The Ramayan

Scarce had the sire, with each dear queen, Heard Rama's pleading voice, and seen His darling in his hermit dress Ere failed his senses for distress. Convulsed with woe, his soul that shook, On Raghu's son he could not look; Or if he looked with failing eye He could not to the chief reply. By pangs of bitter grief assailed, The long-armed monarch wept and wailed, Half dead a while and sore distraught, While Rama filled his every thought. "This hand of mine in days ere now Has reft her young from many a cow, Or living things has idly slain: Hence comes, I ween, this hour of pain. Not till the hour is come to die Can from its shell the spirit fly. Death comes not, and Kaikeyi still Torments the wretch she cannot kill, Who sees his son before him quit The fine soft robes his rank that fit, And, glorious as the burning fire, In hermit garb his limbs attire. Now all the people grieve and groan Through Queen Kaikeyi's deed alone, Who, having dared this deed of sin, Strives for herself the gain to win."

He spoke. With tears his eyes grew dim, His senses all deserted him. He cried, O Rama, once, then weak And fainting could no further speak. Unconscious there he lay: at length Regathering his sense and strength, While his full eyes their torrents shed, To wise Sumantra thus he said: "Yoke the light car, and hither lead Fleet coursers of the noblest breed, And drive this heir of lofty fate Beyond the limit of the state. This seems the fruit that virtues bear, The meed of worth which texts declare-- The sending of the brave and good By sire and mother to the wood."