O! that blessing fell upon her like the rain on thirsty air,
Struggling hope inspired her bosom as she drank those accents fair!
But returned the dark remembrance of the rishi Narad's word,
Pale she watched the creeping sunbeams, mused upon her fated lord!
“Daughter, now thy fast is over,” so the loving parents said,
“Take thy diet after penance, for thy morning prayers are prayed,”
“Pardon, father,” said Savitri, “let this other day be done,”
Unshed tear-drops filled her eyelids, glistened in the morning sun!
Young Satyavan, tall and stately, ponderous axe on shoulder hung,
For the distant darksome jungle issued forth serene and strong,
But unto him came Savitri and in sweetest accents prayed,
As upon his manly bosom gently she her forehead laid:
“Long I wished to see the jungle where steals not the solar ray,
Take me to the darksome forest, husband, let me go to-day!”
“Come not, love,” he sweetly answered with a loving husband's care,
“Thou art all unused to labour, forest paths thou may'st not dare,
And with recent fasts and vigils pale and bloodless is thy face,
And thy steps are weak and feeble, jungle paths thou may'st not trace.”
“Fasts and vigils make me stronger,” said the wife with wifely pride,
“Toil I shall not feel nor languor when my lord is by my side,