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and their swords like wreaths of flame,

      Each behind his elder stepping, good Yudhishthir first of all,

       Each his wondrous skill displaying held the silent crowds in thrall.

      And the men in admiration marked them with a joyful eye,

       Or by sudden panic stricken stooped to let the arrow fly!

      Mounted on their rapid coursers oft the princes proved their aim,

       Racing, hit the targe with arrows lettered with their royal name,

      With their glinting sunlit weapons shone the youths sublime and high,

       More than mortals seemed the princes, like gandharvas of the sky!

      Shouts of joy the people uttered as by sudden impulse driven,

       Mingled voice of tens of thousands struck the pealing vault of heaven!

      Still the princes shook their weapons, drove the deep resounding car,

       Or on steed or tusker mounted waged the glorious mimic war!

      Mighty sword and ample buckler, ponderous mace the princes wield,

       Brightly gleam their lightning rapiers as they range the listed field,

      Brave and fearless is their action, and their movement quick and light,

       Skilled and true the thrust and parry of their weapons flaming bright!

      III

      Bhima and Duryodhan

      Bhima came and proud Duryodhan with their maces held on high,

       Like two cliffs with lofty turrets cleaving through the azure sky!

      In their warlike arms accoutred with their girded loins they stood,

       Like two untamed jungle tuskers in the deep and echoing wood!

      And as tuskers range the forest, so they range the spacious field,

       Right to left and back they wander and their ponderous maces wield!

      Unto Kuru's sightless monarch wise Vidura drew the scene,

       Pritha proudly of the princes spake unto the Kuru queen.

      While the stalwart Bhima battled with Duryodhan brave and strong,

       Fierce in wrath, for one or other, shouted forth the maddened throng,

      “Hail to Kuru prince Duryodhan!” “Hail to Bhima hero proud!”

       Sounds like these from surging myriads rose in tumult deep and loud.

      And with troubled vision Drona marked the heaving restless plain,

       Marked the crowd by anger shaken, like the tempest-shaken main,

      To his son then whispered Drona quick the tumult to appease,

       Part the armed and angry wrestlers, bid the deadly combat cease,

      With their lifted clubs the princes slow retired on signal given,

       Like the parting of the billows, mighty-heaving, tempest-driven!

      Came forth then the ancient Drona on the open battle-ground,

       Stopped the drum and lofty trumpet, spake in voice like thunder's sound:

      “Bid him come, the gallant Arjun! pious prince and warrior skilled,

       Arjun, born of mighty Indra, and with Vishnu's prowess filled.”

      IV

      The Advent of Arjun

      Gauntleted and jewel-girdled, with his bow of ample height,

       Archer Arjun pious-hearted to the gods performed a rite,

      Then he stepped forth proud and stately in his golden mail encased,

       Like the sunlit cloud of evening with the golden rainbow graced!

      And a gladness stirred the people all around the listed plain,

       Voice of drum and blare of trumpet rose with sankha's festive strain!

      “Mark! the gallant son of Pandu, whom the happy Pritha bore,

       Mark! the heir of Indra's valour, matchless in his arms and lore,

      Mark! the warrior young and valiant, peerless in his skill of arms,

       Mark! the pure-souled, pious chieftain, decked with grace and varied charms!”

      Pritha heard such grateful voices borne aloft unto the sky,

       Milk of love suffused her bosom, tear of joy was in her eye!

      And where rested Kuru's monarch, joyous accents struck his ear,

       And he turned to wise Vidura seeking for the cause to hear:

      “Wherefore like the voice of ocean, when the tempest winds prevail,

       Rise these voices of the people and the spacious skies assail?”

      Answered him the wise Vidura, “It is Pritha's gallant boy,

       Godlike moves in golden armour, and the people shout for joy!”

      “Pleased am I,” so spake the monarch, “and I bless my happy fate,

       Pritha's sons like fires of yajna sanctify this mighty State!”

      Now the voices of the people died away and all was still,

       Arjun to his proud preceptor showed his might and matchless skill.

      Towering high or lowly bending, on the turf or on his car,

       With his bow and glist'ning arrows Arjun waged the mimic war,

      Targets on the wide arena, mighty tough or wondrous small,

       With his arrows bright, unfailing, Arjun pierced them one and all!

      Wild-boar shaped of solid iron coursed the wide-extending field,

       In its jaws five glist'ning arrows sent the archer wondrous-skilled,

      Cow-horn by a thread suspended, was by winds unceasing swayed,

       One and twenty well-aimed arrows on this moving mark he laid,

      And with equal skill his rapier did the godlike Arjun wield,

       Whirling round his mace of battle ranged the spacious tourney field!

      V

      The Advent of Karna

      Now the feats of arm are ended, and the closing hour draws nigh,

       Music's voice is hushed in silence, and dispersing crowds pass by,

      Hark! Like welkin-shaking thunder wakes a deep and deadly sound,

       Clank and din of warlike weapons burst upon the tented ground!

      Are the solid mountains splitting, is it bursting of the earth,

       Is it tempest's pealing accent whence the lightning takes its birth?

      Thoughts like these alarm the people for the sound is dread and high,

       To the gate of the arena turns the crowd with anxious eye!

      Gathered round preceptor Drona, Pandu's sons in armour bright,

       Like the five-starred constellation round the radiant Queen of Night,

      Gathered round the proud Duryodhan, dreaded for his exploits done,

       All his brave and warlike brothers and preceptor Drona's son,

      So the gods encircled Indra, thunder-wielding, fierce and bold,

       When he scattered Danu's children in the misty days of old!

      Pale,

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