soled,
And then, with bitter grief oppressed,
His mother with these words addressed:
"This joyful hope my bosom fed
When from my grandsire's halls I sped--
"The king will throne his eldest son,
And sacrifice, as should be done."
But all is changed, my hope was vain,
And this sad heart is rent in twain,
For my dear father's face I miss,
Who ever sought his loved ones' bliss.
But in my absence, mother, say,
What sickness took my sire away?
Ah, happy Rama, happy they
Allowed his funeral rites to pay!
The glorious monarch has not learned
That I his darling have returned,
Or quickly had he hither sped,
And pressed his kisses on my head.
Where is that hand whose gentle touch,
Most soft and kind I loved so much,
The hand that loved to brush away
The dust that on his darling lay?
Quick, bear the news to Rama's ear;
Tell the great chief that I am here:
Brother, and sire, and friend, and all
Is he, and I his trusty thrall.
For noble hearts, to virtue true,
Their sires in elder brothers view.
To clasp his feet I fain would bow:
He is my hope and refuge now.
What said my glorious sire, who knew
Virtue and vice, so brave and true?
Firm in his vows, dear lady, say,
What said he ere he passed away?
What was his rede to me? I crave
To hear the last advice he gave."

Thus closely questioned by the youth,
Kaikeyi spoke the mournful truth:
"The high-souled monarch wept and sighed,
For Rama, Sita, Lakshman, cried,
Then, best of all who go to bliss,
Passed to the world which follows this.
"Ah, blessed are the people who
Shall Rama and his Sita view,
And Lakshman of the mighty arm,
Returning free from scathe and harm."
Such were the words, the last of all,
Thy father, ere he died, let fall,
By Fate and Death's dread coils enwound,
As some great elephant is bound."

He heard, yet deeper in despair,
Her lips this double woe declare,
And with sad brow that showed his pain
Questioned his mother thus again:
"But where is he, of virtue tried,
Who fills Kausalya's heart with pride,
Where is the noble Rama? where
Is Lakshman brave, and Sita fair?"

Thus pressed, the queen began to tell
The story as each thing befell,
And gave her son in words like these,
The mournful news she meant to please:
"The prince is gone in hermit dress
To Dandak's mighty wilderness,
And Lakshman brave and Sita share
The wanderings of the exile there."

Then Bharat's soul with fear was stirred
Lest Rama from the right had erred,
An