To him Sumantra made reply:—­
    “Hear, sire, a tale of days gone by. 
    To many a sage in time of old,
    Sanatkumar, the saint, foretold
    How from thine ancient line, O King,
    A son, when years came round, should spring
    ‘Here dwells,’ ’twas thus the seer began,
    ’Of Kasyap’s race, a holy man,
    Vibhandak named:  to him shall spring
    A son, the famous Rishyasring. 
    Bred with the deer that round him roam,
    The wood shall be that hermit’s home. 
    To him no mortal shall be known
    Except his holy sire alone. 
    Still by those laws shall he abide
    Which lives of youthful Brahmans guide,
    Obedient to the strictest rule
    That forms the young ascetic’s school: 
    And all the wondering world shall hear
    Of his stern life and penance drear;
    His care to nurse the holy fire
    And do the bidding of his sire. 
    Then, seated on the Angas’ throne,
    Shall Lomapad to fame be known. 
    But folly wrought by that great King
    A plague upon the land shall bring;
    No rain for many a year shall fall
    And grievous drought shall ruin all. 
    The troubled King with many a prayer
    Shall bid the priests some cure declare:—­
    “The lore of Heaven ’tis yours to know,
    Nor are ye blind to things below:—­
    Declare, O holy men, the way
    This plague to expiate and stay.” 
    Those best of Brahmans shall reply:—­
    “By every art, O Monarch, try,
    Hither to bring Vibhandak’s child,
    Persuaded, captured, or beguiled. 
    And when the boy is hither led
    To him thy daughter duly wed.”

    But how to bring that wondrous boy
    His troubled thoughts will long employ,
    And hopeless to achieve the task
    He counsel of his lords will ask,
    And bid his priests and servants bring
    With honor saintly Rishyasring. 
    But when they hear the monarch’s speech,
    All these their master will beseech,
    With trembling hearts and looks of woe,
    To spare them, for they fear to go. 
    And many a plan will they declare
    And crafty plots will frame,
    And promise fair to show him there,
    Unforced, with none to blame. 
    On every word his lords shall say,
    The King will meditate,
    And on the third returning day
    Recall them to debate. 
    Then this shall be the plan agreed,
    That damsels shall be sent
    Attired in holy hermits’ weed,
    And skilled in blandishment,
    That they the hermit may beguile
    With every art and amorous wile
    Whose use they know so well,
    And by their witcheries seduce
    The unsuspecting young recluse
    To leave his father’s cell. 
    Then when the boy with willing feet
    Shall wander from his calm retreat
    And in that city stand,