are now
over.

_Thirteenth canto. The return from the forest_.--This canto describes
the long journey through the air from Ceylon over the whole length of
India to Ayodhya. As the celestial car makes its journey, Rama points
out the objects of interest or of memory to Sita. Thus, as they fly
over the sea:

The form of ocean, infinitely changing,
Clasping the world and all its gorgeous state,
Unfathomed by the intellect's wide ranging,
Is awful like the form of God, and great.

He gives his billowy lips to many a river
That into his embrace with passion slips,
Lover of many wives, a generous giver
Of kisses, yet demanding eager lips.

Look back, my darling, with your fawn-like glances
Upon the path that from your prison leads;
See how the sight of land again entrances,
How fair the forest, as the sea recedes.

Then, as they pass over the spot where Rama searched for his stolen
wife:

There is the spot where, sorrowfully searching,
I found an anklet on the ground one day;
It could not tinkle, for it was not perching
On your dear foot, but sad and silent lay.

I learned where you were carried by the giant
From vines that showed themselves compassionate;
They could not utter words, yet with their pliant
Branches they pointed where you passed of late.

The deer were kind; for while the juicy grasses
Fell quite unheeded from each careless mouth,
They turned wide eyes that said, "'Tis there she passes
The hours as weary captive" toward the south.

There is the mountain where the peacocks' screaming,
And branches smitten fragrant by the rain,
And madder-flowers that woke at last from dreaming,
Made unendurable my lonely pain;

And mountain-caves where I could scarce dissemble
The woe I felt when thunder crashed anew,
For I remembered how you used to tremble
At thunder, seeking arms that longed for you.

Rama then points out the spots in Southern India where he and Sita had
dwelt in exile, and the pious hermitages which they had visited;
later, the holy spot where the Jumna River joins the Ganges; finally,
their distant home, unseen for fourteen years, and the well-known
river, from which spray-laden breezes come to them like cool,
welcoming hands. When they draw near, Prince Bharata comes forth to
welcome them, and the happy procession approaches the capital city.

_Fourteenth canto. Sita is put away_.--The