But Rishyaśring with eager pace Sped forth and hurried to the place Where he those visitants had seen Of dainty waist and charming mien. When from afar they saw the son Of Saint Vibhándak toward them run, To meet the hermit boy they hied, And hailed him with a smile, and cried:-- "O come, we pray, dear lord, behold Our lovely home of which we told:-- Due honor there to thee we'll pay, And speed thee on thy homeward way." Pleased with the gracious words they said He followed where the damsels led. As with his guides his steps he bent, That Bráhman high of worth, A flood of rain from heaven sent That gladdened all the earth. Vibhándak took his homeward road, And wearied by the heavy load Of roots and woodland fruit he bore Entered at last his cottage door. Fain for his son he looked around, But desolate the cell he found. He stayed not then to bathe his feet, Though fainting with the toil and heat, But hurried forth and roamed about Calling the boy with cry and shout. He searched the wood, but all in vain; Nor tidings of his son could gain. One day beyond the forest's bound The wandering saint a village found, And asked the swains and neatherds there Who owned the land so rich and fair, With all the hamlets of the plain, And herds of kine and fields of grain. They listened to the hermit's words, And all the guardians of the herds, With suppliant hands together pressed, This answer to the saint addressed:-- "The Angas' lord who bears the name Of Lomapád, renowned by fame, Bestowed these hamlets with their kine And all their riches, as a sign Of grace, on Rishyaśring; and he Vibhándak's son is said to be." The hermit with exulting breast The mighty will of fate confessed, By meditation's eye discerned; And cheerful to his home returned. A stately ship, at early morn, The hermit's son away had borne. Loud roared the clouds, as on he sped, The sky grew blacker overhead; Till, as he reached the royal town, A mighty flood of rain came down. By the great rain the monarch's mind The coming of his guest divined. To meet the honored youth he went, And low to earth his head he bent. With his own priest to lead the train, He gave the gift high guests obtain, And sought, with all who dwelt within The city walls, his grace to win. He fed him with the daintiest fare, He served him with unceasing care, And ministered with anxious eyes Lest anger in his breast should rise; And gave to be the Bráhman's bride His own fair daughter, lotus-eyed. Thus loved and honored by the King, The glorious Bráhman Rishyaśring Passed in that royal town his life With Śántá his beloved wife. CANTO X RISHYAŚRING INVITED