And track the robber of the horse. 
    To guard thee take thy sword and bow,
    For huge and strong are beasts below. 
    There to the reverend reverence pay,
    And kill the foes who check thy way;
    Then turn successful home and see
    My sacrifice complete through thee.’

    Obedient to the high-souled lord
    Grasped Ansuman his bow and sword,
    And hurried forth the way to trace
    With youth and valor’s eager pace. 
    On sped he by the path he found
    Dug by his uncles underground. 
    The warder elephant he saw
    Whose size and strength pass Nature’s law—­
    Who bears the world’s tremendous weight,
    Whom God, fiend, giant, venerate. 
    Bird, serpent, and each flitting shade,
    To him the honor meet he paid—­
    With circling steps and greeting due,
    And further prayed him, if he knew,
    To tell him of his uncles’ weal,
    And who had dared the horse to steal.

    To him in war and council tried
    The warder elephant replied:—­
    ’Thou, son of Asamanj, shalt lead
    In triumph back the rescued steed,’

    As to each warder beast he came
    And questioned all, his words the same,
    The honored youth with gentle speech
    Drew eloquent reply from each—­
    That fortune should his steps attend,
    And with the horse he home should wend. 
    Cheered with the grateful answer, he
    Passed on with step more light and free,
    And reached with careless heart the place
    Where lay in ashes Sagar’s race. 
    Then sank the spirit of the chief
    Beneath that shock of sudden grief—­
    And with a bitter cry of woe
    He mourned his kinsmen fallen so. 
    He saw, weighed down by woe and care,
    The victim charger roaming there. 
    Yet would the pious chieftain fain
    Oblations offer to the slain: 
    But, needing water for the rite,
    He looked and there was none in sight. 
    His quick eye searching all around
    The uncle of his kinsmen found—­
    King Garud, best beyond compare
    Of birds who wing the fields of air. 
    Then thus unto the weeping man
    The son of Vinata began:—­
    ’Grieve not, O hero, for their fall
    Who died a death approved of all. 
    Of mighty strength, they met their fate
    By Kapil’s hand whom none can mate. 
    Pour forth for them no earthly wave,
    A holier flood their spirits crave. 
    If, daughter of the Lord of Snow,
    Ganga would turn her stream below,
    Her waves that cleanse all mortal stain
    Would wash their ashes pure again. 
    Yea, when her flood whom all revere
    Rolls o’er the dust that moulders here,
    The sixty thousand, freed from sin,
    A home in Indra’s heaven shall win. 
    Go, and with ceaseless labor try
    To draw the Goddess from the sky. 
    Return, and with thee take the steed;
    So shall thy grandsire’s rite succeed,’