slow perfection brought.
He who the opposing counsel's weight--compares not in his judgment cool,
Or misery or bliss his fate--among the sage is deemed a fool.
As one that quits the Amra bower--the bright Palasa's pride to gain,
Mocked by the promise of its flower--seeks its unripening fruit in vain.
So I the lovely Amra left[141]--for the Palasa's barren bloom,[142]
Through mine own fatal error 'reft--of banished Rama, mourn in gloom.
Kausalya! in my early youth--by my keen arrow at its mark,
Aimed with too sure and deadly truth--was wrought a deed most fell and dark.
At length the evil that I did--hath fallen upon my fatal head,[143]
As when on subtle poison hid--an unsuspecting child hath fed;
Even as that child unwittingly--hath made the poisonous fare his food,
Even so in ignorance by me--was wrought that deed of guilt and blood.
Unwed wert thou in virgin bloom--and I in youth's delicious prime,
The season of the rains had come--that soft and love-enkindling time.
Earth's moisture all absorbed, the sun--through all the world its warmth
had spread,
Turned from the north, its course begun--where haunt the spirits of the
dead![144]
Gathering o'er all th' horizon's bound--on high the welcome clouds
appeared,[145]
Exulting all the birds flew round--cranes, cuckoos, peacocks, flew and
veered.
And all down each wide-water'd shore--the troubled, yet still limpid floods,
Over their banks began to pour--as o'er them hung the bursting clouds.
And, saturate with cloud-born dew--the glittering verdant-mantled earth,
The cuckoos and the peacocks flew--disputing as in drunken mirth.
In such a time, so soft, so bland--oh beautiful! I chanced to go,
With quiver, and with bow in hand--where clear Sarayu's waters flow.
If haply to the river's brink--at night the buffalo might stray,
Or elephant, the stream to drink,--intent my savage game to slay,
Then of a water cruise, as slow--it filled, the gurgling sound I heard,
Nought saw I, but the sullen low--of elephant that sound appeared.
The swift well-feathered arrow I--upon the bowstring fitting straight,
Toward the sound the shaft let fly--ah, cruelly deceived by fate!
The winged arrow scarce had flown--and scarce had reached its destined aim,
'Ah me, I'm slain,' a feeble moan--in trembling human accents came.
'Ah whence h