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Then, seated on the Angas' throne,
Shall Lomapad to fame be known.
But folly wrought by that great King
A plague upon the land shall bring;
No rain for many a year shall fall
And grievous drought shall ruin all.
The troubled King with many a prayer
Shall bid the priests some cure declare:--
"The lore of Heaven 'tis yours to know,
Nor are ye blind to things below:--
Declare, O holy men, the way
This plague to expiate and stay."
Those best of Brahmans shall reply:--
"By every art, O Monarch, try,
Hither to bring Vibhandak's child,
Persuaded, captured, or beguiled.
And when the boy is hither led
To him thy daughter duly wed."
But how to bring that wondrous boy
His troubled thoughts will long employ,
And hopeless to achieve the task
He counsel of his lords will ask,
And bid his priests and servants bring
With honor saintly Rishyasring.
But when they hear the monarch's speech,
All these their master will beseech,
With trembling hearts and looks of woe,
To spare them, for they fear to go.


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