Dense shades of night the landscape hide. 
    The light of eve is fled:  the skies,
    Thick-studded with their host of eyes,
    Seem a star-forest overhead,
    Where signs and constellations spread. 
    Now rises, with his pure cold ray,
    The moon that drives the shades away,
    And with his gentle influence brings
    Joy to the hearts of living things. 
    Now, stealing from their lairs, appear
    The beasts to whom the night is dear. 
    Now spirits walk, and every power
    That revels in the midnight hour.”

    The mighty hermit’s tale was o’er,
    He closed his lips and spoke no more. 
    The holy men on every side,
    “Well done! well done,” with reverence cried,
    “The mighty men of Kusa’s seed
    Were ever famed for righteous deed. 
    Like Brahma’s self in glory shine
    The high-souled lords of Kusa’s line. 
    And thy great name is sounded most,
    O Saint, amid the noble host. 
    And thy dear sister—­fairest she
    Of streams, the high-born Kausiki—­
    Diffusing virtue where she flows,
    New splendor on thy lineage throws.” 
    Thus by the chief of saints addressed
    The son of Gadhi turned to rest;
    So, when his daily course is done,
    Sinks to his rest the beaming sun. 
    Rama, with Lakshman, somewhat stirred
    To marvel by the tales they heard,
    Turned also to his couch, to close
    His eyelids in desired repose.

CANTO XXXVI

THE BIRTH OF GANGA

    The hours of night now waning fast
    On Sona’s pleasant shore they passed. 
    Then, when the dawn began to break. 
    To Rama thus the hermit spake:—­
    “The light of dawn is breaking clear,
    The hour of morning rites is near. 
    Rise, Rama, rise, dear son, I pray,
    And make thee ready for the way.” 
    Then Rama rose, and finished all
    His duties at the hermit’s call—­
    Prepared with joy the road to take,
    And thus again in question spake:—­
    “Here fair and deep the Sona flows,
    And many an isle its bosom shows: 
    What way, O Saint, will lead us o’er
    And land us on the farther shore?”
    The saint replied:  “The way I choose
    Is that which pious hermits use.” 
    For many a league they journeyed on
    Till, when the sun of mid-day shone,
    The hermit-haunted flood was seen
    Of Jahnavi, the Rivers’ Queen. 
    Soon as the holy stream they viewed,
    Thronged with a white-winged multitude
    Of sarases and swans, delight
    Possessed them at the lovely sight;
    And then prepared the hermit band
    To halt upon that holy strand. 
    They bathed as Scripture bids, and paid
    Oblations due to God and shade. 
    To Fire they burnt the offerings