_Phágulal_
They are united.
_Bishu_
Now it is for me to take my last lonely journey.--Perhaps we may
meet.--Perhaps she may want me to sing.--My mad girl, O my mad girl!--
Come, brother, on to the fight!
_Phágulal_
To the fight! Victory to Nandini!
_Bishu_
Victory to Nandini!
_Phágulal_
Here is her wristlet of red oleanders. She has bared her arm
to-day,--and left us.
_Bishu_
Once I told her I would not take anything from her hand. I break my
word and take this. Come along!
[_They go._
(_Song in the distance._)
_Hark ’tis Autumn calling,--
Come, O come away!
The earth’s mantle of dust is filled with ripe corn!
O the joy! the joy!_