Long had his anxious bosom wrought,
And as he pondered rose the thought:--
"A votive steed 'twere good to slay,
So might a son the gift repay."
Before his lords his plans he laid,
And bade them with their wisdom aid;
Then with these words Sumantra, best
Of royal counsellors, addressed:--
"Hither, Vasishtha at their head,
Let all my priestly guides be led."
To him Sumantra made reply:--
"Hear, sire, a tale of days gone by.
To many a sage in time of old,
Sanatkumar, the saint, foretold
How from thine ancient line, O King,
A son, when years came round, should spring
'Here dwells,' 'twas thus the seer began,
'Of Kasyap's race, a holy man,
Vibhandak named: to him shall spring
A son, the famous Rishyasring.
Bred with the deer that round him roam,
The wood shall be that hermit's home.
To him no mortal shall be known
Except his holy sire alone.
Still by those laws shall he abide
Which lives of youthful Brahmans guide,
Obedient to the strictest rule
That forms the young ascetic's school:
And all the wondering world shall hear
Of his stern life and penance drear;
His care to nurse the holy fire
And do the bidding of his sire.
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