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hearts’ true wish he sought to know:

      “These prayers for Ráma’s rule suggest

      One question to my doubting breast.

      This thing, I pray, with truth explain:

      Why would ye, while I justly reign,

      That he, mine eldest son, should bear

      His part with me as ruling heir?”

      Then all the people made reply,

      Peasant and townsman, low and high:

      “Each noblest gift of form and mind,

      O Monarch, in thy son we find.

      Do thou the godlike virtues hear

      Which Ráma to our hearts endear.

      So richly blest with graces, none

      In all the earth excels thy son:

      Nay, who to match with him may claim

      In truth, in justice, and in fame?

      True to his promise, gentle, kind,

      Unenvious, of grateful mind,

      Versed in the law and firm of soul,

      He keeps each sense with strict control.

      With duteous care he loves to sit

      By Bráhmans skilled in Holy Writ.

      Hence brightest glory, ne’er to end,

      And matchless fame his youth attend.

      Skilled in the use of spear and shield,

      And arms which heavenly warriors wield,

      Supreme in war, unconquered yet

      By man, fiend, God in battle met,

      Whene’er in pomp of war he goes

      ‘Gainst town or city of the foes,

      He ever comes with Lakshmaṇ back

      Victorious from the fierce attack.

      Returning homeward from afar

      Borne on his elephant or car,

      He ever to the townsmen bends

      And greets them as beloved friends,

      Asks how each son, each servant thrives,

      How fare our pupils, offerings, wives;

      And like a father bids us tell,

      Each for himself, that all is well.

      If pain or grief the city tries

      His heart is swift to sympathize.

      When festive scenes our thoughts employ

      He like a father shares the joy.

      High is the fate, O King, that gave

      Thy Ráma born to bless and save,

      With filial virtues fair and mild

      Like Kaśyap old Maríchi’s child.

      Hence to the kingdom’s distant ends

      One general prayer for him ascends.

      Each man in town and country prays

      For Ráma’s strength, health, length of days.

      With hearts sincere, their wish the same,

      The tender girl, the aged dame,

      Subject and stranger, peasant, hind,

      One thought impressed on every mind,

      At evening and at dawning day

      To all the Gods for Ráma pray.

      Do thou, O King, of grace comply,

      And hear the people’s longing cry,

      And let us on the throne by thee

      The lotus-tinted Ráma see.

      O thou who givest boons, attend;

      A gracious ear, O Monarch, lend

      And for our weal install,

      Consenting to our earnest prayer,

      Thy godlike Ráma Regent Heir,

      Who seeks the good of all.”

1 Chief of the insignia of imperial dignity.

      Canto 3. Dasaratha’s Precepts.

      The monarch with the prayer complied

      Of suppliant hands, on every side

      Uplifted like a lotus-bed:

      And then these gracious words he said:

      “Great joy and mighty fame are mine

      Because your loving hearts incline,

      In full assembly clearly shown

      To place my Ráma on the throne.”

      Then to Vaśishṭha, standing near,

      And Vámadeva loud and clear

      The monarch spoke that all might hear:

      “’Tis pure and lovely Chaitra now

      When flowers are sweet on every bough;

      All needful things with haste prepare

      That Ráma be appointed heir.”

      Then burst the people’s rapture out

      In loud acclaim and joyful shout;

      And when the tumult slowly ceased

      The king addressed the holy priest:

      “Give order, Saint, with watchful heed

      For what the coming rite will need.

      This day let all things ready wait

      Mine eldest son to consecrate.”

      Best of all men of second birth

      Vaśishṭha heard the lord of earth,

      And gave commandment to the bands

      Of servitors with lifted hands

      Who waited on their master’s eye:

      “Now by to-morrow’s dawn supply

      Rich gold and herbs and gems of price

      And offerings for the sacrifice,

      Wreaths of white flowers and roasted rice,

      And oil and honey, separate;

      New garments and a car of state,

      An elephant with lucky signs,

      A fourfold host in ordered lines,

      The white umbrella, and a pair

Of chowries,1 and a banner fair;

      A hundred vases, row on row,

      To shine like fire in splendid glow,

      A tiger’s mighty skin, a bull

      With gilded horns most beautiful.

      All these, at dawn of coming day,

      Around the royal shrine array,

      Where burns the fire’s undying ray.

      Each palace door, each city gate

      With wreaths of sandal decorate.

      And

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