The Ramayana/Book II/Canto LXII: Das'aratha Consoled

The queen's stern speech the monarch heard, As rage and grief her bosom stirred, And by his anguish sore oppressed Reflected in his secret breast. Fainting and sad, with woe distraught. He wandered in a maze of thought; At length the queller of the foe Grew conscious, rallying from his woe. When consciousness returned anew Long burning sighs the monarch drew. Again immersed in thought he eyed Kaus'alyá standing by his side. Back to his pondering soul was brought The direful deed his hand had wrought, When, guiltless of the wrong intent, His arrow at a sound was sent. Distracted by his memory's sting, And mourning for his son, the king To two consuming griefs a prey, A miserable victim lay. The double woe devoured him fast, As on the ground his eyes he cast, Joined suppliant hands, her heart to touch. And spake in the answer, trembling much: 'Kaus'alyá, for thy grace I sue, Joining these hands as suppliants do. Thou e'en to foes hast ever been A gentle, good, and loving queen. Her lord, with noble virtues graced, Her lord, by lack of all debased, Is still a God in woman's eyes, If duty's law she hold and prize. Thou, who the right hast aye pursued, Life's changes and its chances viewed, Shouldst never launch, though sorrow-stirred, At me distressed, one bitter word.' She listened, as with sorrow faint He murmured forth his sad complaint: Her brimming eyes with tears ran o'er, As spouts the new fallen water pour;

His suppliant hands, with fear dismayed She gently clasped in hers, and laid, Like a fair lotus, on her head, And faltering in her trouble said: 'Forgive me; at thy feet I lie, With low bent head to thee I cry. By thee besought, thy guilty dame Pardon from thee can scarcely claim. She merits not the name of wife Who cherishes perpetual strife With her own husband good and wise, Her lord both here and in the skies. I know the claims of duty well, I know thy lips the truth must tell. All the wild words I rashly spoke, Forth from my heart, through anguish, broke; For sorrow bends the stoutest soul, And cancels Scripture's high control. Yea, sorrow's might all else o'erthrows The strongest and the worst of foes. 'Tis thus with all: we keenly feel, Yet bear the blows our foemen deal, But when a slender woe assails The manifest spirit bends and quails. The fifth long night has now begun Since the wild woods have lodged my son: To me whose joy is drowned in tears, Each day a dreary year appears. While all my thoughts on him are set Grief at my heart swells wilder yet: With doubled might thus Ocean raves When rushing floods increase his waves.' As from Kaus'alyá reasoning well The gentle words of wisdom fell, The sun went down with dying flame, And darkness o'er the landscape came. His lady's soothing words in part Relieved the monarch's aching heart, Who, wearied out by all his woes, Yielded to sleep and took repose.