ed,
As springing from their caverns leap
Swift rivers down the mountain steep.
When Khara felt each deadened power
Yielding beneath that murderous shower,
He charged, infuriate with the scent
Of blood, in dire bewilderment.
But Rama watched, with ready bow,
The onset of his bleeding foe,
And ere the monster reached him, drew
Backward in haste a yard or two.
Then from his side a shaft he took
Whose mortal stroke no life might brook:
Of peerless might, it bore the name
Of Brahma's staff, and glowed with flame:
Lord Indra, ruler of the skies,
Himself had given the glorious prize.
His bow the virtuous hero drew,
And at the fiend the arrow flew.
Hissing and roaring like the blast
Of tempest through the air it passed,
And fixed, by Rama's vigour sped,
In the foe's breast its pointed head.
Then fell the fiend: the quenchless flame
Burnt furious in his wounded frame.
So burnt by Rudra Andhak(477) fell
In Svetaranya's silvery dell:
So Namuchi and Vritra(478) died
By steaming bolts that tamed their pride:
So Bala(479) fell by lightning sent
By Him who rules the firmament.

Then all the Gods in close array
With the bright hosts who sing and play,
Filled full of rapture and amaze,
Sang hymns of joy in Rama's praise,
Beat their celestial drums and shed
Rain of sweet flowers upon his head.
For three short hours had scarcely flown,
And by his pointed shafts o'erthrown
The twice seven thousand fiends, whose will
Could change their shapes, in death were still,
With Trisiras and Dushan slain,
And Khara, leader of the train.
"O wondrous deed," the bards began,
"The noblest deed of virtuous man!
Heroic strength that stood alone,
And firmness e'en as Vishnu's own!"

Thus having sung, the shining train
Turned to their heavenly homes again.
Then the high saints of royal race
And loftiest station sought the place,
And by the great Agastya led,
With reverence to Rama said:

"For this, Lord Indra, glorious sire,
Majestic as the burning fire,
Who crushes cities in his rage,
Sought Sarabhanga's hermitage.
Thou wast, this great design to aid,
Led by the saints to seek this shade,
And with thy mighty arm to kill
The giants who delight in ill.
Thou Dasaratha's noble son,
The battle for our sake hast won,
And saints in Dandak's wild who live
Their days to holy tasks can give."

Forth from the mountain cavern came
The hero Lakshman with the dame.
And rapture beaming from his face,
Resought the hermit dwelling-