WARDER [entering],—Victory to the King! two young hermits are in waiting outside, and solicit an audience of your Majesty.
KING.—Introduce them immediately.
WARDER.—I will, my liege. [Goes out, and reënters with two young Hermits.] This way, Sirs, this way.
[Both the Hermits look at the King
FIRST HERMIT.—How majestic is his mien, and yet what confidence it inspires! But this might be expected in a king whose character and habits have earned for him a title only one degree removed from that of a Saint.
In this secluded grove, whose sacred joys
All may participate, he deigns to dwell
Like one of us; and daily treasures up
A store of purest merit for himself,
By the protection of our holy rites.
In his own person wondrously are joined
Both majesty and saintlike holiness:—
And often chanted by inspired bards,
His hallowed title of "Imperial Sage"
Ascends in joyous accents to the skies.
SECOND HERMIT.—Bear in mind, Gautama, that this is the great Dushyanta, the friend of Indra.
FIRST HERMIT.—What of that?
SECOND HERMIT.—Where is the wonder if his nervous arm,
Puissant and massive as the iron bar
That binds a castle-gateway, singly sways
The sceptre of the universal earth,
E'en to its dark-green boundary of waters?
Or if the gods, beholden to his aid
In their fierce warfare with the powers of hell,
Should blend his name with Indra's in their songs
Of victory, and gratefully accord
No lower meed of praise to his braced bow,
Than to the thunders of the god of heaven?