Valmiki Ramayana 1.19.2

1.19.2

ūnaṣoḍaśavarṣo me rāmo rājīvalocanaḥ
na yuddhayogyatām asya paśyāmi saha rākṣasaiḥ

His tortured senses all astray,
Awhle the hapless monarch lay,
Then slowly gathering thought and strength
To Visvámitra 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 mghty army will I bring
That calls me master, lord, and king,
And with its countless squadrons fight
Against these rovers of the night.
Mv 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 I, my bow in hand,
Will in the van of battle stand,
And, while my soul is left alive,
With the night-roaming demons strive.
Thy guarded sacrifice shall be
Completed, from all hindrance free.
Thither will I my journey make:
Ráma, my child, thou must not take.
A boy unskilled, he knows not yet
The bounds to strength and weakness set,
No match is he for demon foes
Who magic arts to arms oppose.