Book Iv. Canto I. R'ama's Lament Canto I.: Rma 'S Lament. The princes stood by Pamp's side 2 Which blooming lilies glorified.With troubled heart and sense o'erthrown There Rma made his piteous moan.As the fair flood before him lay The reason of the chief gave way; And tender thoughts within him woke,As to Sumitr's son he spoke: 'How lovely Pamp's waters show, Where streams of lucid crystal flow!What glorious trees o'erhang the flood Which blooms of opening lotus stud!Look on the banks of Pamp where Thick groves extend divinely fair; And piles of trees, like hills in size. Lift their proud summits to the skies. But thought of Bharat's 3 pain and toil, And my dear spouse the giant's spoil,Afflict my tortured heart and press My spirit down with heaviness.Still fair to me though sunk in woe Bright Pamp and her forest show. Where cool fresh waters charm the sight, And flowers of every hue are bright,The lotuses in close array Their passing loveliness display, And pard and tiger, deer and snake Haunt every glade and dell and brake.Those grassy spots display the hue Of topazes and sapphires' blue, And, gay with flowers of every dye, With richly broidered housings vie. What loads of bloom the high trees crown, Or weigh the bending branches down!And creepers tipped with bud and flower Each spray and loaded limb o'erpower. Now cool delicious breezes blow, And kindle love's voluptuous glow, When balmy sweetness fills the air, And fruit and flowers and trees are fair. Those waving woods, that shine with bloom, Each varied tint in turn assume.Like labouring clouds they pour their showers In rain or ever-changing flowers. Behold, those forest trees, that stand High upon rock and table-land, As the cool gales their branches bend, Their floating blossoms downward send. See, Lakshman, how the breezes play With every floweret on the spray.And sport in merry guise with all The fallen blooms and those that fall. See, brother, where the merry breeze Shakes the gay boughs of flowery trees,Disturbed amid their toil a throng Of bees pursue him, loud in song. The Kols, 1b mad with sweet delight, The bending trees to dance invite;And in its joy the wild wind sings As from the mountain cave he springs. On speed the gales in rapid course, And bend the woods beneath their force,Till every branch and spray they bind In many a tangled knot entwined.What balmy sweets those gales dispense With cool and sacred influence! Fatigue and trouble vanish: such The magic of their gentle touch. Hark, when the gale the boughs has bent In woods of honey redolent,Through all their quivering sprays the trees Are vocal with the murmuring bees. The hills with towering summits rise, And with their beauty charm the eyes, Gay with the giant trees which brightWith blossom spring from every height: And as the soft wind gently sways The clustering blooms that load the sprays,The very trees break forth and sing With startled wild bees' murmuring.Thine eyes to yonder Cassias 2b turn Whose glorious clusters glow and burn. p. 320 Those trees in yellow robes behold, Like giants decked with burnished gold. Ah me, Sumitr's son, the spring Dear to sweet birds who love and sing,Wakes in my lonely breast the flame Of sorrow as I mourn my dame. Love strikes me through with darts of fire, And wakes in vain the sweet desire. Hark, the loud Kol swells his throat, And mocks me with his joyful note.I hear the happy wild-cock call Beside the shady waterfall.His cry of joy afflicts my breast By love's absorbing might possessed.My darling from our cottage heard One morn in spring this shrill-toned bird,And called me in her joy to hear The happy cry that charmed her ear. See, birds of every varied voice Around us in the woods rejoice, On creeper, shrub, and plant alight, Or wing from tree to tree their flight. Each bird his kindly mate has found, And loud their notes of triumph sound, Blending, in sweetest music like The distant warblings of the shrike.See how the river banks are lined With birds of every hue and kind. Here in his joy the Kol sings, There the glad wild-cock flaps his wings. The bloom, of bright As'okas 1 where The song of wild bees fills the air,And the soft whisper of the boughs Increase my longing for my spouse.The vernal flush of flower and spray Will burn my very soul away. What use, what care have I for lifeIf I no more may see my wife Soft speaker with the