ld I could not fly
Until these longing eyes were blest
With seeing thee, mine honoured guest.
Since thou, O Prince, hast cheered my sight,
Great-hearted lover of the right,
To heavenly spheres will I repair
And bliss supreme that waits me there.
For I have won, dear Prince, my way
To those fair worlds which ne'er decay,
Celestial seat of Brahma's reign:
Be thine, with me, those worlds to gain."

Then master of all sacred lore,
Spake Rama to the saint once more:

"I, even I, illustrious sage,
Will make those worlds mine heritage:
But now, I pray, some home assign
Within this holy grove of thine."

Thus Rama, Indra's peer in might,
Addressed the aged anchorite:
And he, with wisdom well endued,
To Raghu's son his speech renewed:

"Sutikshna's woodland home is near,
A glorious saint of life austere,
True to the path of duty; he
With highest bliss will prosper thee.
Against the stream thy course must be
Of this fair brook Mandakini,
Whereon light rafts like blossoms glide;
Then to his cottage turn aside.
There lies thy path: but ere thou go,
Look on me, dear one, till I throw
Aside this mould that girds me in,
As casts the snake his withered skin."

He spoke, the fire in order laid
With holy oil due offerings made,
And Sarabhanga, glorious sire,
Laid down his body in the fire.
Then rose the flame above his head,
On skin, blood, flesh, and bones it fed,
Till forth, transformed, with radiant hue
Of tender youth, he rose anew,
Far-shining in his bright attire
Came Sarabhanga from the pyre:
Above the home of saints, and those
Who feed the quenchless flame,(414) he rose:
Beyond the seat of Gods he passed,
And Brahma's sphere was gained at last.
The noblest of the twice-born race,
For holy works supreme in place,
The Mighty Father there beheld
Girt round by hosts unparalleled;
And Brahma joying at the sight
Welcomed the glorious anchorite.

Canto VI. Rama's Promise.

When he his heavenly home had found,
The holy men who dwelt around
To Rama flocked, whose martial fame
Shone glorious as the kindled flame:
Vaikhanasas(415) who love the wild,
Pure hermits Balakhilyas(416) styled,
Good Samprakshalas,(417) saints who live
On rays which moon and daystar give:
Those who with leaves their lives sustain
And those who pound with stones their grain:
And they who lie in pools, and those
Whose corn, save teeth, no winnow knows:
Those who for beds the cold earth use,
And those who every cou