And cried, in lowly reverence bent:—­
    “O Lord whose hand fierce Madhu slew,
    Be thou our refuge, firm and true;
    Friend of the suffering worlds art thou,
    We pray thee help thy suppliants now.” 
    Then Vishnu spake:  “Ye Gods, declare,
    What may I do to grant your prayer?”

    “King Dasaratha,” thus cried they,
    “Fervent in penance many a day,
    The sacrificial steed has slain,
    Longing for sons, but all in vain. 
    Now, at the cry of us forlorn,
    Incarnate as his seed be born. 
    Three queens has he—­each lovely dame
    Like Beauty, Modesty, or Fame. 
    Divide thyself in four, and be
    His offspring by these noble three. 
    Man’s nature take, and slay in fight
    Ravan who laughs at heavenly might—­
    This common scourge, this rankling thorn
    Whom the three worlds too long have borne. 
    For Ravan, in the senseless pride
    Of might unequalled, has defied
    The host of heaven, and plagues with woe
    Angel and bard and saint below,
    Crushing each spirit and each maid
    Who plays in Nandan’s heavenly shade. 
    O conquering Lord, to thee we bow;
    Our surest hope and trust art thou. 
    Regard the world of men below,
    And slay the God’s tremendous foe.”

    When thus the suppliant Gods had prayed,
    His wise reply Narayan made:—­
    “What task demands my presence there,
    And when this dread, ye Gods declare.” 
    The Gods replied:  “We fear, O Lord,
    Fierce Ravan, ravener abhorred. 
    Be thine the glorious task, we pray,
    In human form this fiend to slay. 
    By thee of all the Blest alone
    This sinner may be overthrown. 
    He gained by penance long and dire
    The favor of the mighty Sire. 
    Then He who every gift bestows
    Guarded the fiend from heavenly foes,
    And gave a pledge his life that kept
    From all things living, man except. 
    On him thus armed no other foe
    Than man may deal the deadly blow. 
    Assume, O King, a mortal birth,
    And strike the demon to the earth.”

    Then Vishnu, God of Gods, the Lord
    Supreme by all the worlds adored,
    To Brahma and the suppliants spake:—­
    “Dismiss your fear:  for your dear sake
    In battle will I smite him dead,
    The cruel fiend, the Immortal’s dread. 
    And lords and ministers and all
    His kith and kin with him shall fall. 
    Then, in the world of mortal men,
    Ten thousand years and hundreds ten
    I as a human King will reign,
    And guard the earth as my domain.” 
    God, saint, and nymph, and minstrel throng
    With heavenly voices raised their song
    In hymns of triumph to the God
    Whose conquering feet on Madhu trod:—–­