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 graceful robes of his race and country, bowed before the Emperor.

"Ha! the Prince, the Poet, the Flower of Rajput Chivalry! welcome Prithwi Raj of Bikanir, famed for feats of arms, renowned for flights of poetry. Thy verses reflect as in a mirror the heroism of thy native Rajasthan."

"Unworthy am I, sire, to tell the tales of my native land, handed down by inspired Charans and gifted Bards who have passed away. Our brave forefathers, too, have gone; the last of our heroes is dead."

"Thou speakest of Pratap Singh, the valiant Rana, of Mewar, who fought me for twenty years and was unsubdued. Why, thou art the arch-traitor, Prithwi Raj," added Akbar, with a smile, "who urged him to continue the fight by thy verse."

"If admiration of the Rana's heroism be treason," replied the Poet-prince, aptly, "one greater and higher than me, sire, is guilty of that crime."

The generous Emperor appreciated this rejoinder and smiled. "Ay," he said, "Akbar can admire a noble, a valiant foe, who fought and died for his land and for his race. And though the proud Generals of the Empire may frown upon me, and the haughty Raja Man Singh has not yet forgotten his old feud with the late Rana, peace and independence will I offer to his son as long as I live. The love and devotion of my Hindu subjects are worth more to me than the barren hills of Mewar."

Thus spoke the great Akbar, whose generosity had conciliated all he had conquered, and whose magnanimity extended to a State which still remained unconquered.