Because, my boy, in innocence--by wicked deed thou hast been slain, Rise, where the heroes dwell, who thence--ne'er stoop to this dark world again. Those that to earth return no more--the sense-subdued, the hermits wise, Priests their sage masters that adore--to their eternal seats arise. Those that have studied to the last--the Veda's, the Vedanga's page, Where saintly kings of earth have passed--Nahusa and Yayáti sage; The sires of holy families--the true to wedlock's sacred vow; And those that cattle, gold, or rice--or lands with liberal hands bestow; That ope th' asylum to th' oppressed--that ever love, and speak the truth, Up to the dwellings of the blest--th' eternal, soar thou, best loved youth. For none of such a holy race--within the lowest seat may dwell; But that will be his fatal place--by whom my only offspring fell.' So groaning deep, that wretched pair--the hermit and his wife, essayed The meet ablution to prepare--their hands their last faint effort made. Divine, with glorious body bright--in splendid car of heaven elate, Before them stood their son in light--and thus consoled their helpless state: 'Meed of my duteous filial care--I've reached the wished for realms of joy;[152] And ye, in those glad realms, prepare--to meet full soon your dear-loved boy. My parents, weep no more for me--yon warrior monarch slew me not, My death was thus ordained to be;--predestined was the shaft he shot." Thus, as he spoke, the anchorite's son--soared up the glowing heaven afar, In air his heavenly body shone--while stood he in his gorgeous car. But they, of that lost boy so dear--the last ablution meetly made, Thus spoke to me that holy seer--with folded hands above his head. 'Albeit by thy unknowing dart--my blameless boy untimely fell, A curse I lay upon thy heart--whose fearful pain I know too well. As sorrowing for my son I bow--and yield up my unwilling breath, So, sorrowing for thy son shalt thou--at life's last close repose in death.' That curse, dread sounding in mine ear--to mine own city forth I set, Nor long survived that hermit seer--to mourn his child in lone regret. This day that Brahmin curse fulfilled--hath fallen on my devoted head, In anguish for any parted child--have all my sinking spirits fled. No more my darkened eyes can see--my clouded memory is o'ercast, Dark Yama's heralds summon me--to his deep, dreary, realm to haste. Mine eye no more my Rama sees--and grief o'erburns, my spirits sink, As the swollen stream sweeps down the trees--that grow upon the crumbling brink. Oh, felt I Rama's touch, or spake--one word his home-returning voice, Again to life should I awake--as quaffing nectar draughts rejoice, But what so sad could e'er have been--celestial partner of my heart,