e body I may rise
And dwell with Gods within the skies.
Sons of my guide, none else I see
Can give what he refuses me.
Ikshvaku's children still depend
Upon their guide most reverend;
And you, as nearest in degree
To him, my deities shall be!"

Canto LVIII. Trisanku Cursed.

Trisanku's speech the hundred heard,
And thus replied, to anger stirred:
"Why foolish King, by him denied,
Whose truthful lips have never lied,
Dost thou transgress his prudent rule,
And seek, for aid, another school?(235)
Ikshvaku's sons have aye relied
Most surely on their holy guide:
Then how dost thou, fond Monarch, dare
Transgress the rule his lips declare?
"Thy wish is vain," the saint replied,
And bade thee cast the plan aside.
Then how can we, his sons, pretend
In such a rite our aid to lend?
O Monarch, of the childish heart,
Home to thy royal town depart.
That mighty saint, thy priest and guide,
At noblest rites may well preside:
The worlds for sacrifice combined
A worthier priest could never find."

Such speech of theirs the monarch heard,
Though rage distorted every word,
And to the hermits made reply:
"You, like your sire, my suit deny.
For other aid I turn from you:
So, rich in penance, Saints, adieu!"

Vasishtha's children heard, and guessed
His evil purpose scarce expressed,
And cried, while rage their bosoms burned,
"Be to a vile Chandala(236) turned!"
This said, with lofty thoughts inspired,
Each to his own retreat retired.

That night Trisanku underwent
Sad change in shape and lineament.
Next morn, an outcast swart of hue,
His dusky cloth he round him drew.
His hair had fallen from his head,
And roughness o'er his skin was spread.
Such wreaths adorned him as are found
To flourish on the funeral ground.
Each armlet was an iron ring:
Such was the figure of the king,
That every counsellor and peer,
And following townsman, fled in fear.

Alone, unyielding to dismay,
Though burnt by anguish night and day,
Great Visvamitra's side he sought,
Whose treasures were by penance bought.

The hermit with his tender eyes
Looked on Trisanku's altered guise,
And grieving at his ruined state
Addressed him thus, compassionate:
"Great King," the pious hermit said,
"What cause thy steps has hither led,
Ayodhya's mighty Sovereign, whom
A curse has plagued with outcast's doom?"
In vile Chandala(237) shape, the king
Heard Visvamitra's questioning,
And, suppliant palm to palm applied,
With answering e