212 MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE. 



* My parents, weep no more for me yon warrior monarch slew me not, 

 ' My death was thus ordained to be ; predestined was the shaft he shot/ ., 

 Thus, as he spoke, the anchorite's son soared up the glowing heaven afar, 

 In air his heavenly body shone while stood he in his gorgeous car." 



The king continues to narrate how the father now told him that although the 

 dart by which his boy untimely fell was aimed in ignorance, yet that he shall 

 not altogether escape punishment. 



" * As sorrowing for my son I bow and yield up my unwilling breath, 

 ' So sorrowing for thy son shalt thou at life's last close repose in death/ 

 That curse, dread sounding in mine ear to mine own city forth I set, 

 Nor long survived that hermit seer to mourn his child in lone regret. 

 This day that Brahmin curse fulfilled hath fallen on my devoted head, 

 In anguish for my parted child have all my sinking spirits fled. 

 No more my darkened eyes can see my clouded memory is o'ercast, 

 Dark Yama's heralds summon me to his deep dreary realm to haste. 

 Mine eye no more my Rama sees and grief o'erburns my spirits sink, 

 As the swoln stream sweeps down the trees that grow upon the crumbling 

 brink/' 



With resigned grief and pathetic lamentation the king continues to bewail 

 the beautiful the banished Rama. He dwells with a kind of softened envy 

 upon the happiness of those who shall see his return : 



" Dwelling on that sweet memory on his last bed the monarch lay, 

 And slowly, softly seemed to die as fades the moon at dawn away." 



The other two pieces contained in this volume are, " The Brahmin's La- 

 ment " and " The Deluge," both extracts from the Mahabharata, a poem of 

 great antiquity, some carrying back its date to two thousand years before 

 Christ, and full of the most lively descriptions of old world life and manners 

 among the Hindoos. 



The story of " The Brahmin's Lament" is soon told : while the sons of 

 Pandu dwelt in Eketshara, the neighbourhood of that city was haunted by a 

 terrible giant, named Baka, to whom a tribute of human flesh was daily paid. 

 After his ogre-appetite had been for some time satisfied by a succession of 

 meaner victims, it had at last come to the Brahmin's turn to furnish forth the 

 horrible repast. His family was composed of himself, his wife, a grown up 

 daughter, and a little prattling son, and one of these must be surrendered as 

 a victim to the giant. The contest which arises between them respecting who 

 shall have precedence in this act of self-devotion is highly affecting and pathe- 

 tic* In turn the father, mother, and daughter, urge their claims to become 

 the sacrifice, in what may be fairly called three beautiful Indian elegies. We 

 give some extracts from that of the wife, as a specimen. 



" As of lowly caste, my husband yield not thus thy soul to woe, 

 This is not a time for wailing who the Vedas knows must know : 

 Fate inevitable orders all must yield to death in turn, 

 Hence the doom, th' irrevocable it beseems not thee to mourn. 

 Man hath wife, and son, and daughter for the joy of his own heart, 

 Wherefore wisely check thy sorrow it is I must hence depart. 

 'Tis the wife's most holy duty law on earth without repeal, 

 That her life she offer freely when demands her husband's weal. 

 And e'en now, a deed so noble hath its meed of pride and bliss, 

 In the next world life eternal-'-and unending fame in this. 

 Tis a high yet certain duty that my life I thus resign, 

 Tis thy right, as thy advantage both the willing deed enjoin 

 All for which a wife is wedded long ere now through me thou'st won, 

 Blooming son and gentle daughter that my debt is paid and done. 



