Kanva. My daughter, walk from left to right about the fires in which the offering has just been thrown. (All walk about.)
The holy fires around the altar kindle,
And at their margins sacred grass is piled;
Beneath their sacrificial odours dwindle
Misfortunes. May the fires protect you, child!
(SHAKUNTALA walks about them from left to right.)
Kanva. Now you may start, my daughter. (He glances about.) Where are Sharngarava and Sharadvata? (Enter the two pupils.)
The two pupils. We are here, Father.
Kanva. Sharngarava, my son, lead the way for your sister.
Sharngarava. Follow me. (They all walk about.)
Kanva. O trees of the pious grove, in which the fairies dwell,
She would not drink till she had wet
Your roots, a sister's duty,
Nor pluck your flowers; she loves you yet
Far more than selfish beauty.'Twas festival in her pure life
When budding blossoms showed;
And now she leaves you as a wife—
Oh, speed her on her road!
Sharngarava (listening to the song of koïl-birds). Father,