Of kings who lived as saints from birth,
  Who ruled to ocean-shore on earth,
  Who toiled until success was given,
  Whose chariots stormed the gates of heaven,

  Whose pious offerings were blest,
  Who gave his wish to every guest,
  Whose punishments were as the crimes,
  Who woke to guard the world betimes,

  Who sought, that they might lavish, pelf,
  Whose measured speech was truth itself,
  Who fought victorious wars for fame,
  Who loved in wives the mother’s name,

  Who studied all good arts as boys,
  Who loved, in manhood, manhood’s joys,
  Whose age was free from worldly care,
  Who breathed their lives away in prayer,

  Of these I sing, of Raghu’s line,
  Though weak mine art, and wisdom mine. 
  Forgive these idle stammerings
  And think:  For virtue’s sake he sings.

  The good who hear me will be glad
  To pluck the good from out the bad;
  When ore is proved by fire, the loss
  Is not of purest gold, but dross.

After the briefest glance at the origin of the solar line, the poet tells of Rama’s great-great-grandfather, King Dilipa.  The detailed description of Dilipa’s virtues has interest as showing Kalidasa’s ideal of an aristocrat; a brief sample must suffice here: 

  He practised virtue, though in health;
  Won riches, with no greed for wealth;
  Guarded his life, though not from fear;
  Prized joys of earth, but not too dear.

  His virtuous foes he could esteem
  Like bitter drugs that healing seem;
  The friends who sinned he could forsake
  Like fingers bitten by a snake.

Yet King Dilipa has one deep-seated grief:  he has no son.  He therefore journeys with his queen to the hermitage of the sage Vasishtha, in order to learn what they must do to propitiate an offended fate.  Their chariot rolls over country roads past fragrant lotus-ponds and screaming peacocks and trustful deer, under archways formed without supporting pillars by the cranes, through villages where they receive the blessings of the people.  At sunset they reach the peaceful forest hermitage, and are welcomed by the sage.  In response to Vasishtha’s benevolent inquiries, the king declares that all goes well in the kingdom, and yet: 

  Until from this dear wife there springs
  A son as great as former kings,
  The seven islands of the earth
  And all their gems, are nothing worth.

  The final debt, most holy one,
  Which still I owe to life—­a son—­
  Galls me as galls the cutting chain
  An elephant housed in dirt and pain.

Vasishtha tells the king that on a former occasion he had offended the divine cow Fragrant, and had been cursed by the cow to lack children until he had propitiated her own offspring.  While the sage is speaking, Fragrant’s daughter approaches, and is entrusted to the care of the king and queen.