Thus in his heart exclaimed the chief:
“No fruit, I ween, have I secured
By strictest penance long endured,
If Gods and all the saints decree
To make but royal saint of me.”
Thus pondering, he with sense subdued,
With sternest zeal his vows renewed.
Then reigned a monarch, true of soul,
Who kept each sense in firm control;
Of old Ikshváku's line he came,