Savitri

Savitri's first care was to tellHer mother all her feelings new;The queen her own fears to dispelTo the king's private chamber flew."Now what is it, my gentle queen,That makes thee hurry in this wise?"She told him, smiles and tears betweenAll she had heard; the king with sighsSadly replied:—"I fear me much!Whence is his race and what his creed?Not knowing aught, can we in suchA matter delicate, proceed?"

As if the king's doubts to allay,Came Narad Muni to the placeA few days after. Old and gray,All loved to see the gossip's face,Great Brahma's son,—adored of men,Long absent, doubly welcome heUnto the monarch, hoping thenBy his assistance, clear to see.No god in heaven, nor king on earth,But Narad knew his history,—The sun's, the moon's, the planets' birthWas not to him a mystery.

"Now welcome, welcome, dear old friend.All hail, and welcome once again!"The greeting had not reached its end,When glided like a music-strainSavitri's presence through the room.—"And who is this bright creature, say,Whose radiance lights the chamber's gloom—Is she an Apsara or fay?""No son thy servant hath, alas!This is my one,—my only child;"—"And married?"—"No."—"The seasons pass,Make haste, O king,"—he said, and smiled.

"That is the very theme, O sage,In which thy wisdom ripe I need;Seen hath she at the hermitageA youth to whom in very deedHer heart inclines."—"And who is he?""My daughter, tell his name and race,Speak as to men who best love thee."She turned to them her modest face,And answered quietly and clear.—"Ah, no! ah, no!—It cannot be—Choose out another husband, dear,"—The Muni cried,—"or woe is me!"

"And why should I? When I have givenMy heart away, though but in thought,Can I take back? Forbid it, Heaven!It were a deadly sin, I wot.And why should I? I know no crimeIn him or his."—"Believe me, child,My reasons shall be clear in time,I speak not like a madman wild;Trust me in this."—"I cannot breakA plighted faith,—I cannot bearA wounded conscience."—"Oh, forsakeThis fancy, hence may spring despair."—

"It may not be."—The father heardBy turns the speakers, and in doubtThus interposed a gentle word,—"Friend should to friend his mind speak out,Is he not worthy? tell us."—"Nay,All worthiness is in Satyavan,And no one can my praise gainsay:Of solar race—more god than man!Great Soorasen, his ancestor.And Dyoumatsen his father blindAre known to fame: I can averNo kings have been so good and kind."

"Then where, O Muni, is the bar?If wealth be gone, and kingdom lost,His merit still remains a star,Nor melts his lineage like the frost.For riches, worldly power, or rankI care not,—I would have my sonPure, wise, and brave,—the Fates I thankI see no hindrance, no, not one.""Since thou insistest, King, to hearThe fatal truth,—I tell you,—I,Upon this day as rounds the yearThe young prince Satyavan shall die."

This was enough. The monarch knewThe future was no sealed bookTo Brahma's son. A clammy dewSpread on his brow,—he gently tookSavitri's palm in his, and said:"No child can give away her hand,A pledge is nought unsanctionèd;And here, if right I understand,There was no pledge at all,—a thought,A shadow,—barely crossed the mind—Unblamed, it may be clean forgot,Before the gods it cannot bind.

And think upon the dreadful curseOf widowhood; the vigils, fasts,And penances; no life is worseThan hopeless life,—the while it lasts.Day follows day in one long round,Monotonous and blank and drear;Less painful were it to be boundOn some bleak rock, for aye to hear—Without one chance of getting free—The ocean's melancholy voice!Mine be the sin,—if sin there be,But thou must make a different choice."

In the meek grace of virginhoodUnblanched her cheek, undimmed her eye,Savitri, like a statue, stood,Somewhat austere was her reply."Once, and once only, all submitTo Destiny,—'tis God's command;Once, and once only, so 'tis writ,Shall woman pledge her faith and hand;Once, and once only, can a sireUnto his well-loved daughter sayIn presence of the witness, Fire,I give thee to this man away.

