What must a father feel, when come
  The pangs of parting from his child at home?

(He walks about.) The two friends.  There, Shakuntala, we have arranged your ornaments.  Now put on this beautiful silk dress.

(SHAKUNTALA rises and does so.)

Gautami.  My child, here is your father.  The eyes with which he seems to embrace you are overflowing with tears of joy.  You must greet him properly. (SHAKUNTALA makes a shamefaced reverence.)

Kanva.  My child,

  Like Sharmishtha, Yayati’s wife,
    Win favour measured by your worth;
  And may you bear a kingly son
    Like Puru, who shall rule the earth.

Gautami.  My child, this is not a prayer, but a benediction.

Kanva.  My daughter, walk from left to right about the fires in which the offering has just been thrown. (All walk about.)

  The holy fires around the altar kindle,
    And at their margins sacred grass is piled;
  Beneath their sacrificial odours dwindle
    Misfortunes.  May the fires protect you, child!

(SHAKUNTALA walks about them from left to right.)

Kanva.  Now you may start, my daughter. (He glances about.) Where are Sharngarava and Sharadvata? (Enter the two pupils.)

The two pupils.  We are here, Father.

Kanva.  Sharngarava, my son, lead the way for your sister.

Sharngarava.  Follow me. (They all walk about.)

Kanva.  O trees of the pious grove, in which the fairies dwell,

  She would not drink till she had wet
    Your roots, a sister’s duty,
  Nor pluck your flowers; she loves you yet
    Far more than selfish beauty.

  ’Twas festival in her pure life
    When budding blossoms showed;
  And now she leaves you as a wife—­
    Oh, speed her on her road!

 Sharngarava (listening to the song of koil-birds).  Father,

  The trees are answering your prayer
  In cooing cuckoo-song,
  Bidding Shakuntala farewell,
  Their sister for so long.

Invisible beings,

  May lily-dotted lakes delight your eye;
  May shade-trees bid the heat of noonday cease;
  May soft winds blow the lotus-pollen nigh;
  May all your path be pleasantness and peace.

(All listen in astonishment.)

Gautami.  My child, the fairies of the pious grove bid you farewell.  For they love the household.  Pay reverence to the holy ones.

Shakuntala (does so.  Aside to PRIYAMVADA).  Priyamvada, I long to see my husband, and yet my feet will hardly move.  It is hard, hard to leave the hermitage.

Priyamvada.  You are not the only one to feel sad at this farewell.  See how the whole grove feels at parting from you.