And Visvamitra thus replied:—­
    “Sprung from Pulastya’s race there came
    A giant known by Ravan’s name. 
    Once favored by the Eternal Sire
    He plagues the worlds in ceaseless ire,
    For peerless power and might renowned,
    By giant bands encompassed round. 
    Visravas for his sire they hold,
    His brother is the Lord of Gold. 
    King of the giant hosts is he,
    And worst of all in cruelty. 
    This Ravan’s dread commands impel
    Two demons who in might excel,
    Maricha and Suvahu Light,
    To trouble and impede the rite.” 
    Then thus the King addressed the sage:—­
    “No power have I, my lord, to wage
    War with this evil-minded foe;
    Now pity on my darling show,
    And upon me of hapless fate,
    For thee as God I venerate. 
    Gods, spirits, bards of heavenly birth,
    The birds of air, the snakes of earth
    Before the might of Ravan quail,
    Much less can mortal man avail. 
    He draws, I hear, from out the breast,
    The valor of the mightiest. 
    No, ne’er can I with him contend,
    Or with the forces he may send. 
    How can I then my darling lend,
    Godlike, unskilled in battle?  No,
    I will not let my young child go. 
    Foes of thy rite, those mighty ones,
    Sunda and Upasunda’s sons,
    Are fierce as Fate to overthrow: 
    I will not let my young child go. 
    Maricha and Suvahu fell
    Are valiant and instructed well. 
    One of the twain I might attack
    With all my friends their lord to back.”

CANTO XXIII

VASISHTHA’S SPEECH

    While thus the hapless monarch spoke,
    Paternal love his utterance broke. 
    Then words like these the saint returned,
    And fury in his bosom burned:—­
    “Didst thou, O King, a promise make,
    And wishest now thy word to break? 
    A son of Raghu’s line should scorn
    To fail in faith, a man forsworn. 
    But if thy soul can bear the shame
    I will return e’en as I came. 
    Live with thy sons, and joy be thine,
    False scion of Kakutstha’s line.” 
    As Visvamitra, mighty sage,
    Was moved with this tempestuous rage,
    Earth rocked and reeled throughout her frame,
    And fear upon the Immortals came. 
    But Saint Vasishtha, wisest seer,
    Observant of his vows austere,
    Saw the whole world convulsed with dread,
    And thus unto the monarch said:—­
    “Thou, born of old Ikshvaku’s seed,
    Art Justice’ self in mortal weed. 
    Constant and pious, blest by fate,
    The right thou must not violate. 
    Thou, Raghu’s son, so famous through
    The triple world as just and true,
    Perform thy bounden duty still,
    Nor stain thy race by deed of ill.