"Sweet lady," Yama said, "never were words Spoke better; never truer heard by ear; Lo! I am pleased with thee. Except this soul, Ask one gift yet again, and get thee home."

"I ask thee then," quickly the Princess cried, "Sons, many sons, born of my body; boys; Satyavan's children; lovely, valiant, strong; Continuers of their line. Grant this, kind God."

"I grant it," Yama answered; "thou shalt bear These sons thy heart desireth, valiant, strong. Therefore go back, that years be given thee. Too long a path thou treadest, dark and rough."

But sweeter than before, the Princess sang:

"In paths of peace and virtue
Always the good remain;

And sorrow shall not stay with them,
Nor long access of pain;

At meeting or at parting
Joys to their bosom strike;
For good to good is friendly,
And virtue loves her like.

The great sun goes his journey
By their strong truth impelled;
By their pure lives and penances
Is earth itself upheld;

Of all which live and shall live
Upon its hills and fields,
Pure hearts are the protectors,
For virtue saves and shields.

"Never are noble spirits

Poor while their like survive;
True love has gems to render,
And virtue wealth to give.
Never is lost or wasted
The goodness of the good;
Never against a mercy,
Against a right, it stood;
And seeing this, that virtue
Is always friend to all,

The virtuous and true-hearted,
Men their protectors call."

"Line for line, Princess, as thou sangest so," Quoth Yama," all that lovely praise of good, Grateful to hallowed minds, lofty in sound,

And couched in dulcet numbers

word by word

Dearer thou grew'st to me. O thou great heart,
Perfect and firm! ask any boon from me,-
Ask an incomparable boon!"

She cried

Swiftly, no longer stayed: "Not Heaven I crave,
Nor heavenly joys, nor bliss incomparable,
Hard to be granted, even by thee; but him,
My sweet lord's life, without which I am dead;
Give me that gift of gifts! I will not take
Aught less without him, — not one boon

-no praise, not even those sons

No splendors, no rewards,
Whom thou didst promise. Ah, thou wilt not now
Bear hence the father of them and my hope!
Make thy free word good; give me Satyavan
Alive once more."

Loosened the noose and freed the Prince's soul,

And gave it to the lady, saying this,

With eyes grown tender: "See, thou sweetest queen
Of women, brightest jewel of thy kind!

Here is thy husband. He shall live and reign

Side by side with thee, saved by thee,

in peace

And fame and wealth, and health, many long years,

For pious sacrifices world-renowned.

Boys shalt thou bear to him, as I did grant,
Kshatriya kings, fathers of kings to be,
Sustainers of thy line. Also thy sire

Shall see his name upheld by sons of sons,

Like the immortals, valiant, Mâlavas."

ARNOLD: Indian Idylls.

FROM " THE GREAT Journey."

THE shadow of the Great War hung over King Yudhi-sthira, whose reign was one long succession of gloomy events, culminating in the death of the blind Raja and his wife in a jungle fire, and the destruction of the capital city of Krishna because of the dissipation of its inhabitants.

On tidings of the wreck of Vrishni's race,
King Yudhi-sthira of the Pandavas
Was minded to be done with earthly things,

And to Arjuna spake: "O noble prince,

Time endeth all; we linger, noose on neck,
Till the last day tightens the line, and kills.
Let us go forth to die, being yet alive."
And Kunti's son, the great Arjuna, said:
"Let us go forth! Time slayeth all.

We will find Death, who seeketh other men."

And Bhimasena, hearing, answered: "Yea,

We will find Death!" and Sahadev cried: "Yea!"

And his twin brother Nakalu; whereat

The princes set their faces for the Mount.

And all the people cried, "Stay with us, Lord!"
But Yudhi-sthira knew his time was come,
Knew that life passes and that virtue lasts,
And put aside their love.

...

