64Canto LXIV. Dasaratha's Death.The son of Raghu to his queen Thus far described the unequalled scene, And, as the hermit's death he rued, The mournful story thus renewed: “The deed my heedless hand had wrought Perplexed me with remorseful thought, And all alone I pondered still How kindly deed might salve the ill. The pitcher from the ground I took, And filled it from that fairest brook, Then, by the path the hermit showed, I reached his sainted sire's abode. I came, I saw: the aged pair, Feeble and blind, were sitting there, Like birds with clipped wings, side by side,