Sárdúla, Rávan's spy, surveyed
The legions on the strand arrayed.
And bore, his bosom racked with fear,
These tidings to the monarch's ear:
'They come, they come. A rushing tide,
Ten leagues they spread from side to side,
And on to storm thy citv press,
Fierce rovers of the wilderness.
Rich in each princely power and grace,
The pride of Das'aratha's race,
Ráma and Lakshman lead their bands,
And halt them on the ocean sands.
O Monarch, rise, this peril meet;
Risk not the danger of defeat.
441:1b The story is told in Book I. Cantos
XL., XLI., XLII.