien elate,Like hers, the goddess of the chaseOn Latmos hill,—and oh, the faceFramed in its cloud of floating hair,No painter's hand might hope to traceThe beauty and the glory there!Well might the pedlar look with awe,For though her eyes were soft, a rayLit them at times, which kings who sawWould never dare to disobey.
Onwards through groves the pedlar spedTill full in front the sunlit spireArose before him. Paths which ledTo gardens trim in gay attireLay all around. And lo! the manse,Humble but neat with open door!He paused, and blest the lucky chanceThat brought his bark to such a shore.Huge straw ricks, log huts full of grain,Sleek cattle, flowers, a tinkling bell,Spoke in a language sweet and plain,"Here smiling Peace and Plenty dwell."
Unconsciously he raised his cry,"Shell-bracelets ho!" And at his voiceLooked out the priest, with eager eye,And made his heart at once rejoice."Ho,Sankhapedlar! Pass not by,But step thou in, and share the foodJust offered on our altar high,If thou art in a hungry mood.Welcome are all to this repast!The rich and poor, the high and low!Come, wash thy feet, and break thy fast,Then on thy journey strengthened go."
"Oh thanks, good priest! Observance dueAnd greetings! May thy name be blest!I came on business, but I knew,Here might be had both food and restWithout a charge; for all the poorTen miles around thy sacred shrineKnow that thou keepest open door,And praise that generous hand of thine:But let my errand first be told,For bracelets sold to thine this day,So much thou owest me in gold,Hast thou the ready cash to pay?
"The bracelets were enamelled,—soThe price is high."—"How! Sold to mine?Who bought them, I should like to know.""Thy daughter, with the large black eyne,Now bathing at the marble ghat."Loud laughed the priest at this reply,"I shall not put up, friend, with that;No daughter in the world have I,An only son is all my stay;Some minx has played a trick, no doubt,But cheer up, let thy heart be gay.Be sure that I shall find her out."
"Nay, nay, good father, such a faceCould not deceive, I must aver;At all events, she knows thy place,'And if my father should demurTo pay thee'—thus she said,—'or cryHe has no money, tell him straightThe box vermilion-streaked to try,That's near the shrine.'" "Well, wait, friend, wait!"The priest said thoughtful, and he ranAnd with the open box came back,"Here is the price exact, my man,No surplus over, and no lack.
"How strange! how strange! Oh blest art thouTo have beheld her, touched her hand,Before whom Vishnu's self must bow,And Brahma and his heavenly band!Here have I worshipped her for yearsAnd never seen the vision bright;Vigils and fasts and secret tearsHave almost quenched my outward sight;And yet that dazzling form and faceI have not seen, and thou, dear friend,To thee, unsought for, comes the grace,What may its purport be, and end?
"How strange! How strange! Oh happy thou!And couldst thou ask no other boonThan thy poor bracelet's price? That browResplendent as the autumn moonMust have bewildered thee, I trow,And made thee lose thy senses all."A dim light on the pedlar nowBegan to dawn; and he let fallHis bracelet basket in his haste,And backward ran the way he came;What meant the vision fair and chaste,Whose eyes were they,—those eyes of flame?
Swift ran the pedlar as a hind,The old priest followed on his trace,They reached the Ghat but could not findThe lady of the noble face.The birds were silent in the wood,The lotus flowers exhaled a smellFaint, over all the solitude,A heron as a sentinelStood by the bank. They called,—in vain,No answer came from hill or fell,The landscape lay in slumber's chain,E'en Echo slept within her cell.
Broad sunshine, yet a hush profound!They turned with saddened hearts to go;Then from afar there came a soundOf silver bells;—the priest said low,"O Mother, Mother, deign to hear,The worship-hour has rung; we waitIn meek humility and fear.Must we return home desolate?Oh come, as late thou cam'st unsought,Or was it but an idle dream?Give us some sign if it was not,A word, a breath, or passing gleam."
Sudden from out the water sprungA rounded arm, on which they sawAs high the lotus buds amongIt rose, the bracelet white, with awe.Then a wide ripple tost and swungThe blossoms on that liquid plain,And lo! the arm so fair and youngSank in the waters down again.They bowed before the mystic Power,And as they home returned in thought,Each took from thence a lotus flowerIn memory of the day and spot.
Years, centuries, have passed away,And still before the temple shrineDescendants of the pedlar payShell bracelets of the old designAs annual tribute. Much they ownIn lands and gold,—but they confessFrom that eventful day aloneDawned on their industry,—success.Absurd may be the tale I tell,Ill-suited to the marching times,I loved the lips from which it fell,So let it stand among my rhymes.