PUPIL.--My master, the venerable Kanwa, who is but lately returned from his pilgrimage, has ordered me to ascertain how the time goes. I have therefore come into the open air to see if it be still dark. [_Walking and looking about_.] Oh! the dawn has already broken. Lo! in one quarter of the sky, the Moon, Lord of the herbs and night-expanding flowers, Sinks towards his bed behind the western hills; While in the east, preceded by the Dawn, His blushing charioteer, the glorious Sun Begins his course, and far into the gloom Casts the first radiance of his orient beams, Hail! co-eternal orbs, that rise to set, And set to rise again; symbols divine Of man's reverses, life's vicissitudes. And now, While the round Moon withdraws his looming disc Beneath the western sky, the full-blown flower Of the night-loving lotus sheds her leaves In sorrow for his loss, bequeathing nought But the sweet memory of her loveliness To my bereavèd sight: e'en as the bride Disconsolately mourns her absent lord, And yields her heart a prey to anxious grief. ANASÚYÁ [_entering abruptly_].--Little as I know of the ways of the world, I cannot help thinking that King Dushyanta is treating Śakoontalá very improperly. PUPIL.--Well, I must let my revered preceptor know that it is time to offer the burnt oblation. [_Exit._ ANASÚYÁ.--I am broad awake, but what shall I do? I have no energy to go about my usual occupations. My hands and feet seem to have lost their power. Well, Love has gained his object; and Love only is to blame for having induced our dear friend, in the innocence of her heart, to confide in such a perfidious man. Possibly, however, the imprecation of Durvasas may be already taking effect. Indeed, I cannot otherwise account for the King's strange conduct, in allowing so long a time to elapse without even a letter; and that, too, after so many promises and protestations. I cannot think what to do, unless we send him the ring which was to be the token of recognition. But which of these austere hermits could we ask to be the bearer of it? Then, again, Father Kanwa has just returned from his pilgrimage: and how am I to inform him of Śakoontalá's marriage to King Dushyanta, and her expectation of being soon a mother? I never could bring myself to tell him, even if I felt that Śakoontalá had been in fault, which she certainly has not. What is to be done? PRIYAMVADÁ [_entering; joyfully_].--Quick! quick! Anasúyá! come and assist in the joyful preparations for Śakoontalá's departure to her husband's palace. ANASÚYÁ.--My dear girl, what can you mean? PRIYAMVADÁ.--Listen, now, and I will tell you all about it. I went just now to Śakoontalá, to inquire whether she had slept comfortably-- ANASÚYÁ.--Well, well; go on.