As of lowly caste, my husband--yield not thus thy soul to woe, This is not a time for wailing--who the Vedas knows must know: Fate inevitable orders--all must yield to death in turn, Hence the doom, th' irrevocable--it beseems not thee to mourn. Man hath wife, and son, and daughter--for the joy of his own heart. Wherefore wisely check thy sorrow--it is I must hence depart. Tis the wife's most holy duty--law on earth without repeal, That her life she offer freely--when demands her husband's weal. And e'en now, a deed so noble--hath its meed of pride and bliss, In the next world life eternal--and unending fame in this. 'Tis a high, yet certain duty--that my life I thus resign, 'Tis thy right, as thy advantage--both the willing deed enjoin-- All for which a wife is wedded--long erenow through me thou'st won, Blooming son and gentle daughter--that my debt is paid and done. Thou may'st well support our children--gently guard, when I am gone, I shall have no power to guard them--nor support them, left alone. Oh, despoiled of thy assistance--lord of me, and all I have, How these little ones from ruin--how my hapless self to save: Widow'd, reft of thee, and helpless--with two children in their youth, How maintain my son, and daughter--in the path of right and truth. From the lustful, from the haughty--how shall I our child protect, When they seek thy blameless daughter--by a father's awe unchecked. As the birds in numbers swarming--gather o'er the earth-strewn corn, Thus the men round some sad widow--of her noble lord forlorn. Thus by all the rude and reckless--with profane desires pursued,[154] How shall I the path still follow--loved and honoured by the good. This thy dear, thy only daughter--this pure maiden innocent, How to teach the way of goodness--where her sire, her fathers went. How can I instil the virtues--in the bosom of our child, Helpless and beset on all sides--as thou would'st in duty skilled. Round thy unprotected daughter--Sudras like[155] to holy lore, Scorning me in their wild passion--will unworthy suitors pour. And if I refuse to give her--mindful of thy virtuous course, As the storks the rice of offering[156]--they will bear her off by force. Should I see my son degenerate--like his noble sire no more, In the power of the unworthy--the sweet daughter that I bore; And myself, the world's scorn, wandering--so as scarce myself to know, Of proud men the scoff, the outcast--I should die of shame and woe. And bereft of me, my children--and without thy aid to cherish, As the fish when water fails them--both would miserably perish. Thus of all the three is ruin--the inevitable lot, Desolate of thee, their guardian--wherefore, Oh, forsake us not! The dark way before her husband--'tis a wife's first bliss to go,