He left his horse, this monarch famous far,
  Asked him who drooped upon the water-jar
  His name, and from the stumbling accents knew
  A hermit youth, of lowly birth but true.

  The arrow still undrawn, the monarch bore
  Him to his parents who, afflicted sore
  With blindness, could not see their only son
  Dying, and told them what his hand had done.

  The murderer then obeyed their sad behest
  And drew the fixed arrow from his breast;
  The boy lay dead; the father cursed the king,
  With tear-stained hands, to equal suffering.

  “In sorrow for your son you too shall die,
  An old, old man,” he said, “as sad as I.” 
  Poor, trodden snake!  He used his venomous sting,
  Then heard the answer of the guilty king: 

  “Your curse is half a blessing if I see
  The longed-for son who shall be born to me: 
  The scorching fire that sweeps the well-ploughed field,
  May burn indeed, but stimulates the yield.

  The deed is done; what kindly act can I
  Perform who, pitiless, deserve to die?”
  “Bring wood,” he begged, “and build a funeral pyre,
  That we may seek our son through death by fire.”

  The king fulfilled their wish; and while they burned,
  In mute, sin-stricken sorrow he returned,
  Hiding death’s seed within him, as the sea
  Hides magic fire that burns eternally.

Thus is foreshadowed in the birth of Rama, his banishment, and the death of his father.

Cantos ten to fifteen form the kernel of the epic, for they tell the story of Rama, the mighty hero of Raghu’s line.  In these cantos Kalidasa attempts to present anew, with all the literary devices of a more sophisticated age, the famous old epic story sung in masterly fashion by the author of the Ramayana.  As the poet is treading ground familiar to all who hear him, the action of these cantos is very compressed.

Tenth canto.  The incarnation of Rama.—­While Dasharatha, desiring a son, is childless, the gods, oppressed by a giant adversary, betake themselves to Vishnu, seeking aid.  They sing a hymn of praise, a part of which is given here.

  O thou who didst create this All,
  Who dost preserve it, lest it fall,
  Who wilt destroy it and its ways—­
  To thee, O triune Lord, be praise.

  As into heaven’s water run
  The tastes of earth—­yet it is one,
  So thou art all the things that range
  The universe, yet dost not change.

  Far, far removed, yet ever near;
  Untouched by passion, yet austere;
  Sinless, yet pitiful of heart;
  Ancient, yet free from age—­Thou art.

  Though uncreate, thou seekest birth;
  Dreaming, thou watchest heaven and earth;
  Passionless, smitest low thy foes;
  Who knows thy nature, Lord?  Who knows?

  Though many different paths, O Lord,
  May lead us to some great reward,
  They gather and are merged in thee
  Like floods of Ganges in the sea.