puissant lord—­
    Was sire, renowned o’er earth.  Protector he
    Of the four castes, performer of the rites
    Called Rajasuya and the Aswamedha—­
    A bounteous giver, first of rulers, known
    For his large shining eyes; holy and just,
    Fast to his word, unenvious, sweet of speech,
    Gentle and valiant, dutiful and pure;
    The guardian of Vidarbha, of his foes
    The slayer.  Know me, O Majestic Mount! 
    For that King’s daughter, bending low to thee. 
    In Nishadha lived the father of my lord,
    The Maharaja Virasena named,
    Wealthy and great; whose son, of regal blood,
    High-fortuned, powerful, and noble-souled,
    Ruleth by right the realm paternal:  he
    Is Nala, terror of all enemies;
    Dark Nala, praised-in-song; Nala the just,
    The pure; deep-seen in scriptures, sweet of speech,
    Drinker of Soma-juice, and worshipper
    Of Agni; sacrificing, giving gifts;
    First in the wars, a perfect, princely lord. 
    His wife am I, Great Mountain! and come here
    Fortuneless, husbandless, and spiritless,
    Everywhere seeking him, my best of men. 
    O Mount, whose doubled ridge stamps on the sky
    Yon line, by fivescore splendid pinnacles
    Indented! tell me, in this gloomy wood
    Hast thou seen Nala?  Nala, wise and bold,
    Like a tusked elephant for might; long armed,
    Indomitable, gallant, glorious, true;
    Nala, Nishadha’s chief—­hast thou seen him? 
    O Mountain, why consolest thou me not,
    Answering one word to sorrowful, distressed,
    Lonely, lost Damayanti?”
                            Then she cried:—­
    “But answer for thyself, Hero and Lord! 
    If thou art in the forest, show thyself! 
    Alas! when shall I hear that voice, as low,
    As tender as the murmur of the rain
    When great clouds gather; sweet as Amrit-drink? 
    Thy voice, once more, my Nala, calling to me
    Full softly, ’Damayanti!’—­dearest Prince,
    That would be music soothing to these ears
    As sound of sacred Veda; that would stay
    My pains and comfort me, and bring me peace.” 
      Thereafter, turning from the mount, she went
    Northwards, and journeying on three nights and days
    Came to a green incomparable grove
    By holy men inhabited; a haunt
    Placid as Paradise, whose indwellers
    Like to Vasistha, Bhrigu, Atri, were—­
    Those ancient saints.  Restraining sense they lived,
    Heedful in meats, subduing passion, pure,
    Breathing within; their food water and herbs;
    Ascetics; very holy; seeking still
    The heavenward road; clad in the bark of trees
    And skins—­all gauds of earth being put by. 
    This hermitage, peopled by gentle ones,
    Glad Damayanti spied, circled with herds
    Of wild things grazing fearless, and with troops