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.

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; 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.

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, 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 liketo 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— 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, ‘ Tis a wife's that hath borne children — this the wise, the holy know. For thee forsaken be my daughter — let my son forsaken be, I for thee forsook my kindred — and forsake my life for thee. More than offering‘ tis, than penance — liberal gift or sacrifice, When a wife, thus clearly summoned — for her husband's welfare dies. That which now to do I hasten — all the highest duty feel, For thy bliss, for thy well-doing — thine and all thy race's weal. Men, they say, but pray for children — riches, or a generous friend, To assist them in misfortune — and a wife for the same end. The whole race ( the wise declare it ) — thou the increaser of thy race, Than the single self less precious — ever holds a second place. Let me then discharge the duty — and preserve thyself by me, Give me thine assent, all-honoured — and my children's guardian be. Women must be spared from slaughter — this the learn'd in duty say, Even the giant knows that duty — me he will not dare to slay. Of the man the death is certain — of the woman yet in doubt, Wherefore, noblest, on the instant — as the victim send me out. I have lived with many blessings — I have well fulfilled my part, I have given thee beauteous offspring — death hath nought t’ appal mine heart. I've borne children, I am aged — in my soul I've all revolved, And with spirit strong to serve thee — I am steadfast and resolved. Offering me, all-honoured husband — thou another wife wilt find, And to her wilt do thy duty — gentle as to me, and kind. Many wives if he espouses — man incurs nor sin nor blame, For a wife to wed another —‘ tis inexpiable shame. This well weighed within thy spirit — and the sin thyself to die, Save thyself, thy race, thy children — be the single victim I.

Hearing thus his wife, the husband — fondly clasp'd her to his breast, And their tears they poured together — by their mutual grief oppressed.