Thy lovely form! Alas! my child, thou had'st
An evil father! He who should have kept
All dangers from thee, he it was who sold
Thee as a slave! and yet in heart and mind
First of all things I love thee. Ah! my child!
Thy father's realm--my heaped-up wealth--all this
By lawful right was thine inheritance,
And now thou liest slain! Ah me! the tears
Rise to my eyes in blinding force: thy form,
In grace and beauty like the lotus flower,
Fades from my sight." He spoke, and faltering
With grief embraced his son. The queen exclaimed:
"This is indeed my lord--I know his voice!
I know his form! this is the mighty king.
The wisest of all beings. But how changed!
What fate is this? Ah what a dreadful place
For him, the lord of men. This grief yet more
Is added to the mourning for my son--
My husband's fate--for as a slave he serves
A base Cha.n.dala. Cursed be that god,
Or demon foul, through whom a godlike king
Has fallen to this degraded state; the lot
Of a Svapaka. Ah! most noble prince,
My mind is filled with grief, when I recall
Thy regal state, thy past magnificence.
No kingly ensigns go before thee now,
No captive kings, brought down to slavery,
Humbly precede thee, casting in the way
Their garments, lest the dust should soil thy feet.
But now! O king! alas, thyself a slave,