Woodland rills and crystal nullahs gently roll'd o'er rocky bed,
Flower-decked hills in dewy brightness towering glittered overhead,
Birds of song and beauteous feather trilled a note in every grove,
Sweeter accents fell upon her, from her husband's lips of love!
Still with thoughtful eye Savitri watched her dear and fated lord,
Flail of grief was in her bosom but her pale lips shaped no word,
And she listened to her husband, still on anxious thought intent,
Cleft in two her throbbing bosom, as in silence still she went!
Gaily with the gathered wild-fruits did the prince his basket fill,
Hewed the interlacéd branches with his might and practised skill,
Till the drops stood on his forehead, weary was his aching head,
Faint he came unto Savitri and in faltering accents said:
“Cruel ache is on my forehead, fond and ever faithful wife,
And I feel a hundred needles pierce me and torment my life,
And my feeble footsteps falter, and my senses seem to reel,
Fain would I beside thee linger, for a sleep doth o'er me steal.”
With a wild and speechless terror pale Savitri held her lord,
On her lap his head she rested as she laid him on the sward,
Narad's fatal words remembered as she watched her husband's head,
Burning lip and pallid forehead, and the dark and creeping shade,