trage of each hungry fiend!
Alas, if Lakshman chanced to hear
That bitter cry of woe and fear
What time Maricha, as he died,
With voice that mocked my accents cried,
Swift to my side the prince would flee
And quit the dame to succour me.
Too well I see the demon band
The slaughter of my love have planned.
Me far from home and Sita's view
The seeming deer Maricha drew.
He led me far through brake and dell
Till wounded by my shaft he fell,
And as he sank rang out his cry,
"O save me, Lakshman, or I die."
May it be well with both who stayed
In the great wood with none to aid,
For every fiend is now my foe
For Janasthan's great overthrow,
And many an omen seen to-day
Has filled my heart with sore dismay."

Such were the thoughts and sad surmise
Of Rama at the jackal's cries,
And all his heart within him burned
As to his cot his steps he turned.
He pondered on the deer that led
His feet to follow where it fled,
And sad with many a bitter thought
His home in Janasthan he sought.
His soul was dark with woe and fear
When flocks of birds and troops of deer
Move round him from the left, and raised
Discordant voices as they gazed.
The omens which the chieftain viewed
The terror of his soul renewed,
When lo, to meet him Lakshman sped
With brows whence all the light had fled.
Near and more near the princes came,
Each brother's heart and look the same;
Alike on each sad visage lay
The signs of misery and dismay,
Then Rama by his terror moved
His brother for his fault reproved
In leaving Sita far from aid
In the wild wood where giants strayed.
Lakshman's left hand he took, and then
In gentle tones the prince of men,
Though sharp and fierce their tenour ran,
Thus to his brother chief began:

"O Lakshman, thou art much to blame
Leaving alone the Maithil dame,
And flying hither to my side:
O, may no ill my spouse betide!
But ah, I know my wife is dead,
And giants on her limbs have fed,
So strange, so terrible are all
The omens which my heart appal.
O Lakshman, may we yet return
The safety of my love to learn.
To find the child of Janak still
Alive and free from scathe and ill!
Each bird with notes of warning screams,
Though the hot sun still darts his beams.
The moan of deer, the jackal's yell
Of some o'erwhelming misery tell.
O mighty brother, still may she,
My princess, live from danger free!
That semblance of a golden deer
Allured me far away,
I followed nearer and more near,
And long