Due honor by the saints was paid
    To Rama for his wondrous aid:—­
    So Indra is adored when he
    Has won some glorious victory. 
    Success at last the rite had crowned,
    And Visvamitra gazed around—­
    And seeing every side at rest,
    The son of Raghu thus addressed:—­
    “My joy, O Prince, is now complete—­
    Thou hast obeyed my will: 
    Perfect before, this calm retreat
    Is now more perfect still.”

CANTO XXXIII

THE SONE

    Their task achieved, the princes spent
    That night with joy and full content. 
    Ere yet the dawn was well displayed
    Their morning rites they duly paid—­
    And sought, while yet the light was faint,
    The hermits and the mighty saint. 
    They greeted first that holy sire
    Resplendent like the burning fire,
    And then with noble words began
    Their sweet speech to the sainted man:—­
    “Here stand, O lord, thy servants true—­
    Command what thou wouldst have us do.” 
    The saints, by Visvamitra led,
    To Rama thus in answer said:—­
    “Janak, the king who rules the land
    Of fertile Mithila, has planned
    A noble sacrifice, and we
    Will thither go the rite to see. 
    Thou, Prince of men, with us shalt go,
    And there behold the wondrous bow—­
    Terrific, vast, of matchless might,
    Which, splendid at the famous rite,
    The Gods assembled gave the King. 
    No giant, fiend, or God can string
    That gem of bows, no heavenly bard;
    Then, sure, for man the task were hard. 
    When lords of earth have longed to know
    The virtue of that wondrous bow,
    The strongest sons of kings in vain
    Have tried the mighty cord to strain. 
    This famous bow thou there shalt view,
    And wondrous rites shalt witness too. 
    The high-souled king who lords it o’er
    The realm of Mithila, of yore
    Gained from the Gods this bow, the price
    Of his imperial sacrifice. 
    Won by the rite the glorious prize
    Still in his royal palace lies—­
    Laid up in oil of precious scent
    With aloes-wood and incense blent.” 
    Then Rama answering, “Be it so,”
    Made ready with the rest to go. 
    The saint himself was now prepared,
    But ere beyond the grove he fared,
    He turned him and in words like these
    Addressed the sylvan deities:—­
    “Farewell! each holy rite complete,
    I leave the hermits’ perfect seat: 
    To Ganga’s northern shore I go
    Beneath Himalaya’s peaks of snow.” 
    With reverent steps he paced around
    The limits of the holy ground—­
    And then the mighty saint set forth
    And took his journey to the north. 
    His pupils, deep in Scripture’s page,
    Followed behind the holy sage,