With love and passion sore distressed,
Afflicted, with her eyes bedewed,
To Ráma thus her speech renewed:
“Nay, Ráma, but my heart will break
If with these queens my home I make.
Lead me too with thee; let me go
And wander like a woodland roe.”
Then, while no tear the hero shed,
Thus to the weeping queen he said:
“Mother, while lives the husband, he