“What charms are here revealed before mine eyes! Truly no blemish mars the symmetry Of that fair form; yet can I ne’er believe She is my wedded wife; and like a bee That circles round the flower whose nectared cup Teems with the dew of morning, I must pause Ere eagerly I taste the proffered sweetness.” Then Sakoontalâ seeks her ring, but alas! it is not on her finger; she must have dropped it in the Ganges. In the midst of her confusion a nymph appears, and carries her off to a sacred retreat, where she gives birth to a son. Meanwhile a fish is caught, in which is found the fatal ring, stamped with the rajah’s name. It is restored to its owner, and at once the recollection of his long-forgotten Sakoontalâ flashes upon his mind. Overwhelmed with poignant regret for her loss, he abandons himself to melancholy for a time, calling on her beloved name, or trying to beguile his grief by tracing with his pencil her features now but too well remembered. At length ambition and piety unite to wake him from his lethargy. He embarks in a campaign against the giants, enemies of the gods; is victorious; and finds the consummation of happiness at last in a union with his long-lost wife, and with his son, whose name, Bhârata, becomes the most distinguished in the mythology of India. English readers are enabled to enjoy the beauties of Sakoontalâ through the metrical version of Prof. Williams. EXTRACTS FROM SAKOONTALÂ. PARTING WORDS OF THE SAGE TO HIS ADOPTED DAUGHTER. “This day my loved one leaves me, and my heart Is heavy with its grief: the streams of sorrow, Choked at the source, repress my faltering voice. I have no words to speak; mine eyes are dimmed By the dark shadows of the thoughts that rise Within my soul. If such the force of grief In an old hermit parted from his nursling, What anguish must the stricken parent feel, Bereft forever of an only daughter! Weep not, my daughter, check the gathering tear That lurks beneath thine eyelid, ere it flow And weaken thy resolve; be firm and true— True to thyself and me; the path of life Will lead o’er hill and plain, o’er rough and smooth, And all must feel the steepness of the way; Tho’ rugged be thy course, press boldly on. Honor thy betters; ever be respectful To those above thee. Should thy wedded lord Treat thee with harshness, thou must never be Harsh in return, but patient and submissive. Be to thy menials courteous, and to all Placed under thee considerate and kind: Be never self-indulgent, but avoid Excess in pleasure; and, when fortune smiles, Be not puffed up. Thus to thy husband’s house Wilt thou a blessing prove, and not a curse.