of these woods, repeat the warbling of the musical bird, and make its greeting their own?
Gaut. Daughter, the sylvan goddesses, who love their kindred hermits, have wished you prosperity, and are entitled to humble thanks.
Sacontalá walks round, bowing to the nymphs.
Sac. [Aside to Priyamvadá.] Delighted as I am, O Priyamvadá, with the thought of seeing again the son of my lord, yet, on leaving this grove, my early asylum, I am scarce able to walk.
Pri. You lament not alone.—Mark the affliction of the forest itself when the time of your departure approaches!—The female antelope browses no more on the collected Cusa grass; and the pea-hen ceases to dance on the lawn; the very plants of the grove, whose pale leaves fall on the ground, lose their strength and their beauty.
Sac. Venerable father, suffer me to address this Mádhaví creeper, whose red blossoms inflame the grove.
Can. My child, I know thy affection for it.
Sac. [Embracing the plant.] O most radiant of twining plants, receive my embraces, and return them with thy flexible arms; from this day, though removed to a fatal distance, I shall for ever be thine.—O beloved father, consider this creeper as myself.
Can. My darling, thy amiable qualities have gained thee a husband equal to thyself; such an