Valmiki Ramayana 2.58.14

2.58.14

gatvā nadyās tatas tīram apaśyam iṣuṇā hṛdi
vinirbhinnaṃ gataprāṇaṃ śayānaṃ bhuvi tāpasaṃ

With sobbing voice and bosom wrung
I scarce could move my faltering tongue,
And with my spirit filled with dread
I looked upon the sage, and said,
While mind, and sense, and nerve I strung
To fortify my trembling tongue,
And let the aged hermit know
His son's sad fate, my fear and woe:
'High-minded Saint, not I thy child,
A warrior, Das'aratha styled.
I bear a grievous sorrow's weight
Born of a deed which good men hate.
My lord, I came to Sarj?s shore,
And in my hand my bow I bore
For elephant or beast of chase
That seeks by night his drinking place,
There from the stream a sound I heard,
As if a jar the water stirred,
An elephant, I thought, was nigh:
I aimed, and let an arrow fly.
Swift to the place I made my way,
And there a wounded hermit lay
Gasping for breath: the deadly dart
Stood quivering in his youthful heart.
I hastened near with pain oppressed;
He faltered out his last behest.
And quickly, as he bade me do,
From his pierced side the shaft I drew.
I drew the arrow from the rent,
And up to heaven the hermit went,
Lamenting, as from earth he passed,
His aged parents to the last.
Thus, unaware, the deed was done:
My hand, unwitting killed thy son.
For what remains, O, let me win
Thy pardon for my heedless sin.'