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.