If thou have sworn and now refuse
    Thou must thy store of merit lose. 
    Then, Monarch, let thy Rama go? 
    Nor fear for him the demon foe. 
    The fiends shall have no power to hurt
    Him trained to war or inexpert—­
    Nor vanquish him in battle field,
    For Kusik’s son the youth will shield. 
    He is incarnate Justice, he
    The best of men for bravery—­
    Embodied love of penance drear,
    Among the wise without a peer. 
    Full well he knows, great Kusik’s son,
    The arms celestial, every one,
    Arms from the Gods themselves concealed,
    Far less to other men revealed. 
    These arms to him, when earth he swayed,
    Mighty Krisasva, pleased, conveyed. 
    Krisasva’s sons they are indeed,
    Brought forth by Daksha’s lovely seed,
    Heralds of conquest, strong and bold,
    Brilliant, of semblance manifold. 
    Jaya and Vijaya, most fair,
    A hundred splendid weapons bare;
    Of Jaya, glorious as the morn,
    First fifty noble sons were born,
    Boundless in size yet viewless too,
    They came the demons to subdue. 
    And fifty children also came
    Of Vijaya the beauteous dame,
    Sanharas named, of mighty force,
    Hard to assail or check in course;
    Of these the hermit knows the use,
    And weapons new can he produce. 
    All these the mighty saint will yield
    To Rama’s hand, to own and wield;
    And armed with these, beyond a doubt
    Shall Rama put those fiends to rout. 
    For Rama and the people’s sake,
    For thine own good my counsel take,
    Nor seek, O King, with fond delay,
    The parting of thy son to stay.”

CANTO XXIV

THE SPELLS

    Vasishtha thus was speaking still: 
    The monarch, of his own free will,
    Bade with quick zeal and joyful cheer
    Rama and Lakshman hasten near. 
    Mother and sire in loving care
    Sped their dear son with rite and prayer;
    Vasishtha blessed him ere he went,
    O’er his loved head the father bent—­
    And then to Kusik’s son resigned
    Rama with Lakshman close behind. 
    Standing by Visvamitra’s side,
    The youthful hero, lotus-eyed,
    The Wind-God saw, and sent a breeze
    Whose sweet pure touch just waved the trees. 
    There fell from heaven a flowery rain,
    And with the song and dance the strain
    Of shell and tambour sweetly blent
    As forth the son of Raghu went. 
    The hermit led:  behind him came
    The bow-armed Rama, dear to fame,
    Whose locks were like the raven’s wing:—­
    Then Lakshman, closely following. 
    The Gods and Indra, filled with joy,
    Looked down upon the royal boy,
    And much they longed the death to see
    Of their ten-headed enemy.