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king ordained;

      The legions their discharge obtained.

      How Ráma cast his queen away;

      How grew the people’s love each day.

      Thus did the saint Válmíki tell

      Whate’er in Ráma’s life befell,

      And in the closing verses all

      That yet to come will once befall.

      Canto 4. The Rhapsodists.

      When to the end the tale was brought,

      Rose in the sage’s mind the thought;

      “Now who throughout this earth will go,

      And tell it forth that all may know?”

      As thus he mused with anxious breast,

      Behold, in hermit’s raiment dressed,

      Their master and embrace his feet.

      The twins he saw, that princely pair

      Sweet-voiced, who dwelt beside him there

      None for the task could be more fit,

      For skilled were they in Holy Writ;

      And so the great Rámáyan, fraught

      With lore divine, to these he taught:

      The lay whose verses sweet and clear

      Take with delight the listening ear,

      That tell of Sítá‘s noble life

      And Rávaṇ‘s fall in battle strife.

      Great joy to all who hear they bring,

      Sweet to recite and sweet to sing.

      For music’s sevenfold notes are there,

      With melody and tone and time,

      Heroic might has ample place,

      And loathing of the false and base,

      With anger, mirth, and terror, blent

      With tenderness, surprise, content.

      When, half the hermit’s grace to gain,

      And half because they loved the strain,

      The youth within their hearts had stored

      The poem that his lips outpoured,

      Válmíki kissed them on the head,

      As at his feet they bowed, and said;

      “Recite ye this heroic song

      In tranquil shades where sages throng:

      Recite it where the good resort,

      In lowly home and royal court.”

      The hermit ceased. The tuneful pair,

      Like heavenly minstrels sweet and fair,

      In music’s art divinely skilled,

      Their saintly master’s word fulfilled.

      Like Ráma’s self, from whom they came,

      They showed their sire in face and frame,

      As though from some fair sculptured stone

      Two selfsame images had grown.

      Sometimes the pair rose up to sing,

      Surrounded by a holy ring,

      Where seated on the grass had met

      Full many a musing anchoret.

      Then tears bedimmed those gentle eyes,

      As transport took them and surprise,

      And as they listened every one

      Cried in delight, Well done! Well done!

      Those sages versed in holy lore

      Praised the sweet minstrels more and more:

      And wondered at the singers’ skill,

      And the bard’s verses sweeter still,

      Which laid so clear before the eye

      The glorious deeds of days gone by.

      Thus by the virtuous hermits praised,

      Inspirited their voice they raised.

      Pleased with the song this holy man

      Would give the youths a water-can;

      One gave a fair ascetic dress,

      Or sweet fruit from the wilderness.

      One saint a black-deer’s hide would bring,

      And one a sacrificial string:

      One, a clay pitcher from his hoard,

      One in his joy an axe would find,

      One braid, their plaited locks to bind.

      One gave a sacrificial cup,

      One rope to tie their fagots up;

      While fuel at their feet was laid,

      Or hermit’s stool of fig-tree made.

      All gave, or if they gave not, none

      Forgot at least a benison.

      Some saints, delighted with their lays,

      Would promise health and length of days;

      Others with surest words would add

      Some boon to make their spirit glad.

      In such degree of honour then

      That song was held by holy men:

      That living song which life can give,

      By which shall many a minstrel live.

      In seat of kings, in crowded hall,

      They sang the poem, praised of all.

      And Ráma chanced to hear their lay,

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