gentle speech. 
    They looked alike with equal eye
    On every caste, on low and high. 
    Devoted to their King, they sought,
    Ere his tongue spoke, to learn his thought,
    And knew, as each occasion rose,
    To hide their counsel or disclose. 
    In foreign lands or in their own
    Whatever passed, to them was known. 
    By secret spies they timely knew
    What men were doing or would do. 
    Skilled in the grounds of war and peace
    They saw the monarch’s state increase,
    Watching his weal with conquering eye
    That never let occasion by,
    While nature lent her aid to bless
    Their labors with unbought success. 
    Never for anger, lust, or gain,
    Would they their lips with falsehood stain. 
    Inclined to mercy they could scan
    The weakness and the strength of man. 
    They fairly judged both high and low,
    And ne’er would wrong a guiltless foe;
    Yet if a fault were proved, each one
    Would punish e’en his own dear son. 
    But there and in the kingdom’s bound
    No thief or man impure was found:—­
    None of loose life or evil fame,
    No tempter of another’s dame. 
    Contented with their lot each caste
    Calm days in blissful quiet passed;
    And, all in fitting tasks employed,
    Country and town deep rest enjoyed. 
    With these wise lords around his throne
    The monarch justly reigned,
    And making every heart his own
    The love of all men gained. 
    With trusty agents, as beseems,
    Each distant realm he scanned,
    As the sun visits with his beams
    Each corner of the land. 
    Ne’er would he on a mightier foe
    With hostile troops advance,
    Nor at an equal strike a blow
    In war’s delusive chance. 
    These lords in council bore their part
    With ready brain and faithful heart,
    With skill and knowledge, sense and tact,
    Good to advise and bold to act. 
    And high and endless fame he won
    With these to guide his schemes—­
    As, risen in his might, the sun
    Wins glory with his beams.

CANTO VIII

SUMANTRA’S SPEECH

    But splendid, just, and great of mind,
    The childless King for offspring pined. 
    No son had he his name to grace,
    Transmitter of his royal race. 
    Long had his anxious bosom wrought,
    And as he pondered rose the thought:—­
    “A votive steed ’twere good to slay,
    So might a son the gift repay.” 
    Before his lords his plans he laid,
    And bade them with their wisdom aid;
    Then with these words Sumantra, best
    Of royal counsellors, addressed:—­
    “Hither, Vasishtha at their head,
    Let all my priestly guides be led.”