Chapter XCIV

_Sakhī:_ The mournful beauty, gazing on Kānu's face,
Was sobbing loud with brimming eyes:
The peerless moon-face, when he said 'Farewell,'
Fell fey upon the ground, with cries of 'Hari, Hari!'

How distractedly did Hari comfort her,--
'Now I shall not go to Mathura':
When this sweet sound reached her ears,
The lovesick nymph revived.

And taking Kānu's hands in hers.
She lifted them to touch her head:
'Say unmistakeably, good Kān, my lord,
'I will not go to Mathura.''

And when the damsel had this comfort,
She raised herself again, and sighed no more.
_Murāri went his way, when Rāi was soothed--_
_Vidyāpati refrains from words!_

XCV.

_Dūtika:_ Mādhava, O moon-face,
Never can you have known the sting of separation!
Hearing you are departed to another land, she wastes away:
O wretched Rāi, bereft of wit by force of love!

Refusing even buds of flowers, she lies exhausted on the ground,
The calling of the koil fills her with fear,
Her tears have washed the beauty-spots away,
Her wasted arms let slip their ornaments.

With hanging head Rādhā regards her throat,
Now are her fingers raw with writing on the ground:
_Says Vidyāpati: Recollecting all his ways,_
_And taking count of them, she fainted._