19Canto XIX. Ráma's Promise.Calm and unmoved by threatened woe The noble conqueror of the foe Answered the cruel words she spoke, Nor quailed beneath the murderous stroke: “Yea, for my father's promise sake I to the wood my way will take, And dwell a lonely exile there In hermit dress with matted hair. One thing alone I fain would learn, Why is the king this day so stern? Why is the scourge of foes so cold, Nor gives me greeting as of old? Now let not anger flush thy cheek: Before thy face the truth I speak, In hermit's coat with