se thee in his wrath.
Yet first, that gently I may die--draw forth the barbed steel from hence,
Allay thy fears, no Brahmin I--not thine of Brahmin blood the offence.
My sire, a Brahmin hermit he--my mother was of Sudra race.'[150]
So spake the wounded boy, on me--while turned his unreproaching face.
As from his palpitating breast--I gently drew the mortal dart,
He saw me trembling stand, and blest--that boy's pure spirit seemed to part.
As died that holy hermit's son--from me my glory seemed to go,
With troubled mind I stood, cast down--t' inevitable endless woe.
That shaft that seemed his life to burn--like serpent venom, thus drawn out,
I, taking up his fallen urn--t' his father's dwelling took my route.
There miserable, blind, and old--of their sole helpmate thus forlorn,
His parents did these eyes behold--like two sad birds with pinions shorn.
Of him in fond discourse they sate--lone, thinking only of their son,
For his return so long, so late--impatient, oh by me undone.
My footsteps' sound he seemed to know--and thus the aged hermit said,
'Oh, Yajnadatta, why so slow?--haste, let the cooling draught be shed.
Long, on the river's pleasant brink--hast thou been sporting in thy joy,
Thy mother's fainting spirits sink--in fear for thee, but thou, my boy,
If aught to grieve thy gentle heart--thy mother or thy sire do wrong,
Bear with us, nor when next we part--on the slow way thus linger long.
The feet of those that cannot move--of those that cannot see the eye,
Our spirits live but in thy love--Oh wherefore, dearest, no reply?'
My throat thick swollen with bursting tears--my power of speech that
seemed to choke,
With hands above my head, my fears--breaking my quivering voice, I spoke;
'The Kshatriya Dasaratha I--Oh hermit sage, 'tis not thy son!
Most holy ones, unknowingly--a deed of awful guilt I've done.
With bow in hand I took my way--along Sarayu's pleasant brink,
The savage buffalo to slay--or elephant come down to drink.
A sound came murmuring to my ear--'twas of the urn that slowly filled,
I deemed some savage wild-beast near--my erring shaft thy son had killed.
A feeble groan I heard, his breast--was pierced by that dire arrow keen:
All trembling to the spot I pressed--lo there thy hermit boy was seen.
Flew to the sound my arrow, meant--the wandering elephant to slay,