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LAKSHMAN.
53
For though ill omens round us rise
And frighten her dear heart, I feel
That he is safe. Beneath the skies
His equal is not,—and his heel
Shall tread all adversaries down,
Whoever they may chance to be.—
Farewell, O Sita! Blessings crown
And Peace for ever rest with thee!"
He said, and straight his weapons took
His bow and arrows pointed keen,
Kind,—nay, indulgent,—was his look.
No trace of anger there was seen,
Only a sorrow dark, that seemed
To deepen his resolve to dare
All dangers. Hoarse the vulture screamed,
As out he strode with dauntless air.
