But Saramá, of gentler mood, With pitying eyes the mourner viewed, Stole to her side and softly told Glad tidings that her heart consoled. Revealing with sweet voice and smile The secret of the giant's guile. She, one of those who night and day Watching in turns by Sítá lay.
Though Rákshas born felt pity's touch, And loved the hapless lady much.
'I heard,' she said, 'thy bitter cry, Heard Rávan's speech and thy reply, For, hiding in the thicket near, No word or tone escaped mine ear. When Rávan hastened forth I bent My steps to follow as he went, And learnt the secret cause that drove The monarch from the As'oka grove.
Believe me, Queen, thou needst not weep For Ráma slaughtered in his sleep. Thy lion lord of men defies By day attack, by night surprise. Can even giants slay with ease Vast hosts who fight with brandished tree, For whom, with eye that never sleeps, His constant watch thy Ráma keeps?
Lord of the mighty arm and chest, Of earthly warriors first and best, Whose fame through all the regions rings, Proud scion of a hundred kings; Who guards his life and loves to lend His saving succour to a friend: Whose bow no hand but his can strain,-- Thy lord, thy Ráma is not slain.
Obedient to his master's will, A great magician, trained in ill. With deftest art surpassing thought That marvellous illusion wrought. Let rising hope thy grief dispel: Look up and smile, for all is well. And gentle Lakshmí, Fortune's Queen, Regards thee with a favouring mien.
Thy Ráma with his Vánar train Has thrown a bridge athwart the main, Has led his countless legions o'er, And ranged them on this southern shore. These eyes have seen the hero stand Girt by his hosts on Lanká's strand, And breathless spies each moment bring Fresh tidings to the giant king;
And every peer and lord of state Is called to counsel and debate.' She ceased: the sound, long loud and clear, Of gathering armies smote her ear, Where call of drum and shell rang out, The tambour and the battle shout; And, while the din the echoes woke, Again to Janak's child she spoke:
'Hear, lady, hear the loud alarms That call the Rákshas troops to arms, From stable and from stall they lead The elephant and neighing steed, Brace harness on with deftest care, And chariots for the fight prepare. Swift o'er the trembling ground career Mailed horsemen armed with axe and spear.
And here and there in road and street The terrible battalions meet. I hear the gathering near and far, The snorting steed, the rattling car. Bold chieftains, leaders of the brave, Press densely on, like wave on wave, And bright the evening sunbeams glance On helm and shield, on sword and lance.
Hark, lady, to the ringing steel, Hark to the rolling chariot wheel: Hark to the mettled courser's neigh And drums' loud thunder far away. The Queen of Fortune holds thee dear, For Lanká's troops are struck with fear, And Ráma with the lotus eyes, Like Indra monarch of the skies, With conquering arm will slay his foe And free his lady from her woe.
Soon will his breast support thy head, And tears of joy thine eyes will shed. Soon by his mighty arm embraced The long-lost rapture wilt thou taste, And Ráma, meet for highest bliss, Will gain his guerdon in thy kiss.'