Once, and once only, have I givenMy heart and faith—'tis past recall;With conscience none have ever striven,And none may strive, without a fall.Not the less solemn was my vowBecause unheard, and oh! the sinWill not be less, if I should nowDeny the feeling felt within.Unwedded to my dying dayI must, my father dear, remain;'Tis well, if so thou will'st, but sayCan man balk Fate, or break its chain?

If Fate so rules, that I should feelThe miseries of a widow's life,Can man's device the doom repeal?Unequal seems to be a strife,Between Humanity and Fate;None have on earth what they desire;Death comes to all or soon or late;And peace is but a wandering fire;Expediency leads wild astray;The Right must be our guiding star;Duty our watchword, come what may;Judge for me, friends,—as wiser far."

She said, and meekly looked to both.The father, though he patient heard,To give the sanction still seemed loth,But Narad Muni took the word."Bless thee, my child! 'Tis not for usTo question the Almighty will,Though cloud on cloud loom ominous,In gentle rain they may distil."At this, the monarch—"Be it so!I sanction what my friend approves;All praise to Him, whom praise we owe;My child shall wed the youth she loves."

Great joy in Madra. Blow the shellThe marriage over to declare!And now to forest-shades where dwellThe hermits, wend the wedded pair.The doors of every house are hungWith gay festoons of leaves and flowers;And blazing banners brood are flung,And trumpets blown from castle towers!Slow the procession makes its groundAlong the crowded city street:And blessings in a storm of soundAt every step the couple greet.

Past all the houses, past the wall,Past gardens gay, and hedgerows trim,Past fields, where sinuous brooklets smallWith molten silver to the brimGlance in the sun's expiring light,Past frowning hills, past pastures wild,At last arises on the sight,Foliage on foliage densely piled,

The woods primeval, where resideThe holy hermits;—henceforth hereMust live the fair and gentle bride:But this thought brought with it no fear.

Fear! With her husband by her still?Or weariness! Where all was new?Hark! What a welcome from the hill!There gathered are a hermits few.Screaming the peacocks upward soar;Wondering the timid wild deer gaze;And from Briarean fig-trees hoarLook down the monkeys in amazeAs the procession moves along;And now behold, the bridegroom's sireWith joy comes forth amid the throng;—What reverence his looks inspire!

Blind! With his partner by his side!For them it was a hallowed time!Warmly they greet the modest brideWith her dark eyes and front sublime!One only grief they feel.—Shall sheWho dwelt in palace halls before,Dwell in their huts beneath the tree?Would not their hard life press her sore;—

The manual labour, and the wantOf comforts that her rank became,Valkala robes, meals poor and scant,All undermine the fragile frame?

To see the bride, the hermit's wivesAnd daughters gathered to the huts,Women of pure and saintly lives!And there beneath the betel-nutsTall trees like pillars, they admireHer beauty, and congratulateThe parents, that their hearts' desireHad thus accorded been by Fate,And Satyavan their son had foundIn exile lone, a fitting mate:And gossips add,—good signs abound;Prosperity shall on her wait.

Good signs in features, limbs, and eyes,That old experience can discern,Good signs on earth and in the skies,That it could read at every turn.And now with rice and gold, all blessThe bride and bridegroom,—and they goHappy in others' happiness,Each to her home, beneath the glow

Of the late risen moon that linesWith silver, all the ghost-like trees,Sals, tamarisks, and South-Sea pines,And palms whose plumes wave in the breeze.

False was the fear, the parents felt,Savitri liked her new life much;Though in a lowly home she dweltHer conduct as a wife was suchAs to illumine all the place;She sickened not, nor sighed, nor pined;But with simplicity and graceDischarged each household duty kind.Strong in all manual work,—and strongTo comfort, cherish, help, and pray,The hours past peacefully alongAnd rippling bright, day followed day.

At morn Satyavan to the woodEarly repaired and gathered flowersAnd fruits, in its wild solitude,And fuel,—till advancing hoursApprised him that his frugal mealAwaited him. Ah, happy time!Savitri, who with fervid zealHad said her orisons sublime,

And fed the Bramins and the birds,Now ministered. Arcadian love,With tender smiles and honeyed words,All bliss of earth thou art above!