glorious hair, And eyes with silken lashes fair?Now is the time when all day long The Kols fill the woods with song.And gardens bloom at spring's sweet touch Which my beloved loved so much. Ah me, Sumitr's son, the fire Of sorrow, sprung from soft desire. Fanned by the charms the spring time shows, Will burn my heart and end my woes, Whose sad eyes look on each fair tree, But my sweet love no more may see. Ah me, Ah me, from hour to hour Love in my soul will wax in power, And spring, upon whose charms I gaze, Whose breath the heat of toil allays,With thoughts of her for whom I strain My hopeless eyes, increase my pain.As fire in summer rages through The forests thick with dry bamboo,So will my fawn eyed love consume My soul o'erwhelmed with thoughts of gloom. Behold, beneath each spreading tree The peacoks dance 1b in frantic glee, And, stirred by all the gales that blow, Their tails with jewelled windows glow, Each bird, in happy love elate, Rejoices with his darling mate.But sights like these of joy and peace My pangs of hopeless love increase.See on the mountain slope above The peahen languishing with love.Behold her now in amorous dance Close to her consort's side advance.He with a laugh of joy and pride Displays his glittering pinions wide;And follows through the tangled dell The partner whom he loves so well. Ah happy bird! no giant's hate Has robbed him of his tender mate;And still beside his loved one he Dances beneath the shade in glee. Ah, in this month when flowers are fair My widowed woe is hard to bear. See, gentle love a home may find In creatures of inferior kind.See how the peahen turns to meet Her consort now with love-drawn feet. p. 321 So, Lakshman, if my large-eyed dear, The child of Janak still were here, She, by love's thrilling influence, led, Upon my breast would lay her head.These blooms I gathered from the bough Without my love are useless now,A thousand blossoms fair to see With passing glory clothe each treeThat hangs its cluster-burthened head Now that the dewy months 1 are fled, But, followed by the bees that ply Their fragrant task, they fall and die.A thousand birds in wild delight Their rapture-breathing notes unite; Bird calls to bird in joyous strain, And turns my love to frenzied pain, O, if beneath those alien skies, There be a spring where St lies,I know my prisoned love must be Touched with like grief, and mourn with me. But ah, methinks that dreary clime. Knows not the touch of spring's sweet time. How could my black eyed love sustain, Without her lord, so dire a pain?Or if the sweet spring come to her In distant lands a prisoner,How may his advent and her met On every side with taunt and threat? Ah, if the springtide's languor came With sort enchantment o'er my dame, My darling of the lotus eye, My gently speaking love, would die;For well my spirit knows that she Can never live bereft of meWith love that never wavered yet My St's heart, on me is set, Who, with a soul that ne'er can stray, With equal love her love repay. In vain, in vain the soft wind brings Sweet blossoms on his balmy wings; Delicious from his native snow, To me like fire he seems to glow, O, how I loved a breeze like this When darling St shared the bliss!But now in vain for me it blows To fan the fury of my woes.That dark-winged bird that sought the skies Foretelling grief with warning cries, Sits on the tree where buds are gay, And pours glad music from the spray.That rover of the fiels of air Will aid my love with friendly care,And me with gracious pity guide To my large-eved Videhan's side. 1b Hark, Lakshman, how the woods around With love-inspiring chants resound,Where birds in every bloom-crowned tree Pour forth their amorous minstrelsy.As though an eager gallant wooed A gentle maid by love subdued,Enamoured of her flowers the bee Darts at the wind-rocked Tila tree. 2b As'oka, brightest tree that grows, That lends a pang to lovers' woes,Hangs out his gorgeous bloom in scorn And mocks me as I weep forlorn. O Lakshman, turn thine eye and see Each blossom-laden Mango tree,Like a young lover gaily dressed Whom fond desire forbids to rest Look, son of Queen Sumitr through The forest glades of varied hue,Where blooms are bright and grass is green The Kinnars 3b with their loves are seen. See, brother, see where sweet and bright Those crimson lotus charm the sight,And o'er the flood a radiance throw