Bhrigu’s rill. 
    Nor did he fail that saint to please
    With his devout austerities,
    And, when a hundred years had fled,
    Thus the most truthful Bhrigu said:—­
    ’From thee, O Sagar, blameless King,
    A mighty host of sons shall spring,
    And thou shalt win a glorious name
    Which none, O Chief, but thou shall claim. 
    One of thy queens a son shall bear
    Maintainer of thy race and heir;
    And of the other there shall be
    Sons sixty thousand born to thee.’ 
    Thus as he spake, with one accord,
    To win the grace of that high lord,
    The queens, with palms together laid,
    In humble supplication prayed:—­
    ’Which queen, O Brahman, of the pair,
    The many, or the one shall bear? 
    Most eager, Lord, are we to know,
    And as thou sayest be it so,’
    With his sweet speech the saint replied:—­
    ’Yourselves, O Queens, the choice decide. 
    Your own discretion freely use
    Which shall the one or many choose: 
    One shall the race and name uphold,
    The host be famous, strong, and bold. 
    Which will have which?’ Then Kesini
    The mother of one heir would be. 
    Sumati, sister of the King
    Of all the birds that ply the wing,
    To that illustrious Brahman sued
    That she might bear the multitude—­
    Whose fame throughout the world should sound
    For mighty enterprise renowned. 
    Around the saint the monarch went,
    Bowing his head, most reverent. 
    Then with his wives, with willing feet,
    Resought his own imperial seat,
    Time passed.  The elder consort bare
    A son called Asamanj, the heir. 
    Then Sumati, the younger, gave
    Birth to a gourd, O hero brave,
    Whose rind, when burst and cleft in two,
    Gave sixty thousand babes to view. 
    All these with care the nurses laid
    In jars of oil; and there they stayed,
    Till, youthful age and strength complete,
    Forth speeding from each dark retreat—­
    All peers in valor, years, and might,
    The sixty thousand came to light. 
    Prince Asamanj, brought up with care,
    Scourge of his foes, was made the heir. 
    But liegemen’s boys he used to cast
    To Sarju’s waves that hurried past—­
    Laughing the while in cruel glee
    Their dying agonies to see. 
    This wicked prince who aye withstood
    The counsel of the wise and good,
    Who plagued the people in his hate,
    His father banished from the state. 
    His son, kind-spoken, brave, and tall,
    Was Ansuman, beloved of all. 
    Long years flew by.  The King decreed
    To slay a sacrificial steed. 
    Consulting with his priestly band
    He vowed the rite his soul had planned,
    And, Veda-skilled, by their advice
    Made ready for the sacrifice.”

CANTO XL