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cheers mine heart and charms mine eye.

      And reasons more could I assign

      Why Dapple-skin can ne’er be thine.”

      The royal sage, his suit denied,

      With eloquence more earnest cried:

      “Tusked elephants, a goodly train,

      Each with a golden girth and chain,

      Whose goads with gold well fashioned shine —

      Of these be twice seven thousand thine.

      And four-horse cars with gold made bright,

      With steeds most beautifully white,

      Whose bells make music as they go,

      Eight hundred, Saint, will I bestow.

      Eleven thousand mettled steeds

      From famous lands, of noble breeds —

      These will I gladly give, O thou

      Devoted to each holy vow.

      Ten million heifers, fair to view,

      Whose sides are marked with every hue —

      These in exchange will I assign;

      But let thy Dapple-skin be mine.

      Ask what thou wilt, and piles untold

      Of priceless gems and gleaming gold,

      O best of Bráhmans, shall be thine;

      But let thy Dapple-skin be mine.”

      The great Vaśishṭha, thus addressed,

      Made answer to the king’s request:

      “Ne’er will I give my cow away,

      My gem, my wealth, my life and stay.

      My worship at the moon’s first show,

      And at the full, to her I owe;

      And sacrifices small and great,

      Which largess due and gifts await.

      From her alone, their root, O King,

      My rites and holy service spring.

      What boots it further words to say?

      I will not give my cow away

      Who yields me what I ask each day.”

1 “Of old hoards and minerals in the earth, the king is entitled to half by reason of his general protection, and because he is the lord paramount of the soil.” Manu, Book VIII. 39.

2 Ghí or clarified butter, “holy oil,” being one of the essentials of sacrifice.

3 “A Bráhman had five principal duties to discharge every day: study and teaching the Veda, oblations to the manes or spirits of the departed, sacrifice to the Gods, hospitable offerings to men, and a gift of food to all creatures. The last consisted of rice or other grain which the Bráhman was to offer every day outside his house in the open air. Manu, Book III. 70.” Gorresio.

4 These were certain sacred words of invocation such a sváhá, vashaṭ, etc., pronounced at the time of sacrifice.

      Canto 54. The Battle.

      As Saint Vaśishṭha answered so,

      Nor let the cow of plenty go,

      The monarch, as a last resource,

      Began to drag her off by force.

      While the king’s servants tore away

      Their moaning, miserable prey,

      Sad, sick at heart, and sore distressed,

      She pondered thus within her breast:

      “Why am I thus forsaken? why

      Betrayed by him of soul most high.

      Vaśishṭha, ravished by the hands

      Of soldiers of the monarch’s bands?

      Ah me! what evil have I done

      Against the lofty-minded one,

      That he, so pious, can expose

      The innocent whose love he knows?”

      In her sad breast as thus she thought,

      And heaved deep sighs with anguish fraught,

      With wondrous speed away she fled,

      And back to Saint Vaśishṭha sped.

      She hurled by hundreds to the ground

      The menial crew that hemmed her round,

      And flying swifter than the blast

      Before the saint herself she cast.

      There Dapple-skin before the saint

      Stood moaning forth her sad complaint,

      And wept and lowed: such tones as come

      From wandering cloud or distant drum.

      “O son of Brahmá,” thus cried she,

      “Why hast thou thus forsaken me,

      That the king’s men, before thy face,

      Bear off thy servant from her place?”

      Then thus the Bráhman saint replied

      To her whose heart with woe was tried,

      And grieving for his favourite’s sake,

      As to a suffering sister spake:

      “I leave thee not: dismiss the thought;

      Nor, duteous, hast thou failed in aught.

      This king, o’erweening in the pride

      Of power, has reft thee from my side.

      Little, I ween, my strength could do

      ‘Gainst him, a mighty warrior too.

      Strong, as a soldier born and bred —

      Great, as a king whom regions dread.

      See! what a host the conqueror leads,

      With elephants, and cars, and steeds.

      O’er countless bands his pennons fly;

      So is he mightier far than I.”

      He spoke. Then she, in lowly mood,

      To that high saint her speech renewed:

      “So judge not they who wisest are:

      The Bráhman’s might is mightier far.

      For Bráhmans strength from Heaven derive,

      And warriors bow when Bráhmans strive.

      A boundless power ’tis thine to wield:

      To such a king thou shouldst not yield,

      Who, very mighty though he be —

      So fierce thy strength — must bow to thee.

      Command me, Saint. Thy power divine

      Has brought me here and made me thine;

      And I, howe’er the tyrant boast,

      Will tame his pride and slay his host.”

      Then

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