THE EPIC OF BIDASARI

Metrical Translation by Chauncey C. Starkweather, A.B., LL.B.

BIDASARI

SONG I

    Hear    now the song    I   sing    about   a   king

    Of  Kembajat.   A   fakir   has completed

    The story,  that    a   poem    he  may make.

    There   was a   king,   a   sultan, and he  was

    Handsome    and wise    and perfect in  all ways,

    Proud   scion   of  a   race    of  mighty  kings.

    He  filled  the land    with    merchants   bringing    wealth

    And travellers. And from    that    day's   report,

    He  was a   prince  most    valorous    and strong,

    Who never   vexing  obstacles   had met.

    But ever    is  the morrow  all unknown.

    After   the Sultan, all accomplished    man,

    Had married been    a   year,   or  little  more,

    He  saw that    very    soon    he'd    have    an  heir.

    At  this    his heart   rejoiced,   and he  was glad

    As  though  a   mine    of  diamonds    were    his.

    Some    days    the joy continued   without clouds.

    But soon    there   came    the moment  when    the prince

    Knew    sorrow's    blighting   force,  and had to  yield

    His country's   capital.    A   savage  bird,

    Garouda called, a   very    frightful   bird,

    Soared  in  the air,    and ravaged all the land.

    It  flew    with    wings   and talons  wide    outstretched,

    With    cries   to  terrify the stoutest    heart.

    All people, great   and small,  were    seized  with    dread,

    And all the country feared  and was oppressed,

    And people  ran now this    way and now that.

    The folk    approached  the King.   He  heard   the noise

    As  of  a   fray,   and,    angry,  asked   the guard,