And yet there was a spectre grim,A skeleton in Savitri's heart,Looming in shadow, somewhat dim,But which would never thence depart.It was that fatal, fatal speechOf Narad Muni. As the daysSlipt smoothly past, each after each,In private she more fervent prays.But there is none to share her fears,For how could she communicateThe sad cause of her hidden tears?The doom approached, the fatal date.

No help from man. Well, be it so!No sympathy,—it matters not!God can avert the heavy blow!He answers worship. Thus she thought.And so, her prayers, by day and night,Like incense rose unto the throne;Nor did she vow neglect or riteThe Veds enjoin or helpful own.

Upon the fourteenth of the moon,As nearer came the time of dread,In Joystee, that is May or June,She vowed her vows and Bramins fed.

And now she counted e'en the hours,As to Eternity they past;O'er head the dark cloud darker lowers,The year is rounding full at last.To-day,—to-day,—with doleful soundThe word seem'd in her ear to ring!O breaking heart,—thy pain profoundThy husband knows not, nor the king,Exiled and blind, nor yet the queen;But One knows in His place above.To-day,—to-day,—it will be seenWhich shall be victor, Death or Love!

Incessant in her prayers from morn,The noon is safely tided,—thenA gleam of faint, faint hope is born,But the heart fluttered like a wrenThat sees the shadow of the hawkSail on,—and trembles in affright,Lest a downrushing swoop should mockIts fortune, and o'erwhelm it quite.

The afternoon has come and goneAnd brought no change;—should she rejoice?The gentle evening's shades come on,When hark!—She hears her husband's voice!

"The twilight is most beautiful!Mother, to gather fruit I go,And fuel,—for the air is coolExpect me in an hour or so.""The night, my child, draws on apace,"The mother's voice was heard to say,"The forest paths are hard to traceIn darkness,—till the morrow stay.""Not hard for me, who can discernThe forest-paths in any hour,Blindfold I could with ease return,And day has not yet lost its power."

"He goes then," thought Savitri, "thusWith unseen bands Fate draws us onUnto the place appointed us;We feel no outward force,—anonWe go to marriage or to deathAt a determined time and place;We are her playthings; with her breathShe blows us where she lists in space.

What is my duty? It is clear,My husband I must follow; so,While he collects his forest gearLet me permission get to go."

His sire she seeks,—the blind old king,And asks from him permission straight."My daughter, night with ebon wingHovers above; the hour is late.My son is active, brave, and strong,Conversant with the woods, he knowsEach path; methinks it would be wrongFor thee to venture where he goes,Weak and defenceless as thou art,At such a time. If thou wert nearThou might'st embarrass him, dear heart,Alone, he would not have a fear."

So spake the hermit-monarch blind,His wife too, entering in, exprestThe self-same thoughts in words as kind,And begged Savitri hard, to rest."Thy recent fasts and vigils, child,Make thee unfit to undertakeThis journey to the forest wild."But nothing could her purpose shake.

She urged the nature of her vows,Required her now the rites were doneTo follow where her loving spouseMight e'en a chance of danger run.

"Go then, my child,—we give thee leave,But with thy husband quick return,Before the flickering shades of eveDeepen to night, and planets burn,And forest-paths become obscure,Lit only by their doubtful rays.The gods, who guard all women pure,Bless thee and kept thee in thy ways.And safely bring thee and thy lord!"On this she left, and swiftly ranWhere with his saw in lieu of sword,And basket, plodded Satyavan.

Oh, lovely are the woods at dawn,And lovely in the sultry noon,But loveliest, when the sun withdrawnThe twilight and a crescent moonChange all asperities of shape,And tone all colours softly down,With a blue veil of silvered crape!Lo! By that hill which palm-trees crown,

Down the deep glade with perfume rifeFrom buds that to the dews expand,The husband and the faithful wifePass to dense jungle,—hand in hand.

Satyavan bears beside his sawA forkèd stick to pluck the fruit,His wife, the basket lined with straw;He talks, but she is almost mute,And very pale. The minutes pass;The basket has no further space,Now on the fruits they flowers amassThat with their red flush all the placeWhile twilight lingers; then for woodHe saws the branches of the trees,The noise, heard in the solitude.Grates on its soft, low harmonies.

