Praise to Válmíki, bird of charming song, Who mounts on Poesy's sublimest spray, And sweetly sings with accent clear and strong Ráma, aye Ráma, in his deathless lay.
Where breathes the man can listen to the strain That flows in music from Válmíki's tongue, Nor feel his feet the path of bliss attain When Ráma's glory by the saint is sung?
The stream Rámáyan leaves its sacred fount The whole wide world from sin and stain to free. The Prince of Hermits is the parent mount, The lordly Ráma is the darling sea.
Glory to him whose fame is ever bright! Glory to him, Prachet's holy son! Whose pure lips quaff with ever-new delight The nectar-sea of deeds by Ráma done.
Hail, arch-ascetic, pious, good, and kind! Hail, Saint Válmíki, lord of every lore! Hail, holy Hermit, calm and pure of mind! Hail, First of Bards, Válmíki, hail once more!
To sainted Nárad, prince of those Whose lore in words of wisdom flows, Whose constant care and chief delight Were Scripture and ascetic rite, The good Válmíki, first and best Of hermit saints, these words addressed:-- "In all this world, I pray thee, who Is virtuous, heroic, true? Firm in his vows, of grateful mind, To every creature good and kind? Bounteous, and holy, just, and wise, Alone most fair to all men's eyes? Devoid of envy, firm, and sage, Whose tranquil soul ne'er yields to rage? Whom, when his warrior wrath is high, Do Gods embattled fear and fly? Whose noble might and gentle skill The triple world can guard from ill? Who is the best of princes, he Who loves his people's good to see? The store of bliss, the living mine Where brightest joys and virtues shine? Queen Fortune's best and dearest friend, Whose steps her choicest gifts attend? Who may with Sun and Moon compare, With Indra, Vishnu, Fire, and Air? Grant, Saint divine, the boon I ask, For thee, I ween, an easy task, To whom the power is given to know If such a man breathe here below."
Then Nárad, clear before whose eye The present, past, and future lie, Made ready answer: "Hermit, where Are graces found so high and rare? Yet listen, and my tongue shall tell In whom alone these virtues dwell. From old Ikshváku's line he came, Known to the world by Ráma's name:-- With soul subdued, a chief of might, In Scripture versed, in glory bright. His steps in virtue's paths are bent, Obedient, pure, and eloquent. In each emprise he wins success, And dying foes his power confess. Tall and broad-shouldered, strong of limb, Fortune has set her mark on him. Graced with a conch-shell's triple line, His throat displays the auspicious sign. High destiny is clear impressed On massive jaw and ample chest. His mighty shafts he truly aims, And foemen in the battle tames. Deep in the muscle, scarcely shown, Embedded lies his collar-bone. His lordly steps are firm and free, His strong arms reach below his knee; All fairest graces join to deck His head, his brow, his stately neck, And limbs in fair proportion set:-- The manliest form e'er fashioned yet. Graced with each high imperial mark, His skin is soft and lustrous dark. Large are his eyes that sweetly shine With majesty almost divine. His plighted word he ne'er forgets; On erring sense a watch he sets. By nature wise, his teacher's skill Has trained him to subdue his will. Good, resolute and pure, and strong, He guards mankind from scathe and wrong, And lends his aid, and ne'er in vain, The cause of justice to maintain. Well has he studied o'er and o'er The Vedas and their kindred lore. Well skilled is he the bow to draw, Well trained in arts and versed in law; High-souled and meet for happy fate, Most tender and compassionate; The noblest of all lordly givers, Whom good men follow, as the rivers Follow the King of Floods, the sea:-- So liberal, so just is he. The joy of Queen Kausalyá's heart, In every virtue he has part; Firm as Himálaya's snowy steep, Unfathomed like the mighty deep; The peer of Vishnu's power and might, And lovely as the Lord of Night; Patient as Earth, but, roused to ire, Fierce as the world-destroying fire; In bounty like the Lord of Gold, And Justice' self in human mould. With him, his best and eldest son, By all his princely virtues won King Dasaratha willed to share His kingdom as the Regent Heir. But when Kaikeyí, youngest queen, With eyes of envious hate had seen The solemn pomp and regal state Prepared the prince to consecrate, She bade the hapless king bestow Two gifts he promised long ago, That Ráma to the woods should flee, And that her child the heir should be.