"That is the very theme, O sage, In which thy wisdom ripe I need; Seen hath she at the hermitage A youth to whom in very deed Her heart inclines."--"And who is he?" "My daughter, tell his name and race, Speak as to men who best love thee." She turned to them her modest face, And answered quietly and clear.-- "Ah, no! ah, no!--It cannot be-- Choose out another husband, dear,"-- The Muni cried,--"or woe is me!"
"And why should I? When I have given My heart away, though but in thought, Can I take back? Forbid it, Heaven! It were a deadly sin, I wot. And why should I? I know no crime In him or his."--"Believe me, child, My reasons shall be clear in time, I speak not like a madman wild; Trust me in this."--"I cannot break A plighted faith,--I cannot bear A wounded conscience."--"Oh, forsake This fancy, hence may spring despair."--
"It may not be."--The father heard By turns the speakers, and in doubt Thus interposed a gentle word,-- "Friend should to friend his mind speak out, Is he not worthy? tell us."--"Nay, All worthiness is in Satyavan, And no one can my praise gainsay: Of solar race--more god than man! Great Soorasen, his ancestor, And Dyoumatsen his father blind Are known to fame: I can aver No kings have been so good and kind."
"Then where, O Muni, is the bar? If wealth be gone, and kingdom lost, His merit still remains a star, Nor melts his lineage like the frost. For riches, worldly power, or rank I care not,--I would have my son Pure, wise, and brave,--the Fates I thank I see no hindrance, no, not one." "Since thou insistest, King, to hear The fatal truth,--I tell you,--I, Upon this day as rounds the year The young Prince Satyavan shall die."
This was enough. The monarch knew The future was no sealèd book To Brahma's son. A clammy dew Spread on his brow,--he gently took Savitri's palm in his, and said: "No child can give away her hand, A pledge is nought unsanctionèd; And here, if right I understand, There was no pledge at all,--a thought, A shadow,--barely crossed the mind-- Unblamed, it may be clean forgot, Before the gods it cannot bind.
"And think upon the dreadful curse Of widowhood; the vigils, fasts, And penances; no life is worse Than hopeless life,--the while it lasts. Day follows day in one long round, Monotonous and blank and drear; Less painful were it to be bound On some bleak rock, for aye to hear-- Without one chance of getting free-- The ocean's melancholy voice! Mine be the sin,--if sin there be, But thou must make a different choice."