The saint, well read in holy lore,

Pondered awhile his answer o'er,

And thus again addressed the king,

His wandering thoughts regathering:

Which shall the sons thou cravest win,

Where all things shall be duly sped

Then by VibhÁ?dak's gentle son

Was that high sacrifice begun,

The king's advantage seeking still

And zealous to perform his will.

Now all the Gods had gathered there,

Each one for his allotted share:

BrahmÁ, the ruler of the sky,

SthÁ?u, NÁrÁya?, Lord most high,

And holy Indra men might view

With Maruts105 for his retinue;

The heavenly chorister, and saint,

And spirit pure from earthly taint,

With one accord had sought the place

The high-souled monarch's rite to grace.

Then to the Gods who came to take

Their proper share the hermit spake:

The votive steed, a son to gain;

Stern penance-rites the king has tried,

And in firm faith on you relied,

And now with undiminished care

A second rite would fain prepare.

But, O ye Gods, consent to grant

The longing of your supplicant.

For him beseeching hands I lift,

And pray you all to grant the gift,

That four fair sons of high renown

They to the hermit's son replied:

For, BrÁhman, in most high degree

These words the Gods in answer said,

And vanished thence by Indra led.

Thus to the Lord, the worlds who made,

The Immortals all assembled prayed:

RÁva?, who rules the giant race,

Torments us in his senseless pride,

And penance-loving saints beside.

For thou well pleased in days of old

Gavest the boon that makes him bold,

That God nor demon e'er should kill

His charmed life, for so thy will.

We, honouring that high behest,

Bear all his rage though sore distressed.

That lord of giants fierce and fell

Scourges the earth and heaven and hell.

Mad with thy boon, his impious rage

Smites saint and bard and God and sage.

The sun himself withholds his glow,

The wind in fear forbears to blow;

The fire restrains his wonted heat

Where stand the dreaded RÁva?'s feet,

And, necklaced with the wandering wave,

The sea before him fears to rave.

Kuvera's self in sad defeat

Is driven from his blissful seat.

We see, we feel the giant's might,

And woe comes o'er us and affright.

To thee, O Lord, thy suppliants pray

Thus by the gathered Gods addressed

He pondered in his secret breast,

And said: “One only way I find

To slay this fiend of evil mind.

He prayed me once his life to guard

From demon, God, and heavenly bard,

And spirits of the earth and air,

And I consenting heard his prayer.

But the proud giant in his scorn

Recked not of man of woman born.

None else may take his life away,

The Gods, with Indra at their head,

Rejoiced to hear the words he said.

Then crowned with glory like a flame,

Lord Vish?u to the council came;

His hands shell