No help from man. Well, be it so!

No sympathy,--it matters not!

G.o.d can avert the heavy blow!

He answers worship. Thus she thought.

And so, her prayers, by day and night, Like incense rose unto the throne; Nor did she vow neglect or rite The Veds enjoin or helpful own.

Upon the fourteenth of the moon, As nearer came the time of dread, In Joystee, that is May or June, She vowed her vows and Bramins fed.

And now she counted e'en the hours, As to Eternity they past; O'er head the dark cloud darker lowers, The year is rounding full at last.

To-day,--to-day,--with doleful sound The word seem'd in her ear to ring!

O breaking heart,--thy pain profound Thy husband knows not, nor the king, Exiled and blind, nor yet the queen; But One knows in His place above.

To-day,--to-day,--it will be seen Which shall be victor, Death or Love!

Incessant in her prayers from morn, The noon is safely tided,--then A gleam of faint, faint hope is born, But the heart fluttered like a wren That sees the shadow of the hawk Sail on,--and trembles in affright, Lest a down-rushing swoop should mock Its fortune, and o'erwhelm it quite.

The afternoon has come and gone And brought no change;--should she rejoice?

The gentle evening's shades come on, When hark!--She hears her husband's voice!

"The twilight is most beautiful!

Mother, to gather fruit I go, And fuel,--for the air is cool Expect me in an hour or so."

"The night, my child, draws on apace,"

The mother's voice was heard to say, "The forest paths are hard to trace In darkness,--till the morrow stay."

"Not hard for me, who can discern The forest-paths in any hour, Blindfold I could with ease return, And day has not yet lost its power."

"He goes then," thought Savitri, "thus With unseen bands Fate draws us on Unto the place appointed us; We feel no outward force,--anon We go to marriage or to death At a determined time and place; We are her playthings; with her breath She blows us where she lists in s.p.a.ce.

What is my duty? It is clear, My husband I must follow; so, While he collects his forest gear Let me permission get to go."

His sire she seeks,--the blind old king, And asks from him permission straight.

"My daughter, night with ebon wing Hovers above; the hour is late.

My son is active, brave, and strong, Conversant with the woods, he knows Each path; methinks it would be wrong For thee to venture where he goes, Weak and defenceless as thou art, At such a time. If thou wert near Thou might'st embarra.s.s him, dear heart, Alone, he would not have a fear."

So spake the hermit-monarch blind, His wife too, entering in, exprest The self-same thoughts in words as kind, And begged Savitri hard, to rest.

"Thy recent fasts and vigils, child, Make thee unfit to undertake This journey to the forest wild."

But nothing could her purpose shake.

She urged the nature of her vows, Required her now the rites were done To follow where her loving spouse Might e'en a chance of danger run.

"Go then, my child,--we give thee leave, But with thy husband quick return, Before the flickering shades of eve Deepen to night, and planets burn, And forest-paths become obscure, Lit only by their doubtful rays.

The G.o.ds, who guard all women pure, Bless thee and kept thee in thy ways, And safely bring thee and thy lord!"

On this she left, and swiftly ran Where with his saw in lieu of sword, And basket, plodded Satyavan.

Oh, lovely are the woods at dawn, And lovely in the sultry noon, But loveliest, when the sun withdrawn The twilight and a crescent moon Change all asperities of shape, And tone all colours softly down, With a blue veil of silvered c.r.a.pe!

Lo! By that hill which palm-trees crown, Down the deep glade with perfume rife From buds that to the dews expand, The husband and the faithful wife Pa.s.s to dense jungle,--hand in hand.

Satyavan bears beside his saw A forked stick to pluck the fruit, His wife, the basket lined with straw; He talks, but she is almost mute, And very pale. The minutes pa.s.s; The basket has no further s.p.a.ce, Now on the fruits they flowers ama.s.s That with their red flush all the place While twilight lingers; then for wood He saws the branches of the trees, The noise, heard in the solitude, Grates on its soft, low harmonies.

And all the while one dreadful thought Haunted Savitri's anxious mind, Which would have fain its stress forgot; It came as chainless as the wind, Oft and again: thus on the spot Marked with his heart-blood oft comes back The murdered man, to see the clot!

Death's final blow,--the fatal wrack Of every hope, whence will it fall?

For fall, by Narad's words, it must; Persistent rising to appall This thought its horrid presence thrust.

Sudden the noise is hushed,--a pause!

Satyavan lets the weapon drop-- Too well Savitri knows the cause, He feels not well, the work must stop.

A pain is in his head,--a pain As if he felt the cobra's fangs, He tries to look around,--in vain, A mist before his vision hangs; The trees whirl dizzily around In a fantastic fashion wild; His throat and chest seem iron-bound, He staggers, like a sleepy child.

