But these who love the evil way
And drink the blood they spill,
Rejoicing holy rites to stay,
Fierce plagues, my hand shall kill."
He seized another shaft, the best,
Aglow with living flame;
It struck Suvahu on the chest,
And dead to earth he came.
Again a dart, the Wind-God's own,
Upon his string he laid,
And all the demons were overthrown--
The saints no more afraid.
When thus the fiends were slain in fight,
Disturbers of each holy rite,
Due honor by the saints was paid
To Rama for his wondrous aid:--
So Indra is adored when he
Has won some glorious victory.
Success at last the rite had crowned,
And Visvamitra gazed around--
And seeing every side at rest,
The son of Raghu thus addressed:--
"My joy, O Prince, is now complete--
Thou hast obeyed my will:
Perfect before, this calm retreat
Is now more perfect still."
CANTO XXXIII
THE SONE
Their task achieved, the princes spent
That night with joy and full content.
Ere yet the dawn was well displayed
Their morning rites they duly paid--
And sought, while yet the light was faint,
The hermits and the mighty saint.
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