he consecrating drops be shed.
How blest is Janak's daughter, true
To every wifely duty, who
Cleaves faithful to her husband's side
Whose realm is girt by Ocean's tide!
This mountain too above the rest
E'en as the King of Hills is blest,--
Whose shades Kakutstha's scion hold
As Nandan charms the Lord of Gold.
Yea, happy is this tangled grove
Where savage beasts unnumbered rove,
Where, glory of the Warrior race,
King Rama finds a dwelling-place."

Thus Bharat, strong-armed hero spake,
And walked within the pathless brake.
O'er plains where gay trees bloomed he went,
Through boughs in tangled net-work bent,
And then from Rama's cot appeared
The banner which the flame upreared.
And Bharat joyed with every friend
To mark those smoky wreaths ascend:
"Here Rama dwells," he thought; "at last
The ocean of our toil is passed."
Then sure that Rama's hermit cot
Was on the mountain's side
He stayed his army on the spot,
And on with Guha hied.

Canto C. The Meeting.

Then Bharat to Satrughna showed
The spot, and eager onward strode,
First bidding Saint Vasishtha bring
The widowed consorts of the king.
As by fraternal love impelled
His onward course the hero held,
Sumantra followed close behind
Satrughna with an anxious mind:
Not Bharat's self more fain could be
To look on Rama's face than he.
As, speeding on, the spot he neared,
Amid the hermits' homes appeared
His brother's cot with leaves o'erspread,
And by its side a lowly shed.
Before the shed great heaps were left
Of gathered flowers and billets cleft,
And on the trees hung grass and bark
Rama and Lakshman's path to mark:
And heaps of fuel to provide
Against the cold stood ready dried.
The long-armed chief, as on he went
In glory's light preeminent,
With joyous words like these addressed
The brave Satrughna and the rest:
"This is the place, I little doubt,
Which Bharadvaja pointed out,
Not far from where we stand must be
The woodland stream, Mandakini.
Here on the mountain's woody side
Roam elephants in tusked pride,
And ever with a roar and cry
Each other, as they meet, defy.
And see those smoke-wreaths thick and dark:
The presence of the flame they mark,
Which hermits in the forest strive
By every art to keep alive.
O happy me! my task is done,
And I shall look on Raghu's son,
Like some great saint, who loves to treat
His elders with all reverence meet."

Thus Bharat reached that forest rill,
Thus roamed on Chitrakut