orth,
A flood of rain from heaven was sent
That gladdened all the earth.

Vibhandak took his homeward road,
And wearied by the heavy load
Of roots and woodland fruit he bore
Entered at last his cottage door.
Fain for his son he looked around,
But desolate the cell he found.
He stayed not then to bathe his feet,
Though fainting with the toil and heat,
But hurried forth and roamed about
Calling the boy with cry and shout,
He searched the wood, but all in vain;
Nor tidings of his son could gain.

One day beyond the forest's bound
The wandering saint a village found,
And asked the swains and neatherds there
Who owned the land so rich and fair,
With all the hamlets of the plain,
And herds of kine and fields of grain.
They listened to the hermit's words,
And all the guardians of the herds,
With suppliant hands together pressed,
This answer to the saint addressed:
"The Angas' lord who bears the name
Of Lomapad, renowned by fame,
Bestowed these hamlets with their kine
And all their riches, as a sign
Of grace, on Rishyasring: and he
Vibhandak's son is said to be."
The hermit with exulting breast
The mighty will of fate confessed,
By meditation's eye discerned;
And cheerful to his home returned.

A stately ship, at early morn,
The hermit's son away had borne.
Loud roared the clouds, as on he sped,
The sky grew blacker overhead;
Till, as he reached the royal town,
A mighty flood of rain came down.
By the great rain the monarch's mind
The coming of his guest divined.
To meet the honoured youth he went,
And low to earth his head he bent.
With his own priest to lead the train,
He gave the gift high guests obtain.
And sought, with all who dwelt within
The city walls, his grace to win.
He fed him with the daintiest fare,
He served him with unceasing care,
And ministered with anxious eyes
Lest anger in his breast should rise;
And gave to be the Brahman's bride
His own fair daughter, lotus-eyed.

Thus loved and honoured by the king,
The glorious Brahman Rishyasring
Passed in that royal town his life
With Santa his beloved wife."

Canto X. Rishyasring Invited.

"Again, O best of kings, give ear:
My saving words attentive hear,
And listen to the tale of old
By that illustrious Brahman told.
"Of famed Ikshvaku's line shall spring
('Twas thus he spoke) a pious king,
Named Dasaratha, good and great,
True to his word and fortunate.
He with the Angas' mighty lord
Shall ever live in sweet a