So, with farewells

Tenderly took of lieges and of lords,
Girt he for travel with his princely kin,
Great Yudhi-sthira, Dharma's royal son.
Crest-gem and belt and ornaments he stripped
From off his body, and for broidered robe
A rough dress donned, woven of jungle bark;
And what he did-O Lord of men! - so did
Arjuna, Bhima, and the twin-born pair,
Nakalu with Sahadev, and she, — in grace
The peerless, Draupadi. Lastly those six,-
Thou son of Bharata!-- in solemn form
Made the high sacrifice of Naishtiki,
Quenching their flames in water at the close;
And so set forth, midst wailing of all folk
And tears of women, weeping most to see
The Princess Draupadi that lovely prize
Of the great gaming, Draupadi the Bright
Journeying afoot; but she and all the five
Rejoiced because their way lay heavenward.

Seven were they, setting forth,- Princess and King, The King's four brothers and a faithful dog. Those left Hastinapur; but many a man, And all the palace household, followed them The first sad stage: and ofttimes prayed to part,

Put parting off for love and pity, still
Sighing, "A little farther!" till day waned;
Then one by one they turned.

Thus wended they,

Pandu's five sons and loveliest Draupadi,
Taking no meat and journeying due east,
On righteousness their high hearts fed, to heaven
Their souls assigned; and steadfast trod their feet
By faith upborne - past nullah ran, and wood,
River and jheel and plain. King Yudhi-sthir
Walked foremost, Bhima followed, after him
Arjuna, and the twin-born brethren next,
Nakalu with Sahadev; in whose still steps-
O Best of Bharat's offspring! - Draupadi,
That gem of women paced, with soft dark face,·
Clear-edged like lotus petals; last the dog
Following the Pandavas.

While yet those heroes walked,

Now to the northward bending, where long coasts

Shut in the sea of salt, now to the north,

Accomplishing all quarters, journeyed they;
The earth their altar of high sacrifice,

Which these most patient feet did pace around
Till Meru rose.

At last it rose! These Six,
Their senses subjugate, their spirits pure,
Wending along, came into sight - far off
In the eastern sky of awful Himavat;
And midway in the peaks of Himavat,
Meru, the mountain of all mountains, rose,
Whose head is heaven; and under Himavat
Glared a wide waste of sand, dreadful as death.

With faltering heart and feet; and Bhima turned,
Gazing upon her; and that hero spake

To Yudhi-sthira: "Master, Brother, King!

Why doth she fail? For never all her life

Wrought our sweet lady one thing wrong, I think.

Thou knowest; make us know, why hath she failed?"

Then Yudhi-sthira answered: "Yea, one thing.
She loved our brothers better than all else,
Better than Heaven: that was her tender sin,
Fault of a faultless soul: she pays for that."

So spake the monarch, turning not his eyes,
Though Draupadi lay dead, striding straight on
For Meru, heart-full of the things of Heaven,
Perfect and firm. But yet a little space
And Sahadev fell down; which Bhima seeing,
Cried once again: "O King, great Madri's son
Stumbles and sinks. Why hath he sunk? - - so true,
So brave and steadfast, and so free from pride!"

"He was not free," with countenance still fixed,
Quoth Yudhi-sthira; "he was true and fast
And wise; yet wisdom made him proud; he hid
One little hurt of soul, but now it kills."

So saying, he strode on, Kunti's strong son,
And Bhima; and Arjuna followed him,
And Nakalu and the hound; leaving behind
Sahadev in the sands. But Nakalu,
Weakened and grieved to see Sahadev fall

His dear-loved brother lagged and stayed; and then
Prone on his face he fell, that noble face

Which had no match for beauty in the land,—
Glorious and godlike Nakalu! Then sighed
Bhima anew: "Brother and Lord! the man
Who never erred from virtue, never broke
Our fellowship, and never in the world
Was matched for goodly perfectness of form
Or gracious feature, Nakalu has fallen!"

But Yudhi-sthira, holding fixed his eyes, -
That changeless, faithful, all-wise king, - replied:
"Yea, but he erred! The god-like form he wore
Beguiled him to believe none like to him,

And he alone desirable, and things

Unlovely, to be slighted. Self-love slays

Our noble brother. Bhima, follow! Each
Pays what his debt was."

49

Which Arjuna heard,

Weeping to see them fall; and that stout son

Of Pandu, that destroyer of his foes,

That Prince, who drove through crimson waves of war,

In old days, with his milk-white chariot-steeds,

Him, the arch hero, sank! Beholding this,

The yielding of that soul unconquerable,