It struck Suváhu 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 Ráma for his wondrous aid:-- So Indra is adored when he Has won some glorious victory. Success at last the rite had crowned, And Viśvámitra 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. They greeted first that holy sire Resplendent like the burning fire, And then with noble words began Their sweet speech to the sainted man:-- "Here stand, O lord, thy servants true-- Command what thou wouldst have us do." The saints, by Viśvámitra led, To Ráma thus in answer said:-- "Janak, the king who rules the land Of fertile Mithilá, has planned A noble sacrifice, and we Will thither go the rite to see. Thou, Prince of men, with us shalt go, And there behold the wondrous bow-- Terrific, vast, of matchless might, Which, splendid at the famous rite, The Gods assembled gave the King. No giant, fiend, or God can string That gem of bows, no heavenly bard; Then, sure, for man the task were hard. When lords of earth have longed to know The virtue of that wondrous bow, The strongest sons of kings in vain Have tried the mighty cord to strain. This famous bow thou there shalt view, And wondrous rites shalt witness too. The high-souled king who lords it o'er The realm of Mithilá, of yore Gained from the Gods this bow, the price Of his imperial sacrifice. Won by the rite the glorious prize Still in his royal palace lies-- Laid up in oil of precious scent With aloes-wood and incense blent." Then Ráma answering, "Be it so," Made ready with the rest to go. The saint himself was now prepared, But ere beyond the grove he fared, He turned him and in words like these Addressed the sylvan deities:-- "Farewell! each holy rite complete, I leave the hermits' perfect seat: To Gangá's northern shore I go Beneath Himálaya's peaks of snow." With reverent steps he paced around The limits of the holy ground-- And then the mighty saint set forth And took his journey to the north. His pupils, deep in Scripture's page, Followed behind the holy sage, And servants from the sacred grove