Fair as the morning's roseate glow. See, Pamp, most divinely sweet, The swan's and mallard's loved retreat, Shows her glad waters bright and clear,Where lotuses their heads uprear From the pure wave, and charm the view With mingled tints of red and blue.Each like the morning's early beams Reflected in the crystal gleams;And bees in their sweet toil intent Weigh down each tender filament There with gay lawns the wood recedes; There wildfowl sport amid the reeds, There roedeer stand upon the brink, And elephants descend to dunk.The rippling waves which winds make fleet Against the bending lilies beat,And opening bud and flower and stem Gleam with the drops that hang on them.Life has no pleasure left for me While my dear queen I may not see, p. 322Who loved so well those blooms that vie With the full splendour of her eye, O tyrant Love, who will not letMy bosom for one hour forget The lost one whom I yearn to meet, Whose words were ever kind and sweet. Ah, haply might my heart endure This hopeless love that knows not cure,If spring with all his trees in flower Assailed me not with ruthless power. Each lovely scene, each sound and sight Wherein, with her. I found delight, Has lost the charm so sweet of yore, And glads my widowed heart no more. On lotus buds I seem to gaze, Or blooms that deck Pals'a 1 sprays;But to my tortured memory rise The glories of my darling's eyes.Cool breezes through the forest stray Gathering odours on their way,Enriched with all the rifled scent Of lotus flower and filament.Their touch upon my temples falls And Sit's fragrant breath recalls. Now look, dear brother, on the rightOf Pamp towers a mountain height Where fairest Cassia trees unfold The treasures of their burnished gold.Proud mountain king this woody side With myriad ores is decked and dyed,And as the wind-swept blossoms fall Their fragrant dust is stained with all.To yon high lands thy glances turn: With pendent fire they flash and burn,Where in their vernal glory blaze Palasa flowers on leafless sprays. O Lakshinan, look! on Pamp's side What fair trees rise in blooming pride!What climbing plants above them show Or hang their flowery garlands lowSee how the amorous creeper rings The wind-rocked trees to which she clings,As though a dame by love impelled With clasping arms her lover held.Drunk with the varied scents that fill The balmy air. from hill to hill, From grove to grove, from tree to tree, The joyous wind is wandering free.These gay trees wave their branches bent By blooms, of honey redolent. There, slowly opening to the day, Buds with dark lustre deck the spray.The wild bee rests a moment where Each tempting flower is sweet and fair, Then, coloured by the pollen dyes, Deep in some odorous blossom lies.Soon from his couch away he springs: To other trees his course he wings,And tastes the honeyed blooms that grow Where Pamp's lucid waters flow. See, Lakshman, see, how thickly spread With blossoms from the trees o'erhead,That grass the weary traveller woos With couches of a thousand hues,And beds on every height arrayed With red and yellow tints are laid,No longer winter chills the earth: A thousand flowerets spring to birth,And trees in rivalry assume Their vernal garb of bud and bloom. How fair they look, how bright and gay With tasselled flowers on every spray!While each to each proud challenge flings Borne in the song the wild bee sings. That mallard by the river edgeHas bathed amid the reeds and sedge: Now with his mate he fondly plays And fires my bosom as I gaze. Mandkini 1b is far renowned: No lovelier flood on earth is found;But all her fairest charms combined In this sweet stream enchant the mind, 0, if my love were here to look With me upon this lovely brook, Ne'er for Ayodhy would I pine, Or wish that Indra's lot were mine.If by my darling's side I strayed O'er the soft turf which decks the glade, Each craving thought were sweetly stilled, Each longing of my soul fulfilled. But, now my love is far away, Those trees which make the woods so gay, In all their varied beauty dressed, Wake thoughts of anguish in my breast. That lotus-covered stream behold Whose waters run so fresh and cold, p. 323 Sweet rill, the wildfowl's loved resort, Where curlew, swan, and diver sport; Where with his consort plays the drake, And tall deer love their thirst to slake,While from each woody bank is heard The wild note of each