Canto XXII.Dasaratha's Speech. His tortured senses all astray, While the hapless monarch lay, Then slowly gathering thought and strength To Viśvámitra spoke at length: “My son is but a child,I ween; This year he will be just sixteen. How is he fit for such emprise, My darling with the lotus eyes? A mighty army will I bring That calls me master,lord,and king, And with its countless squadrons fight Against these rovers of the night. My faithful heroes skilled to wield The arms of war will take the field; Their skill the demons'might may break: Ráma,my child,thou must not take. I,even