I miss her now at heart;
I dare not speak a loving word
Or choking tears will start.

My eyes are dim with anxious thought;
Love strikes me to the life:
And yet I strove for pious peace--
I have no child, no wife.

What must a father feel, when come
The pangs of parting from his child at home?

(_He walks about_.) _The two friends_. There, Shakuntala, we have
arranged your ornaments. Now put on this beautiful silk dress.

(SHAKUNTALA _rises and does so_.)

_Gautami_. My child, here is your father. The eyes with which he seems
to embrace you are overflowing with tears of joy. You must greet him
properly. (SHAKUNTALA _makes a shamefaced reverence_.)

_Kanva_. My child,

Like Sharmishtha, Yayati's wife,
Win favour measured by your worth;
And may you bear a kingly son
Like Puru, who shall rule the earth.

_Gautami_. My child, this is not a prayer, but a benediction.

_Kanva_. My daughter, walk from left to right about the fires in which
the offering has just been thrown. (_All walk about_.)

The holy fires around the altar kindle,
And at their margins sacred grass is piled;
Beneath their sacrificial odours dwindle
Misfortunes. May the fires protect you, child!

(SHAKUNTALA _walks about them from left to right_.)

_Kanva_. Now you may start, my daughter. (_He glances about_.) Where
are Sharngarava and Sharadvata? (_Enter the two pupils_.)

_The two pupils_. We are here, Father.

_Kanva_. Sharngarava, my son, lead the way for your sister.

_Sharngarava_. Follow me. (_They all walk about_.)

_Kanva_. O trees of the pious grove, in which the fairies dwell,

She would not drink till she had wet
Your roots, a sister's duty,
Nor pluck your flowers; she loves you yet
Far more than selfish beauty.

'Twas festival in her pure life
When budding blossoms showed;
And now she leaves you as a wife--
Oh, speed her on her road!

_Sharngarava_ (_listening to the song of koil-birds_). Father,

The trees are answering your prayer
In cooing cuckoo-song,
Bidding Shakuntala farewell,
Their sister for so long.

_Invisible beings_,

May lily-dotted lakes delight your eye;
May shade-trees bid the heat of noonday cease;
May soft winds blow the lotus-pollen nigh;
May all your path be pleasantness and peace.

(_All listen in astonishment_.)

_Gautami_. My child, the fairies of the pious grove bid you farewell.
For they love the ho