ems that we have descended into
the region of the clouds.

_Matali_. How do you perceive it?

_King_.

Plovers that fly from mountain-caves,
Steeds that quick-flashing lightning laves,
And chariot-wheels that drip with spray--
A path o'er pregnant clouds betray.

_Matali_. You are right. And in a moment you will be in the world over
which you bear rule.

_King_ (_looking down_). Matali, our quick descent gives the world of
men a mysterious look. For

The plains appear to melt and fall
From mountain peaks that grow more tall;
The trunks of trees no longer hide
Nor in their leafy nests abide;
The river network now is clear,
For smaller streams at last appear:
It seems as if some being threw
The world to me, for clearer view.

_Matali_. You are a good observer, O King. (_He looks down,
awe-struck_.) There is a noble loveliness in the earth. _King_.
Matali, what mountain is this, its flanks sinking into the eastern and
into the western sea? It drips liquid gold like a cloud at sunset.

_Matali_. O King, this is Gold Peak, the mountain of the fairy
centaurs. Here it is that ascetics most fully attain to magic powers.
See!

The ancient sage, Marichi's son,
Child of the Uncreated One,
Father of superhuman life,
Dwells here austerely with his wife.

_King_ (_reverently_). I must not neglect the happy chance. I cannot
go farther until I have walked humbly about the holy one.

_Matali_. It is a worthy thought, O King. (_The chariot descends_.) We
have come down to earth.

_King_ (_astonished_). Matali,

The wheels are mute on whirling rim;
Unstirred, the dust is lying there;
We do not bump the earth, but skim:
Still, still we seem to fly through air.

_Matali_. Such is the glory of the chariot which obeys you and Indra.

_King_. In which direction lies the hermitage of Marichi's son?

_Matali_ (_pointing_). See!

Where stands the hermit, horridly austere,
Whom clinging vines are choking, tough and sore;
Half-buried in an ant-hill that has grown
About him, standing post-like and alone;
Sun-staring with dim eyes that know no rest,
The dead skin of a serpent on his breast:
So long he stood unmoved, insensate there
That birds build nests within his mat of hair.

_King_ (_gazing_). All honour to one who mortifies the flesh so
terribly.

_Matali_ (_checking the chariot_). We have entered the hermitage of
the ancient sage, whose wife Aditi te