“But Sita, in her silks arrayed, Threw glances, trembling and afraid, On the bark coat she had to wear Like a shy doe that eyes the snare. Ashamed and weeping for distress From the queen’s hand she took the dress. The fair one, by her husband’s side, Who matched heaven’s minstrel monarch, cried: ‘How bind they on their woodland dress, Those hermits of the wilderness?’ There stood the pride of Janak’s race Perplexed, with sad appealing face, One coat the lady’s fingers grasped, One round her neck she feebly clasped, But failed again, again, confused By the wild garb she ne’er had used. Then quickly hastening Rama, pride Of all who cherish virtue, tied The rough bark mantle on her, o’er The silken raiment that she wore. Then the sad women when they saw Rama the choice bark round her draw, Rained water from each tender eye And cried aloud with bitter cry.”[28] --+GRIFFITH.+ After giving away vast treasures to the Brahmans the ill-fated trio took a pathetic leave of the now miserable old king, of Kauçalya who mourned like a cow deprived of her calf, of Sumitra the mother of Lakshmana, and of their “other three hundred and fifty mothers.” With an exalted sense of filial duty the exiles also bid a respectful and affectionate farewell to Kaikeyi, the cruel author of their unmerited banishment, Rama remarking that it was not her own heart, but “_Destiny_ alone that had made her press for the prevention of his installation.” When Rama and his companions appeared in the streets of the capital, in the dress of ascetics, the populace loudly deplored their fate, extolling the virtues of Rama while giving vent to their feelings of disapproval at the king’s weak compliance with his favourite’s whim. Sita came in for her share of popular pity and admiration, since she “whom formerly the very rangers of the sky could not see, was to-day beheld by every passer-by.”