Whose sight would chase our cares away?
I know not where, her steps untraced,
Roams Sítá of the dainty waist.”
When Ráma heard the words he spoke
Again he sank beneath the stroke,
And with a bosom anguish-fraught
Himself the lovely river sought.
There standing on the shelving side,
“O Sítá, where art thou?” he cried.
No spirit voice an answer gave,