Again a dart, the Wind-God's own,
Upon his string he laid,
And all the demons were overthrown--
The saints no more afraid.
When thus the fiends were slain in fight,
Disturbers of each holy rite,
Due honor by the saints was paid
To Rama for his wondrous aid:--
So Indra is adored when he
Has won some glorious victory.
Success at last the rite had crowned,
And Visvamitra gazed around--
And seeing every side at rest,
The son of Raghu thus addressed:--
"My joy, O Prince, is now complete--
Thou hast obeyed my will:
Perfect before, this calm retreat
Is now more perfect still."

CANTO XXXIII

THE SONE

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:--
"Here stand, O lord, thy servants true--
Command what thou wouldst have us do."
The saints, by Visvamitra led,
To Rama thus in answer said:--
"Janak, the king who rules the land
Of fertile Mithila, 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 Mithila, of yore
Gained from the Gods this bow, the price
Of his imperial sacrifice.
Won by the rite the glorious prize
Still in his royal palace lies--
Laid up in oil of precious scent
With aloes-wood and incense blent."
Then Rama 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