Ramayana 5.161

He looked upon the burning waste, Then sought the queen in joyous haste, With words of hope consoled her heart, And made him ready to depart. He scaled Arishta's glorious steep Whose summits beetled o'er the deep. The woods in varied beauty dressed Hung like a garland round his crest, And clouds of ever changing hue A robe about his shoulders threw. On him the rays of morning fell To wake the hill they loved so well, And bid unclose those splendid eyes That glittered in his mineral dyes. He woke to hear the music made By thunders of the white cascade, While every laughing rill that sprang From crag to crag its carol sang. For arms, he lifted to the stars His towering stems of Deodars, And morning heard his pealing call In tumbling brook and waterfall. He trembled when his woods were pale And bowed beneath the autumn gale, And when his vocal reeds were stirred His melancholy moan was heard.