“Champion of Gods, as man appear,
    This cruel Ravan slay,
    The thorn that saints and hermits fear,
    The plague that none can stay. 
    In savage fury uncontrolled
    His pride forever grows—­
    He dares the Lord of Gods to hold
    Among his deadly foes.”

CANTO XV

THE NECTAR

    When wisest Vishnu thus had given
    His promise to the Gods of heaven,
    He pondered in his secret mind
    A suited place of birth to find. 
    Then he decreed, the lotus-eyed,
    In four his being to divide,
    And Dasaratha, gracious King,
    He chose as sire from whom to spring. 
    That childless prince, of high renown,
    Who smote in war his foemen down,
    At that same time with utmost care
    Prepared the rite that wins an heir. 
    Then Vishnu, fain on earth to dwell,
    Bade the Almighty Sire farewell,
    And vanished while a reverent crowd
    Of Gods and saints in worship bowed.

    The monarch watched the sacred rite,
    When a vast form of awful might,
    Of matchless splendor, strength and size
    Was manifest before his eyes. 
    From forth the sacrificial flame,
    Dark, robed in red, the being came. 
    His voice was drumlike, loud and low,
    His face suffused with rosy glow. 
    Like a huge lion’s mane appeared
    The long locks of his hair and beard. 
    He shone with many a lucky sign,
    And many an ornament divine;
    A towering mountain in his height,
    A tiger in his gait and might.

    No precious mine more rich could be,
    No burning flame more bright than he. 
    His arms embraced in loving hold,
    Like a dear wife, a vase of gold
    Whose silver lining held a draught
    Of nectar as in heaven is quaffed—­
    A vase so vast, so bright to view,
    They scarce could count the vision true. 
    Upon the King his eyes he bent,
    And said:  “The Lord of life has sent
    His servant down, O Prince, to be
    A messenger from heaven to thee.” 
    The King with all his nobles by
    Raised reverent hands and made reply:—­
    “Welcome, O glorious being!  Say
    How can my care thy grace repay,”
    Envoy of Him whom all adore,
    Thus to the King he spake once more:—­
    “The Gods accept thy worship—­they
    Give thee the blessed fruit to-day. 
    Approach and take, O glorious King,
    This heavenly nectar which I bring,
    For it shall give thee sons and wealth,
    And bless thee with a store of health. 
    Give it to those fair queens of thine,
    And bid them quaff the drink divine—­
    And they the princely sons shall bear
    Long sought by sacrifice and prayer.”