Ramayana 2.270

Then royal Lakshman made reply: "With thee to stand as guardian nigh, Whose faithful soul regards the right, Fearless we well might rest to-night. But how, when Rama lays his head With Sita on his lowly bed,-- How can I sleep? how can I care For life, or aught that's bright and fair? Behold the conquering chief, whose might Is match for Gods and fiends in fight; With Sita now he rests his head Asleep on grass beneath him spread. Won by devotion, text, and prayer, And many a rite performed with care, Chief of our father's sons he shines Well marked, like him, with favouring signs. Brief, brief the monarch's life will be Now his dear son is forced to flee; And quickly will the widowed state Mourn for her lord disconsolate. Each mourner there has wept her fill; The cries of anguish now are still: In the king's hall each dame, o'ercome With weariness of woe is dumb. This first sad night of grief, I ween, Will do to death each sorrowing queen: Scarce is Kausalya left alive; My mother, too, can scarce survive. If when her heart is fain to break, She lingers for Satrughna's sake, Kausalya, mother of the chief, Must sink beneath the chilling grief. That town which countless thousands fill, Whose hearts with love of Rama thrill,-- The world's delight, so rich and fair,-- Grieved for the king, his death will share. The hopes he fondly cherished, crossed Ayodhya's throne to Rama lost,-- With mournful cries, Too late, too late! The king my sire will meet his fate. And when my sire has passed away, Most happy in their lot are they, Allowed, with every pious care, Part in his funeral rites to bear. And O, may we with joy at last,-- These years of forest exile past,-- Turn to Ayodhya's town to dwell With him who keeps his promise well!"