And all the while one dreadful thoughtHaunted Savitri's anxious mind,Which would have fain its stress forgot;It came as chainless as the wind,Oft and again: thus on the spotMarked with his heart-blood oft comes backThe murdered man, to see the clot!Death's final blow,—the fatal wrack

Of every hope, whence will it fall?For fall, by Narad's words, it must;Persistent rising to appallThis thought its horrid presence thrust.

Sudden the noise is hushed,—a pause!Satyavan lets the weapon drop—Too well Savitri knows the cause,He feels not well, the work must stop.A pain is in his head,—a painAs if he felt the cobra's fangs,He tries to look around,—in vain,A mist before his vision hangs;The trees whirl dizzily aroundIn a fantastic fashion wild;His throat and chest seem iron-bound,He staggers, like a sleepy child.

"My head, my head!—Savitri, dear,This pain is frightful. Let me lieHere on the turf." Her voice was clearAnd very calm was her reply,As if her heart had banished fear:"Lean, love, thy head upon my breast,"And as she helped him, added—"here,So shalt thou better breathe and rest."

"Ah me, this pain,—'tis getting dark,I see no more,—can this be death?What means this, gods?—Savitri, mark,My hands wax cold, and fails my breath."

"It may be but a swoon." "Ah! no—Arrows are piercing through my heart,—Farewell my love! for I must go,This, this is death." He gave one startAnd then lay quiet on her lap,Insensible to sight and sound,Breathing his last. . . . The branches flapAnd fireflies glimmer all around;His head upon her breast; his framePart on her lap, part on the ground,Thus lies he. Hours pass. Still the same,The pair look statues, magic-bound.

Death in his palace holds his court,His messengers move to and fro,Each of his mission makes report,And takes the royal orders,—Lo,Some slow before his throne appearAnd humbly in the Presence kneel:"Why hath the Prince not been brought here?The hour is past; nor is appealAllowed against foregone decree;There is the mandate with the seal!How comes it ye return to meWithout him? Shame upon your zeal!"

"O King, whom all men fear,—he liesDeep in the dark Medhya wood,We fled from thence in wild surprise,And left him in that solitude.We dared not touch him, for there sits,Beside him, lighting all the place,A woman fair, whose brow permitsIn its austerity of grace

And purity,—no creatures foulAs we seemed, by her loveliness,Or soul of evil, ghost or ghoul,To venture close, and far, far less

To stretch a hand, and bear the dead;We left her leaning on her hand,Thoughtful; no tear-drop had she shed,But looked the goddess of the land,With her meek air of mild command."—"Then on this errand I must goMyself, and bear my dreaded brand,This duty unto Fate I owe;I know the merits of the prince,But merit saves not from the doomCommon to man; his death long sinceWas destined in his beauty's bloom."

As still Savitri sat besideHer husband dying,—dying fast,She saw a stranger slowly glideBeneath the boughs that shrunk aghast.Upon his head he wore a crownThat shimmered in the doubtful light;His vestment scarlet reached low down,His waist, a golden girdle dight.His skin was dark as bronze; his faceIrradiate, and yet severe;His eyes had much of love and grace,But glowed so bright, they filled with fear.

A string was in the stranger's handNoosed at its end. Her terrors nowSavitri scarcely could command.Upon the sod beneath a bough,She gently laid her husband's head,And in obeisance bent her brow."No mortal form is thine,"—she said,"Beseech thee say what god art thou?

And what can be thine errand here?""Savitri, for thy prayers, thy faith,Thy frequent vows, thy fasts severe,I answer,—list,—my name is Death.

And I am come myself to takeThy husband from this earth away,And he shall cross the doleful lakeIn my own charge, and let me sayTo few such honours I accord,But his pure life and thine requireNo less from me." The dreadful swordLike lightning glanced one moment dire;And then the inner man was tied,The soul no bigger than the thumb,To be borne onwards by his side:—Savitri all the while stood dumb.

