rthern hills of snow.
With firm resolve he vowed to beat
The might of love beneath his feet.
Still northward to the distant side
Of Kausiki(244), the hermit hide,
And gave his life to penance there
With rites austere most hard to bear.
A thousand years went by, and still
He laboured on the northern hill
With pains so terrible and drear
That all the Gods were chilled with fear,
And Gods and saints, for swift advice,
Met in the halls of Paradise.
"Let Kusik's son," they counselled, "be
A Mighty saint by just decree."
His ear to hear their counsel lent
The Sire of worlds, omnipotent.
To him enriched by rites severe
He spoke in accents sweet to hear:
"Hail, Mighty Saint! dear son, all hail!
Thy fervour wins, thy toils prevail.
Won by thy vows and zeal intense
I give this high preeminence."
He to the General Sire replied,
Not sad, nor wholly satisfied:
"When thou, O Brahma, shalt declare
The title, great beyond compare,
Of Brahman saint my worthy meed,
Hard earned by many a holy deed,
Then may I deem in sooth I hold
Each sense of body well controlled."
Then Brahma cried, "Not yet, not yet:
Toil on awhile O Anchoret!"

Thus having said to heaven he went,
The saint, upon his task intent,
Began his labours to renew,
Which sterner yet and fiercer grew.
His arms upraised, without a rest,
With but one foot the earth he pressed;
The air his food, the hermit stood
Still as a pillar hewn from wood.
Around him in the summer days
Five mighty fires combined to blaze.
In floods of rain no veil was spread
Save clouds, to canopy his head.
In the dank dews both night and day
Couched in the stream the hermit lay.
Thus, till a thousand years had fled,
He plied his task of penance dread.
Then Vishnu and the Gods with awe
The labours of the hermit saw,
And Sakra, in his troubled breast,
Lord of the skies, his fear confessed.
And brooded on a plan to spoil
The merits of the hermit's toil.
Encompassed by his Gods of Storm
He summoned Rambha, fair of form,
And spoke a speech for woe and weal,
The saint to mar, the God to heal.

Canto LXIV. Rambha.

"A great emprise, O lovely maid,
To save the Gods, awaits thine aid:
To bind the son of Kusik sure,
And take his soul with love's sweet lure."
Thus order'd by the Thousand-eyed
The suppliant nymph in fear replied:
"O Lord of Gods, this mighty sage
Is very fierce and swift to rage.
I doubt not, he so dread and stern
On me his scorching wrath will turn.
Of thi