On through the crowded streets he came,
    And, radiant as the kindled flame,
    He saw within the monarch’s house
    The hermit’s son, most glorious. 
    There Lomapad, with joyful breast,
    To him all honor paid,
    For friendship for his royal guest
    His faithful bosom swayed. 
    Thus entertained with utmost care
    Seven days, or eight, he tarried there,
    And then that best of men thus broke
    His purpose to the King, and spoke:—­

    “O King of men, mine ancient friend,
    (Thus Dasaratha prayed),
    Thy Santa with her husband send
    My sacrifice to aid.” 
    Said he who ruled the Angas, “Yea,”
    And his consent was won:—­
    And then at once he turned away
    To warn the hermit’s son. 
    He told him of their ties beyond
    Their old affection’s faithful bond:—­
    “This King,” he said, “from days of old
    A well beloved friend I hold. 
    To me this pearl of dames he gave
    From childless woe mine age to save,
    The daughter whom he loved so much,
    Moved by compassion’s gentle touch. 
    In him thy Santa’s father see:—­
    As I am, even so is he. 
    For sons the childless monarch yearns,
    To thee alone for help he turns. 
    Go thou, the sacred rite ordain
    To win the sons he prays to gain:—­
    Go, with thy wife thy succor lend,
    And give his vows a blissful end.”

    The hermit’s son with quick accord
    Obeyed the Angas’ mighty lord,
    And with fair Santa at his side
    To Dasaratha’s city hied. 
    Each king, with suppliant hands upheld,
    Gazed on the other’s face:—­
    And then by mutual love impelled
    Met in a close embrace. 
    Then Dasaratha’s thoughtful care,
    Before he parted thence,
    Bade trusty servants homeward bear
    The glad intelligence:—­
    “Let all the town be bright and gay,
    With burning incense sweet;
    Let banners wave, and water lay
    The dust in every street.” 
    Glad were the citizens to learn
    The tidings of their lord’s return,
    And through the city every man
    Obediently his task began. 
    And fair and bright Ayodhya showed,
    As following his guest he rode
    Through the full streets, where shell and drum
    Proclaimed aloud the King was come. 
    And all the people with delight
    Kept gazing on their king,
    Attended by that youth so bright,
    The glorious Rishyasring. 
    When to his home the King had brought
    The hermit’s saintly son,
    He deemed that all his task was wrought,
    And all he prayed for won. 
    And lords who saw the stranger dame
    So beautiful to view,
    Rejoiced within their hearts, and came
    And paid her honor, too. 
    There Rishyasring passed blissful days,
    Graced like the King with love and praise,
    And shone in glorious light with her,
    Sweet Santa for his minister,
    As Brahma’s son Vasishtha, he
    Who wedded Saint Arundhati.