Conqueror of earthly trials, crowned with virtue's heavenly crown!"

Spake Vidura to the brothers, and they felt their might increase,
Bowed to him in salutation, filled with deeper, holier peace,

Bowed to Bhishma and to Drona, and to chiefs and elders all,
Exiles to the pathless jungle left their father's ancient hall!

VI

Pritha's Lament

In the inner palace chambers where the royal ladies dwell,
Unto Pritha, came Draupadi, came to speak her sad farewell,

Monarch's daughter, monarch's consort, as an exile she must go,
Pritha wept and in the chambers rose the wailing voice of woe!

Heaving sobs convulsed her bosom as a silent prayer she prayed,
And in accents choked by anguish thus her parting words she said:

"Grieve not, child, if bitter fortune so ordains that we must part,
Virtue hath her consolations for the true and loving heart!

And I need not tell thee, daughter, duties of a faithful wife,
Drupad's and thy husband's mansions thou hast brightened by thy life!

Nobly from the sinning Kurus thou hast turned thy righteous wrath,
Safely, with a mother's blessing, tread the trackless jungle path!

Dangers bring no woe or sorrow to the true and faithful wife,
Sinless deed and holy conduct ever guard her charmed life!

Nurse thy lord with woman's kindness, and his brothers, where ye go,
Young in years in Sahadeva, gentle and unused to woe!"

"Thy fond blessings help me, mother," so the fair Draupadi said,
"Safe in righteous truth and virtue, forest paths we fearless tread!"

Wet her eyes and loose her tresses, fair Draupadi bowed and left,
Ancient Pritha weeping followed of all earthly joy bereft,

As she went, her duteous children now before their mother came,
Clad in garments of the deer-skin, and their heads were bent in shame!

Sorrow welling in her bosom choked her voice and filled her eye,
Till in broken stifled accents faintly thus did Pritha cry:

"Ever true to path of duty, noble children void of stain,
True to gods, to mortals faithful, why this unmerited pain,

Wherefore hath untimely sorrow like a darksome cloud above,
Cast its pale and deathful shadow on the children of my love?

Woe to me, your wretched mother, woe to her who gave you birth,
Stainless sons, for sins of Pritha have ye suffered on this earth!

Shall ye range the pathless forest dreary day and darksome night,
Reft of all save native virtue, clad in native, inborn might?

Woe to me, from rocky mountains where I dw