And servants from the sacred grove
    A hundred wains for convoy drove. 
    The very birds that winged that air,
    The very deer that harbored there,
    Forsook the glade and leafy brake
    And followed for the hermits’ sake. 
    They travelled far, till in the west
    The sun was speeding to his rest,
    And made, their portioned journey o’er,
    Their halt on Sona’s distant shore. 
    The hermits bathed when sank the sun,
    And every rite was duly done—­
    Oblations paid to Fire, and then
    Sate round their chief the holy men. 
    Rama and Lakshman lowly bowed
    In reverence to the hermit crowd—­
    And Rama, having sate him down
    Before the saint of pure renown,
    With humble palms together laid
    His eager supplication made:—­
    “What country, O my lord, is this,
    Fair-smiling in her wealth and bliss? 
    Deign fully, O thou mighty Seer,
    To tell me, for I long to hear.” 
    Moved by the prayer of Rama, he
    Told forth the country’s history.

CANTO XXXIV

BRAHMADATTA

    A king of Brahma’s seed who bore
    The name of Kusa reigned of yore. 
    Just, faithful to his vows, and true,
    He held the good in honor due. 
    His bride, a queen of noble name,
    Of old Vidarbha’s monarchs came. 
    Like their own father, children four,
    All valiant boys, the lady bore. 
    In glorious deeds each nerve they strained,
    And well their Warrior part sustained. 
    To them most just, and true, and brave,
    Their father thus his counsel gave:—­
    “Beloved children, ne’er forget
    Protection is a prince’s debt: 
    The noble work at once begin,
    High virtue and her fruits to win.” 
    The youths, to all the people dear,
    Received his speech with willing ear;
    And each went forth his several way,
    Foundations of a town to lay. 
    Kusamba, prince of high renown,
    Was builder of Kausambi’s town,
    And Kusanabha, just and wise,
    Bade high Mahodaya’s towers arise. 
    Amurtarajas chose to dwell
    In Dharmaranya’s citadel,
    And Vasu bade his city fair
    The name of Girivraja bear. 
    This fertile spot whereon we stand
    Was once the high-souled Vasu’s land. 
    Behold! as round we turn our eyes,
    Five lofty mountain peaks arise. 
    See! bursting from her parent hill,
    Sumagadhi, a lovely rill,
    Bright gleaming as she flows between
    The mountains, like a wreath is seen—­
    And then through Magadh’s plains and groves
    With many a fair meander roves. 
    And this was Vasu’s old domain,
    The fertile Magadh’s broad champaign,
    Which smiling fields of tilth adorn
    And diadem with golden corn.