happy bird.The music of that joyous quire Fills all my soul with soft desire; And, as I hear, my sad thoughts fly To St of the lotus eye, Whom, lovely with her moonbright cheek, In vain mine eager glances seek. Now turn, those chequered lawns survey Where hart and hind together stray. Ah, as they wander at their will My troubled breast with grief they fill,While torn by hopeless love I sigh For St of the fawn-like eye. If in those glades where, touched by spring, Gay birds their amorous ditties sing, Mine own beloved I might see,Then, brother, it were well with me: If by my side she wandered still,And this cool breeze that stirs the rill Touched with its gentle breath the brows Of mine own dear Videhan spouse. For, Lakshman, O how blest are those On whom the breath of Pamp blows,Dispelling all their care and gloom With sweets from where the lilies bloom!How can my gentle love remain Alive amid the woe and pain, Where prisoned far away she lies,-- My darling of the lotus eyes?How shall I dare her sire to greet Whose lips have never known deceit?How stand before the childless king And meet his eager questioning? When banished by my sire's decree, In low estate, she followed me. So pure, so true to every vow, Where is my gentle darling now? How can I bear my widowed lot, And linger on where she is not,Who followed when from home I fled Distracted, disinherited?My spirit sinks in hopeless pain When my fond glances yearn in vainFor that dear face with whose bright eye The worshipped lotus scarce can vie. Ah when, my brother, shall I hear That voice that rang so soft and clear, When, sweetly smiling as she spoke, From her dear lips gay laughter broke?When worn with toil and love I strayed With St through the forest shade, No trace of grief was seen in her, My kind and thoughtful comforter.How shall my faltering tongue relate To Queen Kaus'aly St's fate?How answer when in wild despair She questions, Where is St, where? Haste, brother, haste: to Bharat hie, On whose fond love I still rely. My life can be no longer borne, Since St from my side is torn.' Thus like a helpless mourner, bent By sorrow, Rama made lament; And with wise counsel Lakshman triedTo soothe his care, and thus replied: 'O best of men, thy grief oppose, Nor sink beneath thy weight of woes.Not thus despond the great and pure And brave like thee, but still endure.Reflect what anguish wrings the heart When loving souls are forced to part; And, mindful of the coming pain, Thy love within thy breast restrain, For earth, though cooled by wandering streams, Lies scorched beneath the midday beams, Rvan his steps to hell may bend, Or lower yet in flight descend; But be tbou sure, O Raghu's son, Avenging death he shall not shun. Rise, Rma, rise: the search begin, And track the giant foul with sin. Then shall the fiend, though far he fly, Resign his prey or surely die. Yea, though the trembling monster hide With St close to Diti's 1 side, E'en there, unless he yield the prize, Slain by this wrathful hand he dies. Thy heart with strength and courage stay, And cast this weakling mood away.Our fainting hopes in vain revive Unless with firm resolve we strive.The zeal that fires the toiler's breast Mid earthly powers is first and best. Zeal every check and bar defies, And wins at length the loftiest prize, In woe and danger, toil and care, Zeal never yields to weak despair. With zealous heart thy task begin, And thou once more thy spouse shalt win. Cast fruitless sorrow from thy soul, Nor let this love thy heart control. Forget not all thy sacred lore, But be thy noble self once more.' He heard, his bosom rent by grief, The counsel of his brother chief; Crushed in his heart the maddening pain, And rose resolved and strong again.Then forth upon his journey went The hero on his task intent, Nor thought of Pamp's lovely brook, p. 324 Or trees which murmuring breezes shook, Though on dark woods his glances fell, On waterfall and cave and dell;And still by many a care distressed The son of Raghu onward pressed.As some wild elephant elate Moves through the woods in pride,So Lakshman with majestic gait Strode by his brother's side. He, for his lofty spirit famed, Admonished and condoled; Showed Raghu's son what duty claimed, And bade his heart be bold.Then as the brothers strode apace To Rishyamka's height,The sovereign of the Vnar race 1 Was troubled at the sight. As on the lofty hill he strayed He saw the chiefs draw near: A while their glorious forms surveyed, And mused in restless fear.His slow majestic step he stayed And gazed upon the pair.And all his spirit sank dismayed By fear too great to bear.When in their glorious might the best Of royal chiefs came nigh,The Vnars in their wild unrest Prepared to turn and fly.They sought the hermit's sacred home 2 For peace and bliss ordained, And there, where Vnars loved to roam. A sure asylum gained.Footnotes 319:1 Or Kishkindh Knda. Kishkindh, the city of Bli the elder brother and enemy of Sugriva, is supposed to have been situated north of Mysore. 