The Ramayan by Valmiki

Valmiki, graceful speaker, heard, To highest admiration stirred. To him whose fame the tale rehearsed He paid his mental worship first; Then with his pupil humbly bent Before the saint most eloquent. Thus honoured and dismissed the seer Departed to his heavenly sphere. Then from his cot Valmiki hied To Tamasa's sequestered side, Not far remote from Ganga's tide. He stood and saw the ripples roll Pellucid o'er a pebbly shoal. To Bharadvaja by his side He turned in ecstasy, and cried: "See, pupil dear, this lovely sight, The smooth-floored shallow, pure and bright, With not a speck or shade to mar, And clear as good men's bosoms are. Here on the brink thy pitcher lay, And bring my zone of bark, I pray. Here will I bathe: the rill has not, To lave the limbs, a fairer spot. Do quickly as I bid, nor waste The precious time; away, and haste."

Obedient to his master's hest Quick from the cot he brought the vest; The hermit took it from his hand, And tightened round his waist the band; Then duly dipped and bathed him there, And muttered low his secret prayer. To spirits and to Gods he made Libation of the stream, and strayed Viewing the forest deep and wide That spread its shade on every side. Close by the bank he saw a pair Of curlews sporting fearless there. But suddenly with evil mind An outcast fowler stole behind, And, with an aim too sure and true, The male bird near the hermit slew. The wretched hen in wild despair With fluttering pinions beat the air, And shrieked a long and bitter cry When low on earth she saw him lie, Her loved companion, quivering, dead, His dear wings with his lifeblood red; And for her golden crested mate She mourned, and was disconsolate.