duteous filial care--I've reached the wished for realms of
joy;[152]
And ye, in those glad realms, prepare--to meet full soon your dear-loved
boy.
My parents, weep no more for me--yon warrior monarch slew me not,
My death was thus ordained to be;--predestined was the shaft he shot."
Thus, as he spoke, the anchorite's son--soared up the glowing heaven afar,
In air his heavenly body shone--while stood he in his gorgeous car.
But they, of that lost boy so dear--the last ablution meetly made,
Thus spoke to me that holy seer--with folded hands above his head.
'Albeit by thy unknowing dart--my blameless boy untimely fell,
A curse I lay upon thy heart--whose fearful pain I know too well.
As sorrowing for my son I bow--and yield up my unwilling breath,
So, sorrowing for thy son shalt thou--at life's last close repose in death.'
That curse, dread sounding in mine ear--to mine own city forth I set,
Nor long survived that hermit seer--to mourn his child in lone regret.
This day that Brahmin curse fulfilled--hath fallen on my devoted head,
In anguish for any parted child--have all my sinking spirits fled.
No more my darkened eyes can see--my clouded memory is o'ercast,
Dark Yama's heralds summon me--to his deep, dreary, realm to haste.
Mine eye no more my Rama sees--and grief o'erburns, my spirits sink,
As the swollen stream sweeps down the trees--that grow upon the crumbling
brink.
Oh, felt I Rama's touch, or spake--one word his home-returning voice,
Again to life should I awake--as quaffing nectar draughts rejoice,
But what so sad could e'er have been--celestial partner of my heart,
Than, Rama's beauteous face unseen,--from life untimely to depart.
His exile in the forest o'er--him home returned to Oudes high town,
Oh happy those, that see once more--like Indra from the sky come down.
No mortal men, but gods I deem--moonlike, before whose wondering sight,
My Rama's glorious face shall beam--from the dark forest bursting bright.
Happy that gaze on Rama's face--with beauteous teeth and smile of love,
Like the blue lotus in its grace--and like the starry king above.
Like to the full autumnal moon--and like the lotus in its bloom,
That youth who sees returning soon--how blest shall be that mortal's doom.
Dwelling on that sweet memory--on his last bed the monarch lay,
And slowly, so