319:2 Pamp is said by the commentator to be the name both of a lake and a brook which flows into it. The brook is said to rise in the hill Rishyamka. 319:3 Who was acting as Regent for Rma and leading an ascetic life while he mourned for his absent brother. 319: 1b The Indian Cuckoo. 319: 2b The Cassia Fistula or Amalts is a splendid tree like a giant laburnum covered with a profusion of chains and tassels of gold. Dr. Roxburgh well describes it as "uncommonly beautiful when in flower, few trees surpassing it in the elegance of its numerous long pendulous racemes of large bright-yellow flowers intermixed with the young lively green foliage." It is remarkable also for its curious cylindrical black seed-pods about two feet long, which are called monkeys' walking-sticks. 320:1 \"The Jonesia Asoca is a tree of con- siderable size, native of southern India. It blossoms in February and March with large erect compact clusters of flowers varying in colour from pale-orange to scarlet, almost to be mistaken, on a hasty glance, for immense trusses of bloom of an Ixora. Mr. Fortune considered this tree, when in full bloom superior in beauty even to the Amherstia. The first time I saw the Asoca in flower was on the hill where the famous rock-cut temple of Kali is situated, and a large concourse of natives had assembled for the celebration of some Hindoo festival. Before proceeding to the temple the Mahratta women gathered from two trees, which were flowering somewhat below, each a fine truss of blossom, and inserted it in the hair at the back of her head. ........ .As they moved about in groups it, is impossible to imagine a more delightful effect than the rich scarlet bunches of flowers presented on their fine glossy jet-black hair". Firminger, Gardening for India. 320: 1b No other word can express the movements of peafowl under the influence of pleasing excitement, especially when after the long drought they hear the welcome roar of the thunder and feel that the rain is near. 321:1 The Dewy Season is one of the six ancient seasons of the Indian year, lasting from the middle of January to the middle or March. 321: 1b Rma appears to mean that on a former occasion a crow flying high overhead was an omen that indicated his approaching separation from St; and that now the same bird's perching on a tree near him may be regarded as a happy augury that she will soon be restored to her husband. 321: 2b A tree with beautiful and fragrant blossoms. 321: 3b A race of semi-divine musicians attached to the service of Kuvera, represented as centaurs reversed with human, figures and horses' heads. 322:1 Butea Frondosa. A tree that bears a profusion of brilliant red flowers which appear before the leaves. I omit five "s'lokas " which contain nothing but a list of trees for which, with one or two exceptions, there are no equivalent names in English. The following is Gorresio's translation of the corresponding passage in the Bengal recension:-- "Oh come risplendono in questa stagione di primavera i vitici, le galedupe, le bassie, le dalbergie, i diospyri...le tile, le michelie, le rott*lerie, le pentaptere ed i pterospermi, i bombaci, le grislee, gli abri, gli amaranti e le dalbergie; i sirii, le galedupe, le barringtonie ed i palmizi, i xanthoeymi, il pepebetel, le verbosine e le ticaie, le nauclee le erythrine, gli asochi, e le tapie fanno d'ogni intorno pompa de' lor fiori." 322: 1b A sacred stream often mentioned in the course of the poem, see Book II. Cauto Xcv. 323:1 A daughter of Daksha who became one of the wives of Kas'yapa and mother of the Daityas. She is termed the general mother of Titans and malignant beings. See Book I Cantos Xlv, Xlvi .
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