Nor, best of men, shouldst thou disown
Thy sire's hereditary throne,
And tread the rough and stony ground
Where hardship, danger, woes abound.
Come, let Ayodhyá rich and bright
See thee enthroned with every rite:
Her tresses bound in single braid[387]
She waits thy coming long delayed.
O come, thou royal Prince, and share
The kingly joys that wait thee there,