court to her,
Or is Kuvera's messenger;
Or Rama sent the spy to seek
His consort, and her wrongs to wreak.
His crushing arm, his trampling feet
Have marred and spoiled that dear retreat,
And all the pleasant place which thou
So lovest is a ruin now.
The tree where Sita sat alone
Is spared where all are overthrown.
Perchance he saved the dame from harm:
Perchance the toil had numbed his arm."

Then flashed the giant's eye with fire
Like that which lights the funeral pyre.
He bade his bravest Kinkars(871) speed
And to his feet the spoiler lead.
Forth from the palace, at his hest,
Twice forty thousand warriors pressed.
Burning for battle, strong and fierce,
With clubs to crush and swords to pierce,
They saw Hanuman near a porch,
And, thick as moths around a torch,
Rushed on the foe with wild attacks
Of mace and club and battle-axe.
As round him pressed the Rakshas crowd,
The wondrous monkey roared aloud,
That birds fell headlong from the sky:
Then spake he with a mighty cry:
"Long life to Dasaratha's heir,
And Lakshman, ever-glorious pair!
Long life to him who rules our race,
Preserved by noblest Rama's grace!
I am the slave of Kosal's king,(872)
Whose wondrous deeds the minstrels sing.
Hanuman I, the Wind-God's seed:
Beneath this arm the foemen bleed.
I fear not, unapproached in might,
A thousand Ravan's ranged for fight,
Although in furious hands they rear
The hill and tree for sword and spear,
I will, before the giants' eyes,
Their city and their king chastise;
And, having communed with the dame,
Depart in triumph as I came."

At that terrific roar and yell
The heart of every giant fell.
But still their king's command they feared
And pressed around with arms upreared.
Beside the porch a club was laid:
The Vanar caught it up, and swayed
The weapon round his head, and slew
The foremost of the Rakshas crew.
Thus Indra vanquished, thousand-eyed,
The Daityas who the Gods defied.
Then on the porch Hanuman sprang,
And loud his shout of triumph rang.
The giants looked upon the dead,
And turning to their monarch fled.
And Ravan with his spirit wrought
To frenzy by the tale they brought,
Urged to the fight Prahasta's son,
Of all his chiefs the mightiest one.

Canto XLIII. The Ruin Of The Temple.

The Wind-God's son a temple(873) scaled
Which, by his fury unassailed,
High as the hill of Meru, stood
Amid the ruins of the wood;
And in his fury thundered out
Again his haughty battle-shou