Then RÁma, following still his guide,

Within the grove, with Lakshma?, hied,

Her vows a wondrous light had lent

To that illustrious penitent.

He saw the glorious lady, screened

From eye of man, and God, and fiend,

Like some bright portent which the care

Of BrahmÁ launches through the air,

Designed by his illusive art

To flash a moment and depart:

Or like the flame that leaps on high

To sink involved in smoke and die:

Or like the full moon shining through

The wintry mist, then lost to view:

Or like the sun's reflection, cast

Upon the flood, too bright to last:

So was the glorious dame till then

Removed from Gods' and mortals' ken,

Till—such was Gautam's high decree—

Prince RÁma came to set her free.

Then, with great joy that dame to meet,

The sons of Raghu clapped her feet;

And she, remembering Gautam's oath,

With gentle grace received them both;

Then water for their feet she gave,

Guest-gift, and all that strangers crave.

The prince, of courteous rule aware,

Received, as meet, the lady's care.

Then flowers came down in copious rain,

And moving to the heavenly strain

Of music in the skies that rang,

The nymphs and minstrels danced and sang:

And all the Gods with one glad voice

Praised the great dame, and cried, “Rejoice!

Through fervid rites no more defiled,

Gautam, the holy hermit knew—

For naught escaped his godlike view—

That RÁma lodged beneath that shade,

And hasting there his homage paid.

He took AhalyÁ to his side,

From sin and folly purified,

And let his new-found consort bear

In his austerities a share.

Then RÁma, pride of Raghu's race,

Welcomed by Gautam, face to face,

Who every highest honour showed,

To MithilÁ pursued his road.