Returned again upon his heart.
He knew the foe he triumphed o'er
The name of great Márícha bore.
“The fiend,” he pondered, 'ere he died,
“Ho, Lakshmaṇ! ho, my Sítá!” cried
Ah, if that cry has reached her ear,
How dire must be my darling's fear!
And Lakshmaṇ of the mighty arm,
What thinks he in his wild alarm?
As thus he thought in sad surmise,