Their tender love the people drew

To follow RÁma brave and true,

The high-souled hero, as he went

Forth from his home to banishment.

The king himself his friends obeyed,

And turned him homeward as they prayed.

But yet the people turned not back,

Still close on RÁma's chariot track.

For they who in AyodhyÁ dwelt

For him such fond affection felt,

Decked with all grace and glories high,

The dear full moon of every eye.

Though much his people prayed and wept,

Kakutstha's son his purpose kept,

And still his journey would pursue

To keep the king his father true.

Deep in the hero's bosom sank

Their love, whose signs his glad eye drank.

He spoke to cheer them, as his own

Dear children, in a loving tone:

Give Bharat now that love entire

And reverence shown to me by all

Who dwell within AyodhyÁ's wall.

For he, KaikeyÍ's darling son,

His virtuous career will run,

And ever bound by duty's chain

Consult your weal and bliss and gain.

In judgment old, in years a child,

With hero virtues meek and mild,

A fitting lord is he to cheer

His people and remove their fear.

In him all kingly gifts abound,

More noble than in me are found:

Imperial prince, well proved and tried—

Obey him as your lord and guide.

And grant, I pray, the boon I ask:

To please the king be still your task,

That his fond heart, while I remain

The more he showed his will to tread

The path where filial duty led,

The more the people, round him thronged,

For their dear RÁma's empire longed.

Still more attached his followers grew,

As RÁma, with his brother, drew

The people with his virtues' ties,

Lamenting all with tear-dimmed eyes.

The saintly twice-born, triply old

In glory, knowledge, seasons told,

With hoary heads that shook and bowed,

Their voices raised and spake aloud:

Who whirl so swiftly RÁma's car,

Go not, return: we call on you:

Be to your master kind and true.

For speechless things are swift to hear,

And naught can match a horse's ear,

O generous steeds, return, when thus

You hear the cry of all of us.

Each vow he keeps most firm and sure,

And duty makes his spirit pure.

Back with our chief! not wood-ward hence;

Soon as he saw the aged band.

Exclaiming in their misery, stand,

And their sad cries around him rang,

Swift from his chariot RÁma sprang.

Then, still upon his journey bent,

With SÍtÁ and with Lakshma? went

The hero by the old men's side

Suiting to theirs his shortened stride.

He could not pass the twice-born throng

As weariedly they walked along:

With pitying heart, with tender eye,

He could not in his chariot fly.

When the steps of RÁma viewed

That still his onward course pursued,

Woe shook the troubled heart of each,

And burnt with grief they spoke this speech—

All BrÁhmans go and BrÁhmanhood:

Borne on our aged shoulders, see,

Our fires of worship go with thee.

Bright canopies that lend their shade

In VÁjapeya319 rites displayed,

In plenteous store are borne behind

Like cloudlets in the autumn wind.

No shelter from the sun hast thou,

And, les