Canto LIV. The Battle. As Saint Vaśishṭha answered so, Nor let the cow of plenty go, The monarch,as a last resource, Began to drag her off by force. While the king's servants tore away Their moaning,miserable prey, Sad,sick at heart,and sore distressed, She pondered thus within her breast: “Why am I thus forsaken?why Betrayed by him of soul most high. Vaśishṭha,ravished by the hands Of soldiers of the monarch's bands? Ah me!what evil have I done Against the lofty-minded one, That he,so pious,can expose The innocent whose love he knows?” In her sad breast as thus she thought, And heaved