Their task achieved, the princes spent

That night with joy and full content.

Ere yet the dawn was well displayed

Their morning rites they duly paid,

And sought, while yet the light was faint,

The hermits and the mighty saint.

They greeted first that holy sire

Resplendent like the burning fire,

And then with noble words began

Their sweet speech to the sainted man:

The saints, by Vi?vÁmitra led,

To RÁma thus in answer said:

Of fertile MÍthilÁ has planned

A noble sacrifice, and we

Will thither go the rite to see.

Thou, Prince of men, with us shalt go,

And there behold the wondrous bow,

Terrific, vast, of matchless might,

Which, splendid at the famous rite,

The Gods assembled gave the king.

No giant, fiend, or God can string

That gem of bows, no heavenly bard:

Then, sure, for man the task were hard.

When lords of earth have longed to know

The virtue of that wondrous bow,

The strongest sons of kings in vain

Have tried the mighty cord to strain.

This famous bow thou there shalt view,

And wondrous rites shalt witness too.

The high-souled king who lords it o'er

The realm of MÍthilÁ of yore

Gained from the Gods this bow, the price

Of his imperial sacrifice.

Won by the rite the glorious prize

Still in the royal palace lies,

Laid up in oil of precious scent

Then RÁma answering, Be it so,

Made ready with the rest to go.

The saint himself was now prepared,

But ere beyond the grove he fared,

He turned him and in words like these

Addressed the sylvan deities:

I leave the hermits' perfect seat:

To GangÁ's northern shore I go

With reverent steps he paced around

The limits of the holy ground,

And then the mighty saint set forth

And took his journey to the north.

His pupils, deep in Scripture's page,

Followed behind the holy sage,

And servants from the sacred grove

A hundred wains for convoy drove.

The very birds that winged that air,

The very deer that harboured there,

Forsook the glade and leafy brake

And followed for the hermit's sake.

They travelled far, till in the west

The sun was speeding to his rest,

And made, their portioned journey o'er,

Their halt on ?ona's171 distant shore.

The hermits bathed when sank the sun,

And every rite was duly done,

Oblations paid to Fire, and then

Sate round their chief the holy men.

RÁma and Lakshma? lowly bowed

In reverence to the hermit crowd,

And RÁma, having sate him down

Before the saint of pure renown,