"My head, my head!--Savitri, dear, This pain is frightful. Let me lie Here on the turf." Her voice was clear And very calm was her reply, As if her heart had banished fear: "Lean, love, thy head upon my breast,"

And as she helped him, added--"here, So shall thou better breathe and rest."

"Ah me, this pain,--'tis getting dark, I see no more,--can this be death?

What means this, G.o.ds?--Savitri, mark, My hands wax cold, and fails my breath."

"It may be but a swoon." "Ah! no-- Arrows are piercing through my heart,-- Farewell my love! for I must go, This, this is death." He gave one start And then lay quiet on her lap, Insensible to sight and sound, Breathing his last.... The branches flap And fireflies glimmer all around; His head upon her breast; his frame Part on her lap, part on the ground, Thus lies he. Hours pa.s.s. Still the same, The pair look statues, magic-bound.

PART III.

Death in his palace holds his court, His messengers move to and fro, Each of his mission makes report, And takes the royal orders,--Lo, Some slow before his throne appear And humbly in the Presence kneel: "Why hath the Prince not been brought here?

The hour is past; nor is appeal Allowed against foregone decree; There is the mandate with the seal!

How comes it ye return to me Without him? Shame upon your zeal!"

"O King, whom all men fear,--he lies Deep in the dark Medhya wood, We fled from thence in wild surprise, And left him in that solitude.

We dared not touch him, for there sits, Beside him, lighting all the place, A woman fair, whose brow permits In its austerity of grace And purity,--no creatures foul As we seemed, by her loveliness, Or soul of evil, ghost or ghoul, To venture close, and far, far less

"To stretch a hand, and bear the dead; We left her leaning on her hand, Thoughtful; no tear-drop had she shed, But looked the G.o.ddess of the land, With her meek air of mild command."-- "Then on this errand I must go Myself, and bear my dreaded brand, This duty unto Fate I owe; I know the merits of the prince, But merit saves not from the doom Common to man; his death long since Was destined in his beauty's bloom."

PART IV.

As still Savitri sat beside Her husband dying,--dying fast, She saw a stranger slowly glide Beneath the boughs that shrunk aghast.

Upon his head he wore a crown That shimmered in the doubtful light; His vestment scarlet reached low down, His waist, a golden girdle dight.

His skin was dark as bronze; his face Irradiate, and yet severe; His eyes had much of love and grace, But glowed so bright, they filled with fear.

A string was in the stranger's hand Noosed at its end. Her terrors now Savitri scarcely could command.

Upon the sod beneath a bough, She gently laid her husband's head, And in obeisance bent her brow.

"No mortal form is thine,"--she said, "Beseech thee say what G.o.d art thou?

And what can be thine errand here?"

"Savitri, for thy prayers, thy faith, Thy frequent vows, thy fasts severe, I answer,--list,--my name is Death.

"And I am come myself to take Thy husband from this earth away, And he shall cross the doleful lake In my own charge, and let me say To few such honours I accord, But his pure life and thine require No less from me." The dreadful sword Like lightning glanced one moment dire; And then the inner man was tied, The soul no bigger than the thumb, To be borne onwards by his side:-- Savitri all the while stood dumb.

But when the G.o.d moved slowly on To gain his own dominions dim, Leaving the body there--anon Savitri meekly followed him, Hoping against all hope; he turned And looked surprised. "Go back, my child!"

Pale, pale the stars above them burned, More weird the scene had grown and wild; "It is not for the living--hear!

To follow where the dead must go, Thy duty lies before thee clear, What thou shouldst do, the Shasters show.

"The funeral rites that they ordain And sacrifices must take up Thy first sad moments; not in vain Is held to thee this bitter cup; Its lessons thou shall learn in time!

All that thou _canst_ do, thou hast done For thy dear lord. Thy love sublime My deepest sympathy hath won.

Return, for thou hast come as far As living creature may. Adieu!

Let duty be thy guiding star, As ever. To thyself be true!"

"Where'er my husband dear is led, Or journeys of his own free will, I too must go, though darkness spread Across my path, portending ill, 'Tis thus my duty I have read!

If I am wrong, oh! with me bear; But do not bid me backward tread My way forlorn,--for I can dare All things but that; ah! pity me, A woman frail, too sorely tried!

And let me, let me follow thee, O gracious G.o.d,--whate'er betide.

"By all things sacred, I entreat, By Penitence that purifies, By prompt Obedience, full, complete, To spiritual masters, in the eyes Of G.o.ds so precious, by the love I bear my husband, by the faith That looks from earth to heaven above, And by thy own great name O Death, And all thy kindness, bid me not To leave thee, and to go my way, But let me follow as I ought Thy steps and his, as best I may.