I charge thee, thou must never lay
    Thy trust in them, dear boy:—­
    They seek thee only to betray,
    And woo but to destroy.” 
    Thus having warned him of his foes
    That night at home he spent,
    And when the morrow’s sun arose
    Forth to the forest went.

    But Rishyasring with eager pace
    Sped forth and hurried to the place
    Where he those visitants had seen
    Of dainty waist and charming mien. 
    When from afar they saw the son
    Of Saint Vibhandak toward them run,
    To meet the hermit boy they hied,
    And hailed him with a smile, and cried:—­
    “O come, we pray, dear lord, behold
    Our lovely home of which we told:—­
    Due honor there to thee we’ll pay,
    And speed thee on thy homeward way.” 
    Pleased with the gracious words they said
    He followed where the damsels led. 
    As with his guides his steps he bent,
    That Brahman high of worth,
    A flood of rain from heaven sent
    That gladdened all the earth.

    Vibhandak took his homeward road,
    And wearied by the heavy load
    Of roots and woodland fruit he bore
    Entered at last his cottage door. 
    Fain for his son he looked around,
    But desolate the cell he found. 
    He stayed not then to bathe his feet,
    Though fainting with the toil and heat,
    But hurried forth and roamed about
    Calling the boy with cry and shout. 
    He searched the wood, but all in vain;
    Nor tidings of his son could gain. 
    One day beyond the forest’s bound
    The wandering saint a village found,
    And asked the swains and neatherds there
    Who owned the land so rich and fair,
    With all the hamlets of the plain,
    And herds of kine and fields of grain. 
    They listened to the hermit’s words,
    And all the guardians of the herds,
    With suppliant hands together pressed,
    This answer to the saint addressed:—­
    “The Angas’ lord who bears the name
    Of Lomapad, renowned by fame,
    Bestowed these hamlets with their kine
    And all their riches, as a sign
    Of grace, on Rishyasring; and he
    Vibhandak’s son is said to be.” 
    The hermit with exulting breast
    The mighty will of fate confessed,
    By meditation’s eye discerned;
    And cheerful to his home returned.

    A stately ship, at early morn,
    The hermit’s son away had borne. 
    Loud roared the clouds, as on he sped,
    The sky grew blacker overhead;
    Till, as he reached the royal town,
    A mighty flood of rain came down. 
    By the great rain the monarch’s mind
    The coming of his guest divined. 
    To meet the honored youth he went,
    And low to earth his head he bent. 
    With his own priest to lead the train,
    He gave the gift high guests