“Tell me,” questioned Aswapati, “for I may not guess thy thought,
Wherefore is my daughter's action with a sad disaster fraught?
Is the youth of noble lustre, gifted in the gifts of art,
Blest with wisdom, prowess, patience daring, dauntless in his heart?”
“Surya's lustre in him shineth,” so the rishi Narad said,
“Brihaspati's wisdom dwelleth in the young Satyavan's head,
Like Mahendra in his prowess, and in patience like the Earth,
Yet O king! a sad disaster marks the gentle youth from birth!”
“Tell me, rishi, then thy reason,” so the anxious monarch cried,
“Why to youth so great and gifted may this maid be not allied?
Is Satyavan free in bounty, gentle-hearted, full of grace,
Duly versed in sacred knowledge, fair in mind and fair in face?”
“Free in gifts like Rantideva,” so the holy rishi said,
“Versed in lore like monarch Sivi, who all ancient monarchs led,
Like Yayati open-hearted and like Chandra in his grace,
Like the handsome heavenly Asvins fair and radiant in his face,
Meek and graced with patient virtue he controls his noble mind,
Modest in his kindly actions, true to friends and ever kind,
And the hermits of the forest praise him for his righteous truth,
Nathless, king, thy daughter may not wed this noble-hearted youth!”