  The crowd dismissed, to high debate The monarch called his peers of state, And, counsel from their lips obtained, Firm in his will his will explained: “To-morrow with auspicious ray The moon in Pushya's sign will stay; Be that the time with happy fate Mine eldest son to consecrate, And let my RÁma, lotus-eyed, As Regent o'er the state preside.” He sought, within, his charioteer, And cried “Again bring RÁma here.” To RÁma's home Sumantra hied Again to be the prince's guide. His coming, told to RÁma's ear, Suggested anxious doubt and fear. He bade the messenger be led That instant in, and thus he said: “Tell me the cause, omitting naught, Why thou again my house hast sought.” The envoy answered: “Prince, thy sire Has sent thy presence to require. My sender known, 'tis thine to say If thou wilt go or answer nay.” Then RÁma, when he heard his speech, Made haste the royal court to reach. Soon as the monarch was aware His dearest son was waiting there, Eager the parley to begin He bade them lead the prince within, Soon as he passed the chamber door The hero bent him to the floor, And at a distance from his seat Raised his joined hands his sire to greet. The monarch raised him from the ground, And loving arms about him wound, Then pointed to a seat that shone With gold for him to rest upon. “Aged am I,” he said, “and worn; In life's best joys my share have borne; Rites to the Gods, in hundreds, paid, With gifts of corn and largess made. I yearned for sons: my life is blest With them and thee of sons the best. No debt to saints or BrÁhmans, no, Nor spirits, Gods, or self I owe. One duty now remains alone, To set thee on thy father's throne. Now therefore, RÁma, hear my rede, And mark my words with duteous heed: This day the peoples' general voice, Elects thee king of love and choice, And I, consenting to the prayer, Will make thee, darling, Regent Heir. Dread visions, each returning night, With evil omens scare my sight. Red meteors with a fearful sound Shoot wildly downward to the ground, While tempests lash the troubled air; And they who read the stars declare That, leagued against my natal sign, When portents dire as these appear, A monarch's death or woe is near. Then while my senses yet are spared, And thought and will are unimpaired, Be thou, my son, anointed king: Men's fancy is a fickle thing. To-day the moon, in order due, Entered the sign Punarvasu,267 To-morrow, as the wise foretell, In Pushya's favouring stars will dwell: Then on the throne shalt thou be placed. My soul, prophetic, counsels haste: Thee, O my son, to-morrow I As Regent Heir will sanctify. So till the coming night be passed Do thou and SÍtÁ strictly fast: From worldly thoughts thy soul refrain, And couched on holy grass remain. [pg 094]And let thy trusted lords attend In careful watch upon their friend, For, u
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