“I will not be a charge to thee: the wood will give me roots, The spring will yield me water, and the branch provide me fruits. In hermit’s humble mantle clad, and guarded by my lord, I long to wander through the wood, the rivulet to ford, To climb the rock, and gaze upon the lake that looks so cool; And oh! the pleasant bathing in the clear and shaded pool, With waters freshly running from the sweet perennial springs, All lovely with the lotuses and wild swans’ silver wings. I would not live in heaven itself, and thou, my love, away; A thousand years with thee, my love, would seem one blissful day. Then take me with thee to the wood, nor leave me here alone: I will not be a burthen sore to thee, mine own! mine own!” But Râma seeks to dissuade her:— “The forest life has fears and woes too many to be told: Thirst, hunger, burning heat by day, by night the bitter cold. Each moment on some deadly thing the heedless step may fall, Where serpents with their venomed fangs and poisonous scorpions crawl; There thro’ the day the tiger roams, the panther and the boar, And thro’ the night the caverned hills echo the lion’s roar; There many a river deep and wide will bar thine onward way, Where fearful crocodiles amid the foaming waters play. The forest paths, my Sîtâ dear, are rough and hard to pass, Tangled with knotted creeping plants, and thorns, and matted grass. O’er many a league the wild woods stretch, and savage beasts abound; No fruit or flower may there be seen, and water scarce is found; No bed is there to rest the limbs, but stretched upon a heap Of fallen leaves and gathered grass the homeless wretch must sleep. No, such a life is not for thee; cast thou the thought away; Here in the palace of the king in peace and safety stay. Though far away from thee I go, and thou remainest here, Still shalt thou live within the heart to which thou art so dear.” Yet Sîtâ still refuses to be parted from her husband, and with tearful eyes exclaims:— “And death to me were sweeter far, with thine arms round me thrown, Than life in thy father’s palaces, in safety, but alone. The wife’s eternal duty is, as holy priests declare, To follow where her husband goes, his weal and woe to share; And for the true and loving wife remains the endless bliss Of sharing all this life with him, and the life that follows this.” But, Râma being still inexorable, Sîtâ bursts forth in anger, upbraids him for his cruelty in deserting her, and finally, overcome by emotion, falls weeping at his feet. Then Râma raises her in his arms, and pours these soothing accents in her ear:—