the dark woods that skirt my cell
Obey my words, and speeding hence
Find them some meeter residence.
Here if they dare to stay, on all
The terrors of my curse shall fall.
They spoil the tender saplings, dear
As children which I cherish here,
Mar root and branch and leaf and spray,
And steal the ripening fruit away.
One day I grant, no further hour,
To-morrow shall my curse have power,
And then each Vanar I may see
A stone through countless years shall be."
The Vanars heard the curse and hied
From sheltering wood and mountain side.
King Bali marked their haste and dread,
And to the flying leaders said:
"Speak, Vanar chiefs, and tell me why
From Saint Matanga's grove ye fly
To gather round me: is it well
With all who in those woodlands dwell?"
He spoke: the Vanar leaders told
King Bali with his chain of gold
What curse the saint had on them laid,
Which drove them from their ancient shade.
Then royal Bali sought the sage,
With reverent hands to soothe his rage.
The holy man his suppliant spurned,
And to his cell in anger turned.
That curse on Bali sorely pressed,
And long his conscious soul distressed.
Him still the curse and terror keep
Afar from Rishyamuka's steep.
He dares not to the grove draw nigh,
Nay scarce will hither turn his eye.
We know what terrors warm him hence,
And roam these woods in confidence.
Look, Prince, before thee white and dry
The demon's bones uncovered lie,
Who, like a hill in bulk and length,
Fell ruind for his pride of strength.
See those high Sal trees seven in row
That droop their mighty branches low,
These at one grasp would Bali seize,
And leafless shake the trembling trees.
These tales I tell, O Prince, to show
The matchless power that arms the foe.
How canst thou hope to slay him? how
Meet Bali in the battle now?"

Sugriva spoke and sadly sighed:
And Lakshman with a laugh replied:
"What show of power, what proof and test
May still the doubts that fill thy breast?"

He spoke. Sugriva thus replied:
"See yonder Sal trees side by side.
King Bali here would take his stand
Grasping his bow with vigorous hand,
And every arrow, keen and true,
Would strike its tree and pierce it through.
If Rama now his bow will bend,
And through one trunk an arrow send;
Or if his arm can raise and throw
Two hundred measures of his bow,
Grasped by a foot and hurled through air,
The demon bull that moulders there,
My heart will own his might and fain
Believe my foe already slain."