"
Thus longing for the strife, they prayed,
And thus the hermit's answer made:--
"Till the fifth day be come and past,
O Raghu's sons, your watch must last.
The saint his Diksha has begun,
And all that time will speak to none."
Soon as the steadfast devotees
Had made reply in words like these,
The youths began, disdaining sleep,
Six days and nights their watch to keep--
The warrior pair who tamed the foe,
Unrivalled benders of the bow,
Kept watch and ward unwearied still
To guard the saint from scathe and ill.
Twas now the sixth returning day,
The hour foretold had passed away.
Then Rama cried: "O Lakshman, now!
Firm, watchful, resolute be thou.
The fiends as yet have kept afar
From the pure grove in which we are;
Yet waits us, ere the day shall close,
Dire battle with the demon foes."
While thus spoke Rama, borne away
By longing for the deadly fray,
See! bursting from the altar came
The sudden glory of the flame;
Round priest and deacon, and upon
Grass, ladles, flowers, the splendor shone--
And the high rite, in order due,
With sacred texts began anew.
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