Praise to VĂĄlmĂki, bird of charming song,
Who mounts on Poesy's sublimest spray,
And sweetly sings with accent clear and strong
RĂĄma, aye RĂĄma, in his deathless lay.
Where breathes the man can listen to the strain
That flows in music from VĂĄlmĂki's tongue,
Nor feel his feet the path of bliss attain
When RĂĄma's glory by the saint is sung!
The stream RĂĄmĂĄyan leaves its sacred fount
The whole wide world from sin and stain to free.
The Prince of Hermits is the parent mount,
The lordly RĂĄma is the darling sea.
Glory to him whose fame is ever bright!
Glory to him, Prachetas'5holy son!
Whose pure lips quaff with ever new delight
The nectar-sea of deeds by RĂĄma done.
Hail, arch-ascetic, pious, good, and kind!
Hail, Saint VĂĄlmĂki, lord of every lore!
Hail, holy Hermit, calm and pure of mind!
Hail, First of Bards, VĂĄlmĂki, hail once more!