But when the god moved slowly onTo gain his own dominions dim,Leaving the body there—anonSavitri meekly followed him,Hoping against all hope; he turnedAnd looked surprised. "Go back, my child!"Pale, pale the stars above them burned,More weird the scene had grown and wild;

"It is not for the living—hear!To follow where the dead must go,Thy duty lies before thee clear,What thou shouldst do, the Shasters show.

The funeral rites that they ordainAnd sacrifices must take upThy first sad moments; not in vainIs held to thee this bitter cup;Its lessons thou shalt learn in time!All that thou canst do, thou hast doneFor thy dear lord. Thy love sublimeMy deepest sympathy hath won.Return, for thou hast come as farAs living creature may. Adieu!Let duty be thy guiding star,As ever. To thyself be true!"

"Where'er my husband dear is led,Or journeys of his own free will,I too must go, though darkness spreadAcross my path, portending ill,'Tis thus my duty I have read!If I am wrong, oh! with me bear;But do not bid me backward treadMy way forlorn,—for I can dare

All things but that; ah! pity me,A woman frail, too sorely tried!And let me, let me follow thee,O gracious god,—whate'er betide.

By all things sacred, I entreat,By Penitence that purifies,By prompt Obedience, full, complete,To spiritual masters, in the eyesOf gods so precious, by the loveI bear my husband, by the faithThat looks from earth to heaven above,And by thy own great name O Death,And all thy kindness, bid me notTo leave thee, and to go my way,But let me follow as I oughtThy steps and his, as best I may.

I know that in this transient worldAll is delusion,—nothing true;I know its shows are mists unfurledTo please and vanish. To renewIts bubble joys, be magic boundIn Maya's network frail and fair,Is not my aim! The gladsome soundOf husband, brother, friend, is air

To such as know that all most die,And that at last the time must come,When eye shall speak no more to eyeAnd Love cry,—Lo, this is my sum.

I know in such a world as thisNo one can gain his heart's desire,Or pass the years in perfect bliss;Like gold we must be tried by fire;And each shall suffer as he actsAnd thinks,—his own sad burden bear;No friends can help,—his sins are factsThat nothing can annul or square,And he must bear their consequence.Can I my husband save by rites?Ah, no,—that were a vain pretence,Justice eternal strict requites.

He for his deeds shall get his dueAs I for mine: thus here each soulIs its own friend if it pursueThe right, and run straight for the goal;But its own worst and direst foeIf it choose evil, and in tracksForbidden, for its pleasure go.Who knows not this, true wisdom lacks,

Virtue should be the aim and endOf every life, all else is vain,Duty should be its dearest friendIf higher life, it would attain."

"So sweet thy words ring on mine ear,Gentle Savitri, that I fainWould give some sign to make it clearThou hast not prayed to me in vain.Satyavan's life I may not grant,Nor take before its term thy life,But I am not all adamant,I feel for thee, thou faithful wife!Ask thou aught else, and let it beSome good thing for thyself or thine,And I shall give it, child, to thee,If any power on earth be mine."

"Well be it so. My husband's sire,Hath lost his sight and fair domain,Give to his eyes their former fire,And place him on his throne again.""It shall be done. Go back, my child,The hour wears late, the wind feels cold,The path becomes more weird and wild,Thy feet are torn, there's blood, behold!

Thou feelest faint from weariness,Oh try to follow me no more;Go home, and with thy presence blessThose who thine absence there deplore."

"No weariness, O Death, I feel,And how should I, when by the sideOf Satyavan? In woe and wealTo be a helpmate swears the bride.This is my place; by solemn oathWherever thou conductest himI too must go, to keep my troth;And if the eye at times should brim,'Tis human weakness, give me strengthMy work appointed to fulfil,That I may gain the crown at lengthThe gods give those who do their will.

The power of goodness is so greatWe pray to feel its influenceFor ever on us. It is late,And the strange landscape awes my sense;But I would fain with thee go on,And hear thy voice so true and kind;The false lights that on objects shoneHave vanished, and no longer blind,

Thanks to thy simple presence. NowI feel a fresher air around,And see the glory of that browWith flashing rubies fitly crowned.

