ire, from ill!
It is no dream: I have not slept,
But, trouble-worn, have watched and wept
Afar from that dear lord of mine
For whom in ceaseless woe I pine,
No art may soothe my wild distress
Or lull me to forgetfulness.
I see but him: my lips can frame
No syllable but Rama's name.
Each sight I see, each sound I hear,
Brings Rama to mine eye or ear,
The wish was in my heart, and hence
The sweet illusion mocked my sense.
'Twas but a phantom of the mind,
And yet the voice was soft and kind.
Be glory to the Eternal Sire,(848)
Be glory to the Lord of Fire,
The mighty Teacher in the skies,(849)
And Indra with his thousand eyes,
And may they grant the truth to be
E'en as the words that startled me."

Canto XXXIII. The Colloquy.

Down from the tree Hanuman came
And humbly stood before the dame.
Then joining reverent palm to palm
Addressed her thus with words of balm:
"Why should the tears of sorrow rise,
Sweet lady, to those lovely eyes,
As when the wind-swept river floods
Two half expanded lotus buds?
Who art thou, O most fair of face?
Of Asur,(850) or celestial race?
Did Naga mother give thee birth?
For sure thou art no child of earth.
Do Rudras(851) claim that heavenly form?
Or the swift Gods(852) who ride the storm?
Or art thou Rohini(853) the blest,
That star more lovely than the rest,--
Reft from the Moon thou lovest well
And doomed a while on earth to dwell?
Or canst thou, fairest wonder, be
The starry queen Arundhati,(854)
Fled in thy wrath or jealous pride
From her dear lord Vasishtha's side?
Who is the husband, father, son
Or brother, O thou loveliest one,
Gone from this world in heaven to dwell,
For whom those eyes with weeping swell?
Yet, by the tears those sweet eyes shed,
Yet, by the earth that bears thy tread,(855)
By calling on a monarch's name,
No Goddess but a royal dame.
Art thou the queen, fair lady, say,
Whom Ravan stole and bore away?
Yea, by that agony of woe,
That form unrivalled here below,
That votive garb, thou art, I ween,
King Janak's child and Rama's queen."

Hope at the name of Rama woke,
And thus the gentle lady spoke:
"I am that Sita wooed and won
By Dasaratha's royal son,
The noblest of Ikshvaku's line;
And every earthly joy was mine.
But Rama left his royal home
In Dandak's tangled wilds to roam.
Where with Sumitra's son and me,
He lived a saintly devotee.
The giant Ravan came with guile
And bore me thence to Lanka's isle.
Some respite yet the fie