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to dress the altar, slay the victims, and pour out the libations. 2. The choristers, who chant the sacred hymns. 3. The reciters or readers, who repeat certain hymns. 4. The overseers or bishops, who watch and superintend the proceedings of the other priests, and ought to be familiar with all the Vedas. The formulas and verses to be muttered by the first class are contained in the Yajur-veda-sanhitá. The hymns to be sung by the second class are in the Sama-veda-sanhitá. The Atharva-veda is said to be intended for the Brahman or overseer, who is to watch the proceedings of the sacrifice, and to remedy any mistake that may occur. The hymns to be recited by the third class are contained in the Rigveda,” Chips from a German Workshop.

      Canto 14. Rávan Doomed.

      The saint, well read in holy lore,

      Pondered awhile his answer o’er,

      And thus again addressed the king,

      His wandering thoughts regathering:

      “Another rite will I begin

      Which shall the sons thou cravest win,

      Where all things shall be duly sped

      And first Atharva texts be read.”

      Then by Vibháṇdak’s gentle son

      Was that high sacrifice begun,

      The king’s advantage seeking still

      And zealous to perform his will.

      Now all the Gods had gathered there,

      Each one for his allotted share:

      Brahmá, the ruler of the sky,

      Stháṇu, Náráyaṇ, Lord most high,

      And holy Indra men might view

With Maruts1 for his retinue;

      The heavenly chorister, and saint,

      And spirit pure from earthly taint,

      With one accord had sought the place

      The high-souled monarch’s rite to grace.

      Then to the Gods who came to take

      Their proper share the hermit spake:

      “For you has Daśaratha slain

      The votive steed, a son to gain;

      Stern penance-rites the king has tried,

      And in firm faith on you relied,

      And now with undiminished care

      A second rite would fain prepare.

      But, O ye Gods, consent to grant

      The longing of your supplicant.

      For him beseeching hands I lift,

      And pray you all to grant the gift,

      That four fair sons of high renown

      The offerings of the king may crown.”

      They to the hermit’s son replied:

      “His longing shall be gratified.

      For, Bráhman, in most high degree

      We love the king and honour thee.”

      These words the Gods in answer said,

      And vanished thence by Indra led.

      Thus to the Lord, the worlds who made,

      The Immortals all assembled prayed:

      “O Brahmá, mighty by thy grace,

      Rávaṇ, who rules the giant race,

      Torments us in his senseless pride,

      And penance-loving saints beside.

      For thou well pleased in days of old

      Gavest the boon that makes him bold,

      That God nor demon e’er should kill

      His charmed life, for so thy will.

      We, honouring that high behest,

      Bear all his rage though sore distressed.

      That lord of giants fierce and fell

      Scourges the earth and heaven and hell.

      Mad with thy boon, his impious rage

      Smites saint and bard and God and sage.

      The sun himself withholds his glow,

      The wind in fear forbears to blow;

      The fire restrains his wonted heat

      Where stand the dreaded Rávaṇ‘s feet,

      And, necklaced with the wandering wave,

      The sea before him fears to rave.

      Kuvera’s self in sad defeat

      Is driven from his blissful seat.

      We see, we feel the giant’s might,

      And woe comes o’er us and affright.

      To thee, O Lord, thy suppliants pray

      To find some cure this plague to stay.”

      Thus by the gathered Gods addressed

      He pondered in his secret breast,

      And said: “One only way I find

      To slay this fiend of evil mind.

      He prayed me once his life to guard

      From demon, God, and heavenly bard,

      And spirits of the earth and air,

      And I consenting heard his prayer.

      But the proud giant in his scorn

      Recked not of man of woman born.

      None else may take his life away,

      But only man the fiend may slay.”

      The Gods, with Indra at their head,

      Rejoiced to hear the words he said.

      Then crowned with glory like a flame,

      Lord Vishṇu to the council came;

      His hands shell, mace, and discus bore,

      And saffron were the robes he wore.

      Riding his eagle through the crowd,

      As the sun rides upon a cloud,

      With bracelets of fine gold, he came

      Loud welcomed by the Gods’ acclaim.

      His praise they sang with one consent,

      And cried, in lowly reverence bent:

“O Lord whose hand fierce Madhu2 slew,

      Be thou our refuge, firm and true;

      Friend of the suffering worlds art thou,

      We pray thee help thy suppliants now.”

      Then Vishṇu spake: “Ye Gods, declare,

      What may I do to grant your prayer?”

      “King Daśaratha,” thus cried they,

      “Fervent in penance many a day,

      The sacrificial steed has slain,

      Longing for sons, but all in vain.

      Now, at the cry of us forlorn,

      Incarnate as his seed be born.

      Three queens has he: each lovely

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