ean's sheltering breast
That Hanuman might stay and rest.
There stretches, famed for evermore,
The wondrous bridge from shore to shore.
The worlds, to life's remotest day,
Due reverence to the work shall pay,
Which holier for the lapse of time
Shall give release from sin and crime.
Now thither bend, dear love, thine eyes
Where green with groves Kishkindha lies,
The seat of King Sugriva's reign,
Where Bali by this hand was slain.(1023)
There Rishyamuka's hill behold
Bright gleaming with embedded gold.
There too my wandering foot I set,
There King Sugriva first I met.
And, where yon trees their branches wave,
My promise of assistance gave.
There, flushed with lilies, Pampa shines
With banks which greenest foliage lines,
Where melancholy steps I bent
And mourned thee with a mad lament.
There fierce Kabandha, spreading wide
His giant arms, in battle died.
Turn, Sita, turn thine eyes and see
In Janasthan that glorious tree:
There Ravan, lord of giants slew
Our friend Jatayus brave and true,
Thy champion in the hopeless strife,
Who gave for thee his noble life.
Now mark that glade amid the trees
Where once we lived as devotees.
See, see our leafy cot between
Those waving boughs of densest green,
Where Ravan seized his prize and stole
My love the darling of my soul.
O, look again: beneath thee gleams
Godavari the best of streams,
Whose lucid waters sweetly glide
By lilies that adorn her side.
There dwelt Agastya, holy sage,
In plantain-sheltered hermitage.
See Sarabhanga's humble shed
Which sovereign Indra visited.
See where the gentle hermits dwell
Neath Atri's rule who loved us well;
Where once thine eyes were blest to see
His sainted dame who talked with thee.
Now rest thine eyes with new delight
On Chitrakuta's woody height,
See Jumna flashing in the sun
Through groves of brilliant foliage run.
Screened by the shade of spreading boughs.
There Bharadvaja keeps his vows,
There Ganga, river of the skies,
Rolls the sweet wave that purifies,
There Sringavera's towers ascend
Where Guha reigns, mine ancient friend.
I see, I see thy glittering spires,
Ayodhya, city of my sires.
Bow down, bow down thy head, my sweet,
Our home, our long-lost home to greet."

Canto CXXVI. Bharat Consoled.

But Rama bade the chariot stay,
And halting in his airy way,
In Bharadvaja's holy shade
His homage to the hermit paid.
"O saint," he cried, "I yearn to know
My dear Ayodhya's weal and woe.
O tell me that th