Valmiki Ramayana 4.58.22

4.58.22

rāmalakṣmaṇayor nāma krośantīṃ muktamūrdhajām
eṣa kālātyayas tāvad iti vākyavidāṃ varaḥ

'Borne on swift wings ere day was light
I stood upon Mahendra's height,
And, far below, the sea I viewed
And birds in countless multitude.
Before mine eyes a giant flew
Whose monstrous form was dark of hue
And struggling in his grasp was borne
A lady radiant as the morn.
Swift to the south his course he bent,
And cleft the yielding element.
The holy spirits of the air
Came round me as I marvelled there,
And cried as their bright legions met:
'O say, is Sítá living yet?'
Thus cried the saints and told the name
Of him who held the struggling dame.
Then while mine eye with eager look
Pursued the path the robber took,
I marked the lady's streaming hair,
And heard her cry of wild despair.
I saw her silken vesture rent
And stripped of every ornament,
Thus, O my father, fled the time:
Forgive, I pray, the heedless crime.'
In vain the mournful tale I heard
My pitying heart to fury stirred.
What could a helpless bird of air,
Reft of his boasted pinions, dare?
Yet can I aid with all that will
And words can do, and friendly skill.'