Ramayana 2.221

The lion chief with hands upraised Was born from eyes that fondly gazed. But then the ladies' bower was rent With cries of weeping and lament: "Where goes he now, our lord, the sure Protector of the friendless poor, In whom the wretched and the weak Defence and aid were wont to seek? All words of wrath he turned aside, And ne'er, when cursed, in ire replied. He shared his people's woe, and stilled The troubled breast which rage had filled. Our chief, on lofty thoughts intent, In glorious fame preeminent: As on his own dear mother, thus He ever looked on each of us. Where goes he now? His sire's behest, By Queen Kaikeyi's guile distressed, Has banished to the forest hence Him who was all the world's defence. Ah, senseless King, to drive away The hope of men, their guard and stay, To banish to the distant wood Rama the duteous, true, and good!" The royal dames, like cows bereaved Of their young calves, thus sadly grieved. The monarch heard them as they wailed, And by the fire of grief assailed For his dear son, he bowed his head, And all his sense and memory fled.