Than, Rama's beauteous face unseen,--from life untimely to depart. His exile in the forest o'er--him home returned to Oudes high town, Oh happy those, that see once more--like Indra from the sky come down. No mortal men, but gods I deem--moonlike, before whose wondering sight, My Rama's glorious face shall beam--from the dark forest bursting bright. Happy that gaze on Rama's face--with beauteous teeth and smile of love, Like the blue lotus in its grace--and like the starry king above. Like to the full autumnal moon--and like the lotus in its bloom, That youth who sees returning soon--how blest shall be that mortal's doom. Dwelling on that sweet memory--on his last bed the monarch lay, And slowly, softly, seemed to die--as fades the moon at dawn away. "Ah, Rama! ah, my son!" thus said--or scarcely said, the king of men, His gentle hapless spirit fled--in sorrow for his Rama then, The shepherd of his people old--at midnight on his bed of death, The tale of his son's exile told--and breathed away his dying breath. EXTRACTS FROM THE MAHABHARATA. THE BRAHMIN'S LAMENT. The hostility of the kindred races of Pandu and Kuru forms one of the great circles of Indian fable. It fills great part of the immense poem, the Mahabharata. At this period the five sons of Pandu and their mother Kunti have been driven into the wilderness from the court of their uncle Dritarashtra at Nâgapur. The brothers, during their residence in the forest, have an encounter with a terrible giant, Hidimba, the prototype of the Cyclops of Homer, and of the whole race of giants of northern origin, who, after amusing our ancestors, children of larger growth, descended to our nurseries, from whence they are now well-nigh exploded. After this adventure the brothers take up their residence in the city of Ekachara, where they are hospitably received in the house of a Brahmin. The neighbourhood of this city is haunted by another terrible giant, Baka, whose cannibal appetite has been glutted by a succession of meaner victims. It is now come to the Brahmin's turn to furnish the fatal banquet; they overhear the following complaint of their host, whose family, consisting of himself, his wife, a grown up daughter, and a son a little child, must surrender one to become the horrible repast of the monster. In turn, the father, the mother, in what may be fairly called three singularly pathetic Indian elegies, enforce each their claim to the privilege of suffering for the rest. THE BRAHMIN'S LAMENT. Alas for life, so vain, so weary--in this changing world below, Ever-teeming root of sorrow--still dependent, full of woe! Still to life clings strong affliction--life that's one long suffering all, Whoso lives must bear his sorrow--soon or late that must befall. * * * * *