While they, in patience, discipline of mind,
And silence perfected, cry out with fear,
'What shall we do? The illustrious Kausika
Is powerful; and we, compared with him,
Are feeble.' Thus they cry. What shall I do?
My mind is filled with doubt. Yet stay; a thought
Has come across me: Lo! this king who cries
Unceasingly, 'Fear not!' meeting with him,
And entering his heart, I will fulfil
All my desire." Then filled with Rudra's son--
Inspired with rage by Vigna Raj--the king
Spake up and said: "What evil doer is here,
Binding the fire on his garment's hem,
While I, his king, in power and arms renowned,
Resplendent in my glory, pass for nought?
Surely the never-ending sleep of death
Shall overtake him, and his limbs shall fail,
Smitten with darts from my far-reaching bow,
Whose fame this lower world may scarce contain."
Hearing the prince's words, the saint was filled
With wrath o'erpow'ring, and the sciences
Fell blasted in a moment at his glance.

But when the king beheld the pious sage
All-powerful, he quaked exceedingly,
And trembled like the sacred fig-tree's leaves.
Then Visvamitra cried: "Stop, miscreant!"
And Harischandra, humbly falling down
Before the saint, in accents low and meek:
"O Lord! most holy! most adorable!