Still, like a winged mountain, he Sprang forward through the airy sea, And rushing through the ether drew The clouds to follow as he flew, Through the great host around him spread, Grey, golden, dark, and white, and red. Now in a sable cloud immersed, Now from its gloomy pall he burst, Like the bright Lord of Stars concealed A moment, and again revealed.
Sunábha passed, he neared the coast Where waited still the Vánar host. They heard a rushing in the skies, And lifted up their wondering eyes. His wild triumphant shout they knew That louder still and louder grew, And Jámbaván with eager voice Called on the Vánars to rejoice:
'Look he returns, the Wind-God's son, And full success his toils have won; Triumphant is the shout that comes Like music of a thousand drums.'
Up sprang the Vánars from the ground And listened to the wondrous sound Of hurtling arm and thigh as through The region of the air he flew, Loud as the wind, when tempests rave, Roars in the prison of the cave. From crag to crag, from height to height; They bounded in their mad delight, And when he touched the mountain's crest, With reverent welcome round him pressed.
They brought him of their woodland fruits, They brought him of the choicest roots, And laughed and shouted in their glee The noblest of their chiefs to see. Nor Hanúmán delayed to greet Sage Jámbaván with reverence meet; To Angad and the chiefs he bent For age and rank preëminent, And briefly spoke: 'These eyes have seen, These lips addressed, the Maithil queen.'
They sat beneath the waving trees, And Angad spoke in words like these: 'O noblest of the Vánar kind For valour power and might combined, To thee triumphant o'er the foe Our hopes, our lives and all we owe. O faithful heart in perils tried, Which toil nor fear could turn aside, Thy deed the lady will restore, And Ráma's heart will ache no more,' 1