Men call thee Yama—conqueror,Because it is against their willThey follow thee,—and they abhorThe Truth which thou wouldst aye instil.If they thy nature knew aright,O god, all other gods above!And that thou conquerest in the fightBy patience, kindness, mercy, love,And not by devastating wrath,They would not shrink in childlike frightTo see thy shadow on their path,But hail thee as sick souls the light."

"Thy words, Savitri, greet mine earAs sweet as founts that murmur lowTo one who in the deserts drearWith parchèd tongue moves faint and slow,Because thy talk is heart-sincere,Without hypocrisy or guile;Demand another boon, my dear,But not of those forbad erewhile,

And I shall grant it, ere we part:Lo, the stars pale,—the way is long,Receive thy boon, and homewards start,For ah, poor child, thou art not strong."

"Another boon! My sire the kingBeside myself hath children none,Oh grant that from his stock may springA hundred boughs." "It shall be done.He shall be blest with many a sonWho his old palace shall rejoice.""Each heart-wish from thy goodness won,If I am still allowed a choice,I fain thy voice would ever hear,Reluctant am I still to part,The way seems short when thou art nearAnd Satyavan, my heart's dear heart.

Of all the pleasures given on earthThe company of the good is best,For weariness has never birthIn such a commerce sweet and blest;The sun runs on its wonted course,The earth its plenteous treasure yields,All for their sake, and by the forceTheir prayer united ever wields.

Oh let me, let me ever dwellAmidst the good, where'er it be,Whether in lowly hermit-cellOr in some spot beyond the sea.

The favours man accords to menAre never fruitless, from them riseA thousand acts beyond our kenThat float like incense to the skies;For benefits can ne'er efface,They multiply and widely spread,And honour follows on their trace.Sharp penances, and vigils dread,Austerities, and wasting fasts,Create an empire, and the blestLong as this spiritual empire lastsBecome the saviours of the rest."

"O thou endowed with every graceAnd every virtue,—thou whose soulAppears upon thy lovely face,May the great gods who all controlSend thee their peace. I too would giveOne favour more before I go;Ask something for thyself, and liveHappy, and dear to all below,

Till summoned to the bliss above.Savitri ask, and ask unblamed."—She took the clue, felt Death was Love,For no exceptions now he named,

And boldly said,—"Thou knowest, Lord,The inmost hearts and thoughts of all!There is no need to utter word,Upon thy mercy sole, I call.If speech be needful to obtainThy grace,—oh hear a wife forlorn,Let my Satyavan live againAnd children unto us be born,Wise, brave, and valiant." "From thy stockA hundred families shall springAs lasting as the solid rock,Each son of thine shall be a king."

As thus he spoke, he loosed the knotThe soul of Satyavan that bound,And promised further that their lotIn pleasant places should be foundThenceforth, and that they both should liveFour centuries, to which the nameOf fair Savitri, men would give,—And then he vanished in a flame.

"Adieu, great god!" She took the soul,No bigger than the human thumb,And running swift, soon reached her goal,Where lay the body stark and dumb.

She lifted it with eager handsAnd as before, when he expired,She placed the head upon the bandsThat bound her breast which hope new fired,And which alternate rose and fell;Then placed his soul upon his heartWhence like a bee it found its cell,And lo, he woke with sudden start!His breath came low at first, then deep,With an unquiet look he gazed,As one awaking from a sleepWholly bewildered and amazed.

As consciousness came slowly backHe recognised his loving wife—"Who was it, Love, through regions blackWhere hardly seemed a sign of lifeCarried me bound? Methinks I viewThe dark face yet—a noble face,He had a robe of scarlet hue,And ruby crown; far, far through spaceHe bore me, on and on, but now,"—"Thou hast been sleeping, but the manWith glory on his kingly brow,Is gone, thou seest, Satyavan!

O my belovèd,—thou art free!Sleep which had bound thee fast, hath leftThine eyelids. Try thyself to be!For late of every sense bereftThou seemedst in a rigid trance;And if thou canst my love, arise,Regard the night, the dark expanseSpread out before us, and the skies."

