Fair as the lord of silvery rays
Whom every star in heaven obeys,
The Maithil dame her plaint renewed
O'er him by Rávan's might subdued:
'Dreams, omens, auguries foreshow
Our coming lot of weal and woe:
But thou, my Ráma, couldst not see
The grievous blow which falls on thee.
The birds and deer desert the brakes
And show the path my captor takes,
And thus e'en now this royal bird
Flew to mine aid by pity stirred.
Slain for my sake in death he lies,
The broad-winged rover of the skies.
O Ráma, haste, thine aid I crave:
O Lakshman, why delay to save?
Brave sons of old Ikshváku, hear
And rescue in this hour of fear.'
Her flowery wreath was torn and rent,
Crushed was each sparkling ornament.
She with weak arms and trembling knees
Clung like a creeper to the trees,
And like some poor deserted thing
With wild shrieks made the forest ring.
But swift the giant reached her side,
Around her neck a garland lay
Bright as the Star-God's silvery ray:
It fell and flashed like Gangá sent
From heaven above the firmament. 2
The birds of every wing had flocked
To stately trees by breezes rocked:
291:1 The spirits of the good dwell in heaven
until their store of accumulated merit is
exhausted. Then they redescend to earth
in the form of falling stars. 291:2 See The Descent of Gangá, Book I
Canto XLIV.