When the fair light of morning rose
    The princely tamers of their foes
    Followed, his morning worship o’er,
    The hermit to the river’s shore. 
    The high-souled men with thoughtful care
    A pretty barge had stationed there. 
    All cried, “O lord, this barge ascend,
    And with thy princely followers bend
    To yonder side thy prosperous way—­
    With nought to check thee or delay.” 
    Nor did the saint their rede reject: 
    He bade farewell with due respect,
    And crossed, attended by the twain,
    That river rushing to the main. 
    When now the bark was half-way o’er,
    Rama and Lakshman heard the roar,
    That louder grew and louder yet,
    Of waves by dashing waters met. 
    Then Rama asked the mighty seer:—­
    “What is the tumult that I hear
    Of waters cleft in mid-career?”
    Soon as the speech of Rama, stirred
    By deep desire to know, he heard,
    The pious saint began to tell
    What caused the waters’ roar and swell:—­
    “On high Kailasa’s distant hill
    There lies a noble lake
    Whose waters, born from Brahma’s will,
    The name of Manas take. 
    Thence, hallowing where’er they flow,
    The streams of Sarju fall,
    And wandering through the plains below
    Embrace Ayodhya’s wall. 
    Still, still preserved in Sarju’s name
    Sarovar’s fame we trace,
    The flood of Brahma whence she came
    To run her holy race. 
    To meet great Ganga here she hies
    With tributary wave—­
    Hence the loud roar ye hear arise,
    Of floods that swell and rave. 
    Here, pride of Raghu’s line, do thou
    In humble adoration bow.”

    He spoke.  The princes both obeyed,
    And reverence to each river paid. 
    They reached the southern shore at last,
    And gayly on their journey passed. 
    A little space beyond there stood
    A gloomy awe-inspiring wood. 
    The monarch’s noble son began
    To question thus the holy man:—­
    “Whose gloomy forest meets mine eye,
    Like some vast cloud that fills the sky? 
    Pathless and dark it seems to be,
    Where birds in thousands wander free;
    Where shrill cicadas’ cries resound,
    And fowl of dismal note abound. 
    Lion, rhinoceros, and bear,
    Boar, tiger, elephant, are there,
    There shrubs and thorns run wild: 
    Dhao, Sal, Bignonia, Bel, are found,
    And every tree that grows on ground: 
    How is the forest styled?”
    The glorious saint this answer made:—­
    “Dear child of Raghu, hear
    Who dwells within the horrid shade
    That looks so dark and drear. 
    Where now is wood, long ere this day
    Two broad and fertile lands,
    Malaja and Karusha lay,
    Adorned by heavenly hands. 
    Here, mourning friendship’s