So spake the wounded boy, on me--while turned his unreproaching face. As from his palpitating breast--I gently drew the mortal dart, He saw me trembling stand, and blest--that boy's pure spirit seemed to part. As died that holy hermit's son--from me my glory seemed to go, With troubled mind I stood, cast down--t' inevitable endless woe. That shaft that seemed his life to burn--like serpent venom, thus drawn out, I, taking up his fallen urn--t' his father's dwelling took my route. There miserable, blind, and old--of their sole helpmate thus forlorn, His parents did these eyes behold--like two sad birds with pinions shorn. Of him in fond discourse they sate--lone, thinking only of their son, For his return so long, so late--impatient, oh by me undone. My footsteps' sound he seemed to know--and thus the aged hermit said, 'Oh, Yajnadatta, why so slow?--haste, let the cooling draught be shed. Long, on the river's pleasant brink--hast thou been sporting in thy joy, Thy mother's fainting spirits sink--in fear for thee, but thou, my boy, If aught to grieve thy gentle heart--thy mother or thy sire do wrong, Bear with us, nor when next we part--on the slow way thus linger long. The feet of those that cannot move--of those that cannot see the eye, Our spirits live but in thy love--Oh wherefore, dearest, no reply?' My throat thick swollen with bursting tears--my power of speech that seemed to choke, With hands above my head, my fears--breaking my quivering voice, I spoke; 'The Kshatriya Dasaratha I--Oh hermit sage, 'tis not thy son! Most holy ones, unknowingly--a deed of awful guilt I've done. With bow in hand I took my way--along Sarayu's pleasant brink, The savage buffalo to slay--or elephant come down to drink. A sound came murmuring to my ear--'twas of the urn that slowly filled, I deemed some savage wild-beast near--my erring shaft thy son had killed. A feeble groan I heard, his breast--was pierced by that dire arrow keen: All trembling to the spot I pressed--lo there thy hermit boy was seen. Flew to the sound my arrow, meant--the wandering elephant to slay, Toward the river brink it went--and there thy son expiring lay. The fatal shaft when forth I drew--to heaven his parting spirit soared, Dying he only thought of you--long, long, your lonely lot deplored. Thus ignorantly did I slay--your child beloved, Oh hermit sage! Turn thou on me, whose fated day--is come, thy all-consuming rage.' He heard my dreadful tale at length--he stood all lifeless, motionless; Then deep he groaned, and gathering strength--me his meek suppliant did address. 'Kshatriya, 'tis well that thou hast turned--thy deed of murder to rehearse, Else over all thy land had burned--the fire of my wide-wasting curse. If with premeditated crime--the unoffending blood thou'dst spilt,