availing grief."

Thus Lakshman, by attention stirred,
To fresh attempts his brother spurred,
And Rama, as he ceased, began
With Lakshman's aid each spot to scan.
In eager search their way they took
Through wood, o'er hill, by pool and brook,
They roamed each mount, nor spared to seek
On ridge and crag and towering peak.
They sought the dame in every spot;
But all in vain; they found her not.
Above, below, on every side
They ranged the hill, and Rama cried,
"O Lakshman, O my brother still
No trace of Sita on the hill!"
Then Lakshman as he roamed the wood
Beside his glorious brother stood,
And while fierce grief his bosom burned
This answer to the chief returned:
"Thou, Rama, after toil and pain
Wilt meet the Maithil dame again,
As Vishnu, Bali's might subdued,
His empire of the earth renewed."(508)

Then Rama cried in mournful tone,
His spirit by his woe o'erthrown;
"The wood is searched from side to side,
No distant spot remains untried,
No lilied pool, no streamlet where
The lotus buds are fresh and fair.
Our eyes have searched the hill with all
His caves and every waterfall,--
But ah, not yet I find my wife,
More precious than the breath of life."

As thus he mourned his vanished dame
A mighty trembling seized his frame,
And by o'erpowering grief assailed,
His troubled senses reeled and failed.
Too great to bear his misery grew,
And many a long hot sigh he drew,
Then as he wept and sobbed and sighed,
"O Sita, O my love!" he cried.
Then Lakshman, joining palm to palm,
Tried every art his woe to calm.
But Rama in his anguish heard
Or heeded not one soothing word,
Still for his spouse he mourned, and shrill
Rang out his lamentation still.

Canto LXIII. Rama's Lament.

Thus for his wife in vain he sought:
Then, his sad soul with pain distraught,
The hero of the lotus eyes
Filled all the air with frantic cries.
O'erpowered by love's strong influence, he
His absent wife still seemed to see,
And thus with accents weak and faint
Renewed with tears his wild complaint:

"Thou, fairer than their bloom, my spouse,
Art hidden by Asoka boughs.
Those blooms have power to banish care,
But now they drive me to despair.
Thine arms are like the plantain's stem:
Why let the plantain cover them?
Thou art not hidden, love; thy feet
Betray thee in thy dark retreat.
Thou runnest in thy girlish sport
To flowery trees, thy dear resort.
But cease, O cease, my love, I pray,
To vex me with thy