k the spells the hermit gave,
Whose soul on contemplation fed.
From him whose might these gifts enhanced,
A brighter beam of glory glanced:
So shines in all his autumn blaze
The Day-God of the thousand rays.
The hermit's wants those youths supplied,
As pupils use to holy guide.
And then the night in sweet content
On Sarju's pleasant bank they spent.

Canto XXV. The Hermitage Of Love.

Soon as appeared the morning light
Up rose the mighty anchorite,
And thus to youthful Rama said,
Who lay upon his leafy bed:
"High fate is hers who calls thee son:
Arise, 'tis break of day;
Rise, Chief, and let those rites be done
Due at the morning's ray."(151)
At that great sage's high behest
Up sprang the princely pair,
To bathing rites themselves addressed,
And breathed the holiest prayer.
Their morning task completed, they
To Visvamitra came
That store of holy works, to pay
The worship saints may claim.
Then to the hallowed spot they went
Along fair Sarju's side
Where mix her waters confluent
With three-pathed Ganga's tide.(152)
There was a sacred hermitage
Where saints devout of mind
Their lives through many a lengthened age
To penance had resigned.
That pure abode the princes eyed
With unrestrained delight,
And thus unto the saint they cried,
Rejoicing at the sight:
"Whose is that hermitage we see?
Who makes his dwelling there?
Full of desire to hear are we:
O Saint, the truth declare."
The hermit smiling made reply
To the two boys' request:
"Hear, Rama, who in days gone by
This calm retreat possessed.
Kandarpa in apparent form,
Called Kama(153) by the wise,
Dared Uma's(154) new-wed lord to storm
And make the God his prize.
'Gainst Sthanu's(155) self, on rites austere
And vows intent,(156) they say,
His bold rash hand he dared to rear,
Though Sthanu cried, Away!
But the God's eye with scornful glare
Fell terrible on him.
Dissolved the shape that was so fair
And burnt up every limb.
Since the great God's terrific rage
Destroyed his form and frame,
Kama in each succeeding age
Has borne Ananga's(157) name.
So, where his lovely form decayed,
This land is Anga styled:
Sacred to him of old this shade,
And hermits undefiled.
Here Scripture-talking elders sway
Each sense with firm control,
And penance-rites have washed away
All sin from every soul.
One night, fair boy, we here will spend,
A pure stream on each hand,
And with to-morrow's