Classic Poem

It was a day of sorrow and of sighs,
Of heart-felt sorrow and soul-searching sighs
Through India's hundred realms, for Sacontala,
With weeping and with silent prayers to Brama,
Kept now her natal day. War's iron foot.
Had trampled on her realm and laid it waste,
And even the sweet flowers of her native vale
Felt its unhallowed pressure. Far from her
Wickrama sought the fight; begirt with foes,
He waged unequal and unprosp'rous war;
His bravest and his trustiest fell around him,
While treachery filled his camp, and ingrate friends
Forgot the hand that raised them, and proved false
And recreant to their lord. Therefore did tears
Stream plenteously down Sacontala's cheek,
And sighs and sorrow marked her natal day.
The Bramin came again. He bowed his head
Before his sovereign's throne. “Fair Queen,” he cried,
“Sorrow and suffering have not changed the hearts
Of those who in my valley dwell; they still
Cherish unalter'd loyalty and love
To thee. No fragrant flowers I bring thee here;
Trampled and trodden under foot, they strew
Our valley now; but they will bloom again,
More beautiful than ever, when the Spring,
By Brama sent, shall chase away the clouds
That darken round us yet. Behold, I bring thee
The rarest wonder that our vale produces,
A diamond bright as India e'er beheld.”

The Queen gazed on in silent wonder, while
The Bramin thus proceeded: “While yet youth
Unsullied by a tear, and cloudless joys
Sat smiling on thy brow, I gave thee flowers.
Now has grief, like a sullen canker-worm,
Eaten the roses on thy cheek. I knew
That thou wouldst greet thy natal day with tears,
And tears are to the virtuous spirit like
The dew that falls from Heaven upon the blossoms,
Expanding their sweet leaves, and drawin all
Their fragrance out. Thus Brama sanctifies
His favourites, and therefore have I brought thee
The noblest work of nature.”
Thus he spake,
And rev'rently at Sacontala's feet
Laid down a casket of rich ebony.
The lid unclosed, the precious gem flash'd forth
A ray so bright, the faces of the Queen
And all her weeping maidens, who had stooped
To gaze upon it, suddenly became
Brightly transfigured, and their white breasts shone
Like waves that heave and sparkle in the sun,
While the sad tear, down Sacontala's cheek
That stole, grew brighter even than her smile.

In sorrow did the Bramin bend his steps
Back to his distant valley; and it seem'd
Happy and lovely in his eyes no more,
For he had gazed on Sacontala's tears.