His eager eye on Bharat fell

Who sat before his lonely cell.

In hermit weed, with tangled hair,

Pale, weak, and worn with ceaseless care.

His royal pomp and state resigned

For Ráma still he watched and pined,

Still to his dreary vows adhered,

And royal Ráma's shoes revered.

Yet still the terror of his arm

Preserved the land from fear and harm.