[The following six ratu's of Let-We-Thondara have been translated into English prose with a view to a clear understanding

of them by such non-burman readers as may find the original diffucult reading. The translation has accordingly been made simple and literal without any attempt at literary effect. Further it is hoped that readers will appreciate the poetical versions of Nos 3 and 5 - the most adapted of the six to English verse - made by Professor G.H. Luce of Rangoon College, in immitation of the internal rhyming used in the original. If we take three consecutive lines, A, B, C, composed of four syllables each, the final syllable of A rhymes with third of B and the second (and sometimes first) of C; the final syllable of C again setting new rhyme to the lines that follow. Two variations are permisssible: the final syllable of A may also rhyme with the second of B, or immediately with first of B; in either case, the final syllable of B setting the new rhyme. In the English rhymes one inevitable change has been made - the admission of one unaccented syllable between each of the four accented ones in the line - Editor.]

(I)

From the beautifully wooded Meza mountain, whose base gives rise to a continuous stream of whirling waters, my thoughts go back to the golden city (Shwebo). I behold in my mind's eye the rising piece of ground, elated with pride of conquest, and the various shrines, suffused with glory and seemingly as high as the sky - the meritorious deeds of the Grand Sire (alaungpaya). I can even count them by name: the Zambu-Simee, dazzling with six rays of glory; the Gugyi; the Shwe-lin-pin; the Shwe-chin-thay; and the Shwe-ze-di-gyi. They present a beautiful picture of variegated light---- rays running into one another like continued flashes lightning. Out of the eagerness of my desire to see them with my own eyes, my mind, fixed in its attention, passes them under review: - "this is the golden city, that is the shrine, and here is the golden throne." But the golden city is so far away.

( II )

How lovely must be the river, with its beautiful sand-banks and its whirling waters, flowing across our Lower Country! Can it be that I live away from home so far as the Andamans? The Meza river flows with a continuous uproar its waters dark with moving images. And the still silent forest, thick with dew, shuts out the North Polar star from my view. When I turn to the Sun, I get no help in my attempt at finding out the North, the South, the East or the West. I can only make guesse. Strange! How it ever gives me endless fatigue to think of discovering the name of a particular forest dale! my mind is unsteady and I long daily for my home. But a breeze comes from Kinsan Mount and its gentle breath has a refreshing effect.

( III )

How glorious is the Shwe-gu-taw where the Meza people bow their heads in supplication with faithful hearts on the occasion of the time-honoured banyan watering feast! The mountain vapour rising from the the Meza valley darkens the appearance of the whole mmountain and gradually floats along, forming a link between one range and another, and the duskiness of it rises even to the sky. A rainless breeze causes the snow th drop with a pattering sound, loud as the sound of rain-fall. Even the Sun driving his car from the summit of Mount Yugandhara is unable to display his brilliance. And it is so piteously cold that I fondly wish it wounld soon be midday. All the while I count on my fingers minutes and hours. Will not the rays of the son when they spreadd bring some little warmth? At the Nyaung-Ye festival Me-za people, all devout, Duly fall in prayer and pour Water to the banyan-tree. From the valley, see, the shrine Rises even to the sky. Meza! thy pagoda old Of the Golden Cave is there,

Fair to look on evermore. Dimly glimmering o'er the mount, Dusky floor to shadowy head, Steady hang night's vapours yet; Soon, as a billowing net, are stirred, Surging fretful as a flood, Huddle upward, tower, and crowd; Then in cloudy streamers free Stretched across the sea of dawn, Darkling wreathe the heights around Lost and drowned. The ravelled mist, Shredded now by twisting winds, Patters-listen!-to the ground; Drip-drop-the sond is loud Like the rounded clear refrain Of the rain, though none there be. See! the chariot of the Sun Peeps o'er Mit. Yugandhara, Stooping under vapurs wan. Numbed, the noon I fondly wait, Conting on my fingers chill Hours and minutes, till the rays Spreading fill the world with warmth.

( IV )

Can one look up at that cool object, the mon, beraming with smiles and not feel oppressively homesick? How uncontrollably I long for the conquering City of Jambudipa! This distant country in the extreme North, a strange land of expansive forest and cloaked by the eternal mist, I only heard the name of, but never dreamt of reaching. I knew nothing of its where abouts. How different now is it from our country, the centre of Jambudipa! Quite a strange language is spoken here and the whole expanse of the forest feels the extremes of heat and coldl To think that I should have met such experiences! In our victorious Ratanasingha (Shwebo), the sun cannot be distinguished in brilliance form the Palace Royal, where the rays of light emitted by the nine kinds of precious stones intermingle with the solar rays.

(V) -

I bow with reverent hands to the place where the rich brilliance of the curiously intermingling rays from the royal palace, high as the sky and of an undying beauty, lights up the whole atmosphere and sends a dazzling sheen throughout the whole island (Jambudipa), at a time when the round sun mones along with a circular light. I think of them with a faithful heart when I retire to bed and I circumambulate with my hands to my forehead when I rise in the morning. How delightful must be th gates Thuza, Thasan and Mit-nan, facing the moat in the Golden City at this time! How beautiful, again, must be the river and the moat, with their cool waters uniting in a continuous stream, flowing clockwise perennially round the town, and with the beauty of their wates and sand banks, appearing as though they were the creation of the Nats! While the circle of the Sun Writes her running orbit, I Piously my hands decling Toward the place where, finely spun, Intertwine the rosy rays That embrace the Palacee, skyHigh in dateless beauty, while Islanded in dazzaling air Lies the World. Whene'er to bed I repair, or rise at morn, Faithful and forlorn I still Thither turn my heart, and raise Hands befor my face as I Duly pace my circle just. Oh! how fair those portals are, Mitnan, Thasan, and Thuza,

Still the guardians as of old Round the moated Golden Town! Fair the cold perennial stream, Moat and teeming river, flow Socially the city round; And the banks of mounded sand So divinely stand that they Seem the handiwork oif Nats.

( VI )

How sad I feel and long for home at the thought-- which comes to me with the clearness of a dream- of the pepole of Shwebe, dressed in white garments and gathered at the shrines in common prayer, practising the religious observances and dispensing charity at the quiet kyaungs, at this time of the year when the heat of suummer merges in the moisture of the rains! And there is additional sorrow in store for us- my lovely wife, who has been my partner, in obedience to the Law of Causation, ever since her tenth birthday and my two children, who seem divided from me as by the ocean, without any chance of communication either by message or by visit. O my breast-born children!- in beauty like the gold, in brightness

like a pair of eyes (or gems) and in delightfulness like the rose-water- how would you miss the pleasure of putting your arms round your father's neck and nestling in his embraces!!!

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