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SACONTALA;

pious men whose uneasiness I have removed by dismissing my train?—[Sighing.]—I can have no relief but from a sight of my beloved.—[Looking up.]—This intensely hot noon must, no doubt, be passed by Sacontalá with her damsels on the banks of this river overshadowed with Tamálas.—It must be so.—I will advance thither.—[Walking round and looking.]—My sweet friend has, I guess, been lately walking under that row of young trees; for I see the stalks of some flowers, which probably she gathered, still unshrivelled; and some fresh leaves newly plucked, still dropping milk.—[Feeling a breeze.]—Ah! this bank has a delightful air! Here may the gale embrace me, wafting odours from the water lilies, and cool my breast, inflamed by the bodiless god, with the liquid particles which it catches from the waves of the Málinì.—[Looking down.]—Happy lover! Sacontalá must be somewhere in this grove of flowering creepers; for I discern on the yellow sand at the door of yon arbour some recent footsteps, raised a little before, and depressed behind by the weight of her elegant limbs.—I shall have a better view from behind this thick foliage.—[He coneeals himself, looking vigilantly.]—Now are my eyes fully gratified. The darling of my heart, with her two faithful attendants, reposes on a smooth rock strewn with fresh flowers.—These branches will hide me, whilst I hear their charming conversation.

[He stands concealed and gazes.