The Rāmāyaṇa of Vālmīki 2.65.22

2.65.22

dvāreṇa vaijayantena prāviśac chrāntavāhanaḥ
dvāḥsthair utthāya vijayaṃ pṛṣṭas taiḥ sahito yayau

The brilliant gardens, where we heard
The wild note of each rapturous bird.
Where men and women loved to meet,
In pleasant shades, for pastime sweet,--
These to my eyes this day appear
Joyless, and desolate, and drear;
Each tree that graced the garden grieves,
And every path is spread with leaves.
The merry cry of bird and beast,
That spake aloud their joy has ceased:
Still is the long melodious note
That charmed us from each warbling throat,
Why blows the blessed air no more,
The incense-breathing air that bore
Its sweet incomparable scent
Of sandal and of aloe blent?
Why are the drum and tabour mute?
Why is the music of the lute
That woke responsive to the quill,
Loved by the happy, hushed and still?
My boding spirit gathers hence
Dire sins of awful consequence,
And omens, crowding on my sight,
Weigh down my soul with wild affright
Scarce shall I find my friends who dwell
Here in Ayodhyá safe and well:
For surely not without a cause
This crushing dread my soul o'erawes.
Heart sick, dejected, every sense
Confused by terror's influence,
On to the town he quickly swept
Which King Ikshváku's children kept.
He passed through Vaijayanta's gate,
With weary steeds, disconsolate.
And all who near their station held,
His escort. crying Victory, swelled,
With heart distracted still he bowed
Farewell to all the following crowd,
Turned to the driver and began
To question thus the weary man:.
'Why was I brought, O free from blame,
So fast, unknown for what I came?