Oh to find a place of refuge--in this dire extremity, For my wife, my son, my daughter--and myself what hope may be? Oft I've said to thee, my dearest--Priestess, that thou knowest well, But my word thou never heededst--let us go where peace may dwell. "Here I had my birth, my nurture--still my sire is living here; Oh unwise!" 'twas thus thou answeredst--to my oft-repeated prayer. Thine old father went to heaven--slept thy mother by his side, Then thy near and dear relations--why delight'st thou here t' abide? Fondly loving still thy kindred--thine old home thou would'st not leave, Of thy kindred death deprived thee--in thy griefs I could but grieve. Now to me is death approaching--never victim will I give, From mine house, like some base craven--and myself consent to live. Thee with righteous soul, the gentle--ever like a mother deemed, A sweet friend the gods have given me--aye my choicest wealth esteem'd. From thy parents thee, consenting--mistress of my house I took, Thee I chose, and thee I honoured--as enjoins the holy book. Thou the high-born, thou the virtuous!--my dear children's mother thou, Only to prolong my being--thee the good, the blameless, now, Can to thy death surrender--mine own true, my faithful wife? Yet my son can I abandon--in his early bloom of life, Offer him in his sweet childhood--with no down his cheek to shade? Her, whom Brahma, the all-bounteous--for a lovely bride hath made, Mother of a race of heroes--a heaven-winning race may make;[153] Of myself begot, the virgin--could I ever her forsake? Towards a son the hearts of fathers--some have thought, are deepest moved, Others deem the daughter dearer--both alike I've ever loved: She that sons, that heaven hath in her--sons whose offerings heaven may win, Can I render up my daughter--blameless, undefiled by sin? If myself I offer, sorrow--in the next world my lot must be, Hardly then could live my children--and my wife bereft of me. One of these so dear to offer--to the wise, were sin, were shame, Yet without me they must perish--how to 'scape the sin, the blame! Woe! Oh woe! where find I refuge--for myself, for mine, oh where! Better 'twere to die together--for to live I cannot bear. _The_ BRAHMIN'S WIFE _speaks_.