Ancient Ballads and Legends of Hindustan | Page 8

much; Though in a lowly home she dwelt Her conduct as a wife was such As to illumine all the place; She sickened not, nor sighed, nor pined; But with simplicity and grace Discharged each household duty kind. Strong in all manual work,--and strong To comfort, cherish, help, and pray, The hours past peacefully along And rippling bright, day followed day.
At morn Satyavan to the wood Early repaired and gathered flowers And fruits, in its wild solitude, And fuel,--till advancing hours Apprised him that his frugal meal Awaited him. Ah, happy time! Savitri, who with fervid zeal Had 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 speech Of Narad Muni. As the days Slipt smoothly past, each after each, In private she more fervent prays. But there is none to share her fears, For how could she communicate The sad cause of her bidden 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 rite The 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 sound The word seem'd in her ear to ring! O breaking heart,--thy pain profound Thy 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 seen Which shall be victor, Death or Love!
Incessant in her prayers from morn, The noon is safely tided,--then A gleam of faint, faint hope is born, But the heart fluttered like a wren That sees the shadow of the hawk Sail on,--and trembles in affright, Lest a down-rushing swoop should mock Its fortune, and o'erwhelm it quite. The afternoon has come and gone And 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 cool Expect 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 trace In darkness,--till the morrow stay." "Not hard for me, who can discern The forest-paths in any hour, Blindfold I could with ease return, And day has not yet lost its power."
"He goes then," thought Savitri, "thus With unseen bands Fate draws us on Unto the place appointed us; We feel no outward force,--anon We go to marriage or to death At a determined time and place; We are her playthings; with her breath She 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 gear Let me permission get to go."
His sire she seeks,--the blind old king, And asks from him permission straight. "My daughter, night with ebon wing Hovers above; the hour is late. My son is active, brave, and strong, Conversant with the woods, he knows Each path; methinks it would be wrong For thee to venture where he goes, Weak and defenceless as thou art, At such a time. If thou wert near Thou might'st embarrass him, dear heart, Alone, he would not have a fear."
So spake the hermit-monarch blind, His wife too, entering in, exprest The self-same thoughts in words as kind, And begged Savitri hard, to rest. "Thy recent fasts and vigils, child, Make thee unfit to undertake This journey to the forest wild." But nothing could her purpose shake. She urged the nature of her vows, Required her now the rites were done To follow where her loving spouse Might 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 eve Deepen 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 ran Where with his saw in lieu of sword, And basket, plodded Satyavan.
Oh, lovely are the