was vain,
    The sandals took and went away;
    Nor in Ayodhya would he stay,
    But turned to Nandigrama, where
    He ruled the realm with watchful care,
    Still longing eagerly to learn
    Tidings of Rama’s safe return.

    Then lest the people should repeat
    Their visit to his calm retreat,
    Away from Chitrakuta’s hill
    Fared Rama, ever onward till
    Beneath the shady trees he stood
    Of Dandaka’s primeval wood. 
    Viradha, giant fiend, he slew,
    And then Agastya’s friendship knew. 
    Counselled by him he gained the sword
    And bow of Indra, heavenly lord:—­
    A pair of quivers too, that bore
    Of arrows an exhaustless store. 
    While there he dwelt in greenwood shade,
    The trembling hermits sought his aid,
    And bade him with his sword and bow
    Destroy the fiends who worked them woe:—­
    To come like Indra strong and brave,
    A guardian God to help and save. 
    And Rama’s falchion left its trace
    Deep cut on Surpanakha’s face:—­
    A hideous giantess who came
    Burning for him with lawless flame. 
    Their sister’s cries the giants heard,
    And vengeance in each bosom stirred;
    The monster of the triple head,
    And Dushan to the contest sped. 
    But they and myriad fiends beside
    Beneath the might of Rama died.

    When Ravan, dreaded warrior, knew
    The slaughter of his giant crew—­
    Ravan, the King, whose name of fear
    Earth, hell, and heaven all shook to hear—­
    He bade the fiend Maricha aid
    The vengeful plot his fury laid. 
    In vain the wise Maricha tried
    To turn him from his course aside:—­
    Not Ravan’s self, he said, might hope
    With Rama and his strength to cope. 
    Impelled by fate and blind with rage
    He came to Rama’s hermitage. 
    There, by Maricha’s magic art,
    He wiled the princely youths apart,
    The vulture slew, and bore away
    The wife of Rama as his prey. 
    The son of Raghu came and found
    Jatayu slain upon the ground. 
    He rushed within his leafy cot;
    He sought his wife, but found her not. 
    Then, then the hero’s senses failed;
    In mad despair he wept and wailed. 
    Upon the pile that bird he laid,
    And still in quest of Sita strayed. 
    A hideous giant then he saw,
    Kabandha named, a shape of awe.

    The monstrous fiend he smote and slew,
    And in the flame the body threw;
    When straight from out the funeral flame
    In lovely form Kabandha came,
    And bade him seek in his distress
    A wise and holy hermitess. 
    By counsel of this saintly dame
    To Pampa’s pleasant flood he came,
    And there the steadfast friendship won
    Of Hanuman the Wind-God’s son. 
    Counselled by him he told