The Ramayana/Book I/Canto XX: Vis'vámitra's Visit

Now Das'aratha's pious mind Meet wedlock for his sons designed;

With priests and friends the king began To counsel and prepare his plan. Such thoughts engaged his bosom, when, To see Ayodhyá's lord of men, A mighty saint of glorious fame, The hermit Vis'vámitra came. For evil fiends that roam by night Disturbed him in each holy rite. And in their strength and frantic rage Assailed with witcheries the sage. He came to seek the monarch's aid To guard the rites the demons stayed, Unable to a close to bring One unpolluted offering. Seeking the king in this dire strait He said to those who kept the gate: 'Haste, warders, to your master run, And say that here stands Gádhi's son.'

Soon as they heard the holy man, To the king's chamber swift they ran With minds disordered all, and spurred To wildest zeal by what they heard. On to the royal hall they sped, There stood and lowly bowed the head, And made the lord of men aware That the great saint was waiting there. The king with priest and peer arose And ran the sage to meet, As Indra from his palace goes Lord Brahmá's self to greet. When glowing with celestial light The pious hermit was in sight, The king, whose mien his transport showed, The honoured gift for guests bestowed. Nor did the saint that gift despise, Offered as holy texts advise; He kindly asked the earth's great king How all with him was prospering. The son of Kus'ik bade him tell If all in town and field were well, All well with friends, and kith and kin, And royal treasure stored within: 'Do all thy neighbours own thy sway? Thy foes confess thee yet? Dost thou continue still to pay To Gods and men each debt?' Then he of hermits first and best, Vas'ishtha with a smile addressed,

And asked him of his welfare too, Showing him honour as was due. Then with the sainted hermit all Went joyous to the monarch's hall, And sate them down by due degree, Each one, of rank and dignity. Joy filled the noble prince's breast Who thus bespoke the honoured guest: 'As amrit by a mortal found, As rain upon the thirsty ground, As to an heirless man a son Born to him of his precious one, As gain of what we sorely miss, As sudden dawn of mighty bliss, So is thy coming here to me: All welcome, mighty Saint, to thee. What wish within thy heart hast thou? If I can please thee, tell me how. Hail, Saint, from whom all honours flow, Worthy of all I can bestow. Blest is my birth with fruit to-day, Nor has my life been thrown away. I see the best of Bráhman race And night to glorious morn gives place. Thou, holy Sage, in days of old Among the royal saints enrolled, Didst, penance glorified, within The Bráhman caste high station win. 'Tis meet and right in many a way That I to thee should honour pay. This seems a marvel to mine eyes: All sin thy visit purifies; And I by seeing thee, O Sage, Have reaped the fruit of pilgrimage. Then say what thou wouldst have me do, That thou hast sought this interview. Favoured by thee, my wish is still, O Hermit, to perform thy will. Nor needest thou at length explain The object that thy heart would gain. Without reserve I grant it now: My deity, O Lord, art thou.'

The glorious hermit, far renowned, With highest fame and virtue crowned, Rejoiced these modest words to hear Delightful to the mind and ear