That somewhere, for some reason (ask not me!), He quitted her, this rash one. And--so wrenched Apart from hers--his spirit, bad and sad, Muses and moans, with grief's slow fire consumed Night-time and day-time. Thence it is he sings At every sunset this unchanging verse, An outcast on the earth, by hazard led Hither and thither. Such a man thou seest Woful, unworthy, holding in his heart Always that sin. I was that lady's lord, Whom she did follow through the dreadful wood, Living by me abandoned, at this hour; If yet, in truth, she lives--youthful, alone, Unpractised in the ways, not meriting Fortunes so hard. Ah, if indeed she lives, Who roamed the thick and boundless forest, full Of prowling beasts--roamed it, my Jivala, Unguarded by her guilty lord--forsook, Betrayed, good friend!" Thus did Nishadha grieve, Calling sweet Damayanti to his mind. So tarried he within the Raja's house, And no man knew his place of sojourning. While, stripped of state, the Prince and Princess thus Were sunk to servitude, Bhima made quest, Sending his Bráhmans forth to search for them With straight commands, and for their road-money Liberal store. "Seek everywhere," said he Unto the twice-born, "Nala--everywhere My daughter Damayanti. Whoso comes Successful in this quest, discovering her-- With lost Nishadha's Lord--and bringing them, A thousand cows to that man will I give, And village-lands whence shall be revenue As great as from a city. If so be Ye cannot bring me Nala and my child, To him that learns their refuge I will give The thousand cows." Thereby rejoiced, they went, Those Bráhmans, hither and thither, up and down, Into all regions, rajaships, and towns, Seeking Nishadha's Chieftain, and his wife. But Nala nowhere found they; nowhere found Sweet Damayanti, Bhima's beauteous child-- Until, straying to pleasant Chedipur, One day a twice-born came, Sudêva named, And entered it; and, spying round about (Upon a feast-day by the King proclaimed), He saw forth-passing through the palace gate A woman--Bhima's daughter--side by side With young Sunandâ. Little praise had now That beauty which in old days shone so bright; Marred with much grief it was, like sunlight dimmed By fold on fold of wreathed and creeping mists. But when Sudêva marked the great dark eyes-- Lustreless though they were, and she so worn, So listless--"Lo, the Princess!" whispered he;-- "'Tis the King's daughter," quoth he to himself; And thus mused on:-- "Yea! as I used to see, 'Tis she! no other woman hath such grace! My task is done; I gaze on that one form, Which is like Lakshmi's, whom all worlds adore. I see the bosoms, rounded, dark, and smooth,