On towers and roofs and porticoes.
Mid merry crowds who sang and cheered
The palace of the king they neared.
Then Raghu's son to Bharat, best
Of duty's slaves, these words addressed:
"Pass onward to the monarch's hall.
The high-souled Vanars with thee call,
And let the chieftains, as is meet,
The widows of our father greet.
And to the Vanar king assign
Those chambers, best of all, which shine
With lazulite and pearl inlaid,
And pleasant grounds with flowers and shade."

He ceased: and Bharat bent his head;
Sugriva by the hand he led
And passed within the palace where
Stood couches which Satrughna's care,
With robes and hangings richly dyed,
And burning lamps, had seen supplied.
Then Bharat spake: "I pray thee, friend,
Thy speedy messengers to send,
Each sacred requisite to bring
That we may consecrate our king."
Sugriva raised four urns of gold,
The water for the rite to hold,
And bade four swiftest Vanars flee
And fill them from each distant sea.
Then east and west and south and north
The Vanar envoys hastened forth.
Each in swift flight an ocean sought
And back through air his treasure brought,
And full five hundred floods beside
Pure water for the king supplied.
Then girt by many a Brahman sage,
Vasishtha, chief for reverend age,
High on a throne with jewels graced
King Rama and his Sita placed.
There by Jabali, far revered,
Vijay and Kasyap's son appeared;
By Gautam's side Katvayan stood,
And Vamadeva wise and good,
Whose holy hands in order shed
The pure sweet drops on Rama's head.
Then priests and maids and warriors, all
Approaching at Vasishtha's call,
With sacred drops bedewed their king,
The centre of a joyous ring,
The guardians of the worlds, on high,
And all the children of the sky
From herbs wherewith their hands were filled
Rare juices on his brow distilled.
His brows were bound with glistering gold
Which Manu's self had worn of old,
Bright with the flash of many a gem
His sire's ancestral diadem.
Satrughna lent his willing aid
And o'er him held the regal shade:
The monarchs whom his arm had saved
The chouries round his forehead waved.
A golden chain, that flashed and glowed
With gems the God of Wind bestowed:
Mahendra gave a glorious string
Of fairest pearls to deck the king,
The skies with acclamation rang,
The gay nymphs danced, the minstrels sang.
On that blest day the joyful plain
Was clothed anew with golden grain.
The trees the witching influence knew,
And bent wit