Ráma and Lakshman next obtained In due degree their share-- Then with sweet talk the guests remained, And charmed each listener there. The evening prayers were duly said With voices calm and low:-- Then on the ground each laid his head And slept till morning's glow. CANTO XXVI THE FOREST OF TÁDAKÁ When the fair light of morning rose The princely tamers of their foes Followed, his morning worship o'er, The hermit to the river's shore. The high-souled men with thoughtful care A pretty barge had stationed there. All cried, "O lord, this barge ascend, And with thy princely followers bend To yonder side thy prosperous way-- With nought to check thee or delay." Nor did the saint their rede reject: He bade farewell with due respect, And crossed, attended by the twain, That river rushing to the main. When now the bark was half-way o'er, Ráma and Lakshman heard the roar, That louder grew and louder yet, Of waves by dashing waters met. Then Ráma asked the mighty seer:-- "What is the tumult that I hear Of waters cleft in mid-career?" Soon as the speech of Ráma, stirred By deep desire to know, he heard, The pious saint began to tell What caused the waters' roar and swell:-- "On high Kailása's distant hill There lies a noble lake Whose waters, born from Brahmá's will, The name of Mánas take. Thence, hallowing where'er they flow, The streams of Sarjú fall, And wandering through the plains below Embrace Ayodhyá's wall. Still, still preserved in Sarjú's name Sarovar's fame we trace, The flood of Brahmá whence she came To run her holy race. To meet great Gangá here she hies With tributary wave-- Hence the loud roar ye hear arise, Of floods that swell and rave. Here, pride of Raghu's line, do thou In humble adoration bow."