Supported by her, looked he longUpon the landscape dim outspread,And like some old remembered songThe past came back,—a tangled thread.

"I had a pain, as if an aspGnawed in my brain, and there I laySilent, for oh! I could but gasp,Till some one came that bore awayMy spirit into lands unknown:Thou, dear, who watchedst beside me,—sayWas it a dream from elfland blown,Or very truth,—my doubts to stay.""O Love, look round,—how strange and dreadThe shadows of the high trees fall,Homeward our path now let us tread,To-morrow I shall tell thee all.

Arise! Be strong! Gird up thy loins!Think of our parents, dearest friend!The solemn darkness haste enjoins,Not likely is it soon to end.Hark! Jackals still at distance howl,The day, long, long will not appear,Lo, wild fierce eyes through bushes scowl,Summon thy courage, lest I fear.

Was that the tiger's sullen growl?What means this rush of many feet?Can creatures wild so near us prowl?Rise up, and hasten homewards, sweet!"

He rose, but could not find the track,And then, too well, Savitri knewHis wonted force had not come back.She made a fire, and from the dewEssayed to shelter him. At lastHe nearly was himself again,—Then vividly rose all the pastAnd with the past, new fear and pain."What anguish must my parents feelWho wait for me the livelong hours!Their sore wound let us haste to healBefore it festers, past our powers:

For broken-hearted, they may die!Oh hasten dear,—now I am strong,No more I suffer, let us fly,Ah me! each minute seems so long.They told me once, they could not liveWithout me, in their feeble age,Their food and water I must giveAnd help them in the last sad stage

Of earthly life, and that BeyondIn which a son can help by rites.Oh what a love is theirs—how fond!Whom now Despair, perhaps, benights.

Infirm herself, my mother dearNow guides, methinks, the tottering feetOf my blind father, for they hearAnd hasten eagerly to meetOur fancied steps. O faithful wifeLet us on wings fly back again,Upon their safety hangs my life!"He tried his feelings to restrain,But like some river swelling highThey swept their barriers weak and vain,Sudden there burst a fearful cry,Then followed tears,—like autumn rain.

Hush! Hark, a sweet voice rises clear!A voice of earnestness intense,"If I have worshipped Thee in fearAnd duly paid with reverenceThe solemn sacrifices,—hear!Send consolation, and thy peaceEternal, to our parents dear,That their anxieties may cease.

Oh, ever hath I loved Thy truthTherefore on Thee I dare to call,Help us, this night, and them, for soothWithout thy help, we perish all."

She took in hers Satyavan's hand,She gently wiped his falling tears,"This weakness, Love, I understand!Courage!" She smiled away his fears."Now we shall go, for thou art strong."She helped him rise up by her sideAnd led him like a child along,He, wistfully the basket eyedLaden with fruit and flowers. "Not now,To-morrow we shall fetch it hence."And so, she hung it on a bough,I'll bear thy saw for our defence."

In one fair hand the saw she took,The other with a charming graceShe twined around him, and her lookShe turnèd upwards to his face.Thus aiding him she felt anewHis bosom beat against her own—More firm his step, more clear his view,More self-possessed his words and tone

Became, as swift the minutes past,And now the pathway he discerns,And 'neath the trees, they hurry fast,For Hope's fair light before them burns.

Under the faint beams of the starsHow beautiful appeared the flowersLight scarlet, flecked with golden barsOf the palâsas, in the bowersThat Nature there herself had madeWithout the aid of man. At timesTrees on their path cast densest shade,And nightingales sang mystic rhymesTheir fears and sorrows to assuage.Where two paths met, the north they chose,As leading to the hermitage,And soon before them, dim it rose.

Here let us end. For all may guessThe blind old king received his sight,And ruled again with gentlenessThe country that was his by right;And that Savitri's royal sireWas blest with many sons,—a race

Whom poets praised for martial fire,And every peaceful gift and grace.As for Savitri, to this dayHer name is named, when couples wed,And to the bride the parents say,Be thou like her, in heart and head.