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suppliant hands, and thus replied:

      “Thy children heavenly forms shall wear;

      The names devised by thee shall bear,

      And, Maruts called by my decree,

      Shall Amrit drink and wait on me.

      From fear and age and sickness freed,

      Through the three worlds their wings shall speed.”

      Thus in the hermits’ holy shade

      Mother and son their compact made,

      And then, as fame relates, content,

      Home to the happy skies they went.

      This is the spot — so men have told —

Where Lord Mahendra3 dwelt of old,

      This is the blessed region where

      His votaress mother claimed his care.

      Here gentle Alambúshá bare

      To old Ikshváku, king and sage,

      Viśála, glory of his age,

      By whom, a monarch void of guilt,

      Was this fair town Viśálá built.

      His son was Hemachandra, still

      Renowned for might and warlike skill.

      From him the great Suchandra came;

      His son, Dhúmráśva, dear to fame.

      Next followed royal Srinjay; then

      Famed Sahadeva, lord of men.

      Next came Kuśáśva, good and mild,

      Whose son was Somadatta styled,

      And Sumati, his heir, the peer

      Of Gods above, now governs here.

      And ever through Ikshváku’s grace,

      Viśálá‘s kings, his noble race,

      Are lofty-souled, and blest with length

      Of days, with virtue, and with strength.

      This night, O prince, we here will sleep;

      And when the day begins to peep,

      Our onward way will take with thee,

      The king of Míthilá to see.”

      Then Sumati, the king, aware

      Of Viśvámitra’s advent there,

      Came quickly forth with honour meet

      The lofty-minded sage to greet.

      Girt with his priest and lords the king

      Did low obeisance, worshipping,

      With suppliant hands, with head inclined,

      Thus spoke he after question kind;

      “Since thou hast deigned to bless my sight,

      And grace awhile thy servant’s seat,

      High fate is mine, great Anchorite,

      And none may with my bliss compete.”

1 “In this myth of Indra destroying the unborn fruit of Diti with his thunderbolt, from which afterwards came the Maruts or Gods of Wind and Storm, geological phenomena are, it seems, represented under mythical images. In the great Mother of the Gods is, perhaps, figured the dry earth: Indra the God of thunder rends it open, and there issue from its rent bosom the Maruts or exhalations of the earth. But such ancient myths are difficult to interpret with absolute certainty.” Gorresio.

2 Wind.

3 Indra, with mahá, great, prefixed.

      Canto 48. Indra And Ahalyá

      When mutual courtesies had past,

      Viśálá‘s ruler spoke at last:

      “These princely youths, O Sage, who vie

      In might with children of the sky,

      Heroic, born for happy fate,

      With elephants’ or lions’ gait,

      Bold as the tiger or the bull,

      With lotus eyes so large and full,

      Armed with the quiver, sword, and bow,

Whose figures like the Aśvins1 show,

      Like children of the deathless Powers,

Come freely to these shades of ours,2—

      How have they reached on foot this place?

      What do they seek, and what their race?

      As sun and moon adorn the sky,

      This spot the heroes glorify.

      Alike in stature, port, and mien,

      The same fair form in each is seen,”

      He spoke; and at the monarch’s call

      The best of hermits told him all,

      How in the grove with him they dwelt,

      And slaughter to the demons dealt.

      Then wonder filled the monarch’s breast,

      Who tended well each royal guest.

      Thus entertained, the princely pair

      Remained that night and rested there,

      And with the morn’s returning ray

      To Mithilá pursued their way.

      When Janak’s lovely city first

      Upon their sight, yet distant, burst,

      The hermits all with joyful cries

      Hailed the fair town that met their eyes.

      Then Ráma saw a holy wood,

      Close, in the city’s neighbourhood,

      O’ergrown, deserted, marked by age,

      And thus addressed the mighty sage:

      “O reverend lord. I long to know

      What hermit dwelt here long ago.”

      Then to the prince his holy guide,

      Most eloquent of men, replied:

      “O Ráma, listen while I tell

      Whose was this grove, and what befell

      When in the fury of his rage

      The high saint cursed the hermitage.

      This was the grove — most lovely then —

      Of Gautam, O thou best of men,

      Like heaven itself, most honoured by

      The Gods who dwell above the sky.

      Here with Ahalyá at his side

      His fervid task the ascetic plied.

      Years fled in thousands. On a day

      It chanced the saint had gone away,

      When Town-destroying Indra came,

      And

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