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sent fit messengers to bring

      The minstrel pair before the king.

      They came, and found the monarch high

      Enthroned in gold, his brothers nigh;

      While many a minister below,

      And noble, sate in lengthened row.

      The youthful pair awhile he viewed

      Graceful in modest attitude,

      And then in words like these addressed

      His brother Lakshmaṇ and the rest:

      “Come, listen to the wondrous strain

      Recited by these godlike twain,

      Sweet singers of a story fraught

      With melody and lofty thought.”

      The pair, with voices sweet and strong,

      Rolled the full tide of noble song,

      With tone and accent deftly blent

      To suit the changing argument.

      Mid that assembly loud and clear

      Rang forth that lay so sweet to hear,

      That universal rapture stole

      Through each man’s frame and heart and soul.

      “These minstrels, blest with every sign

      That marks a high and princely line,

      In holy shades who dwell,

      Enshrined in Saint Válmíki’s lay,

      A monument to live for aye,

      My deeds in song shall tell.”

      Thus Ráma spoke: their breasts were fired,

      And the great tale, as if inspired,

      The youths began to sing,

      While every heart with transport swelled,

      And mute and rapt attention held

      The concourse and the king.

      Canto 5. Ayodhyá.

      “Ikshváku’s sons from days of old

      Were ever brave and mighty-souled.

      The land their arms had made their own

      Was bounded by the sea alone.

      Their holy works have won them praise,

      Through countless years, from Manu’s days.

      Their ancient sire was Sagar, he

      With sixty thousand sons to throng

      Around him as he marched along.

      From them this glorious tale proceeds:

      The great Rámáyan tells their deeds.

      This noble song whose lines contain

      Lessons of duty, love, and gain,

      We two will now at length recite,

      While good men listen with delight.

      The happy realm of Kośal lies,

      With fertile length of fair champaign

      And flocks and herds and wealth of grain.

      There, famous in her old renown,

      In bygone ages built and planned

      Imperial seat! her walls extend

      Twelve measured leagues from end to end,

      And three in width from side to side,

      With square and palace beautified.

      Her gates at even distance stand;

      Her ample roads are wisely planned.

      Right glorious is her royal street

      Where streams allay the dust and heat.

      On level ground in even row

      Her houses rise in goodly show:

      Terrace and palace, arch and gate

      The queenly city decorate.

      High are her ramparts, strong and vast,

      By ways at even distance passed,

      With circling moat, both deep and wide,

      And store of weapons fortified.

      King Daśaratha, lofty-souled,

      That city guarded and controlled,

      And many a grove and pleasure ground,

      As royal Indra, throned on high,

      She seems a painted city, fair

      And cool boughs shade the lovely lake

      Where weary men their thirst may slake.

      There gilded chariots gleam and shine,

      And stately piles the Gods enshrine.

      There gay sleek people ever throng

      To festival and dance and song.

      A mine is she of gems and sheen,

      The

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