id flight,
Now like a meteor lost to sight.
With trembling limbs away he sped;
Then like the moon with clouds o'erspread
Gleamed for a moment bright between
The trees, and was again unseen.
Thus in the magic deer's disguise
Maricha lured him to the prize,
And seen a while, then lost to view,
Far from his cot the hero drew.
Still by the flying game deceived
The hunter's heart was wroth and grieved,
And wearied with the fruitless chase
He stayed him in a shady place.
Again the rover of the night
Enraged the chieftain, full in sight,
Slow moving in the coppice near,
Surrounded by the woodland deer.
Again the hunter sought the game
That seemed a while to court his aim:
But seized again with sudden dread,
Beyond his sight the creature fled.
Again the hero left the shade,
Again the deer before him strayed.
With surer hope and stronger will
The hunter longed his prey to kill.
Then as his soul impatient grew,
An arrow from his side he drew,
Resplendent at the sunbeam's glow,
The crusher of the smitten foe.
With skillful heed the mighty lord
Fixed well shaft and strained the cord.
Upon the deer his eyes he bent,
And like a fiery serpent went
The arrow Brahma's self had framed,
Alive with sparks that hissed and flamed,
Like Indra's flashing levin, true
To the false deer the missile flew
Cleaving his flesh that wonderous dart
Stood quivering in Maricha's heart.
Scarce from the ground one foot he sprang,
Then stricken fell with deadly pang.
Half lifeless, as he pressed the ground,
He gave a roar of awful sound
And ere the wounded giant died
He threw his borrowed form aside
Remembering still his lord's behest
He pondered in his heart how best
Sita might send her guard away,
And Ravan seize the helpless prey.
The monster knew the time was nigh,
And called aloud with eager cry,
"Ho, Sita, Lakshman" and the tone
He borrowed was like Rama's own.

So by that matchless arrow cleft,
The deer's bright form Maricha left,
Resumed his giant shape and size
And closed in death his languid eyes.
When Rama saw his awful foe
Gasp, smeared with blood, in deadly throe,
His anxious thoughts to Sita sped,
And the wise words that Lakshman said,
That this was false Maricha's art,
Returned again upon his heart.
He knew the foe he triumphed o'er
The name of great Maricha bore.
"The fiend," he pondered, 'ere he died,
"Ho, Lakshman! ho, my Sita!" cried
Ah, if that cry has reached her ear,
How dire must be my darling's fear!