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clouds of incense-smoke be blent.

      Let food of noble kind and taste

      Be for a hundred thousand placed;

      Fresh curds with streams of milk bedewed

      To feed the Bráhman multitude.

      With care be all their wants supplied.

      And mid the twice-born chiefs divide

      Rich largess, with the early morn,

      And oil and curds and roasted corn.

      Soon as the sun has shown his light

      Pronounce the prayer to bless the rite,

      And then be all the Bráhmans called

      And in their ordered seats installed.

      Let all musicians skilled to play,

      And dancing-girls in bright array

      Stand ready in the second ring

      Within the palace of the king.

      Each honoured tree, each holy shrine

      With leaves and flowery wreaths entwine,

      And here and there beneath the shade

      Be food prepared and presents laid.

      Then brightly clad, in warlike guise,

      With long swords girt upon their thighs,

      Let soldiers of the nobler sort

      March to the monarch’s splendid court.”

      Thus gave command the twice-born pair

      To active servants stationed there.

      Then hastened to the king and said

      That all their task was duly sped,

      The king to wise Sumantra spake:

      “Now quick, my lord, thy chariot take,

      And hither with thy swiftest speed

      My son, my noble Ráma lead.”

      Sumantra, ere the word was given,

      His chariot from the court had driven,

      And Ráma, best of all who ride

      In cars, came sitting by his side.

      The lords of men had hastened forth

      From east and west and south and north,

      Áryan and stranger, those who dwell

      In the wild wood and on the fell,

      And as the Gods to Indra, they

      Showed honour to the king that day.

      Like Vásav, when his glorious form

      Is circled by the Gods of storm,

      Girt in his hall by kings he saw

      His car-borne Ráma near him draw,

      Like him who rules the minstrel band

Of heaven;2 whose valour filled the land,

      Of mighty arm and stately pride

      Like a wild elephant in stride,

      As fair in face as that fair stone

Dear to the moon, of moonbeams grown,3

      With noble gifts and grace that took

      The hearts of all, and chained each look,

      World-cheering as the Lord of Rain

      When floods relieve the parching plain.

      The father, as the son came nigh,

      Gazed with an ever-thirstier eye.

      Sumantra helped the prince alight

      From the good chariot passing bright,

      And as to meet his sire he went

      Followed behind him reverent.

      Then Ráma clomb, the king to seek

      That terrace like Kailása’s peak,

      And reached the presence of the king,

      Sumantra closely following.

      Before his father’s face he came,

Raised suppliant hands and named his name,4

      And bowing lowly as is meet

      Paid reverence to the monarch’s feet.

      But soon as Daśaratha viewed

      The prince in humble attitude,

      He raised him by the hand in haste

      And his beloved son embraced,

      Then signed him to a glorious throne,

      Gem-decked and golden, near his own.

      Then Ráma, best of Raghu’s line,

      Made the fair seat with lustre shine

      As when the orient sun upsprings

      And his pure beam on Meru flings.

      The glory flashed on roof and wall,

      And with strange sheen suffused the hall,

      As when the moon’s pure rays are sent

      Through autumn’s star-lit firmament.

      Then swelled his breast with joy and pride

      As his dear son the father eyed,

      E’en as himself more fair arrayed

      In some clear mirror’s face displayed.

      The aged monarch gazed awhile,

      Then thus addressed him with a smile,

      As Kaśyap, whom the worlds revere,

      Speaks for the Lord of Gods to hear:

      “O thou of all my sons most dear,

      In virtue best, thy father’s peer,

      Child of my consort first in place,

      Mine equal in her pride of race,

      Because the people’s hearts are bound

      To thee by graces in thee found,

      Be thou in Pushya’s favouring hour

      Made partner of my royal power.

      I know that thou by nature’s bent

      Both modest art and excellent,

      But though thy gifts no counsel need

      My love suggests the friendly rede.

      Mine own dear son, be modest still,

      And rule each sense with earnest will.

      Keep thou the evils far away

      That spring from love and anger’s sway.

      Thy noble course alike pursue

      In secret as in open view,

      And every nerve, the love to gain

      Of ministers and subjects, strain.

      The happy prince who sees with pride

      His thriving people satisfied;

      Whose arsenals with arms are stored,

      And treasury with

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