stormy day;
And the great bow he joys to hold
Whose bended back is bright with gold,
As Indra's bow makes glad the skies,
That best of chariots glorifies.
O see the sunlike splendour flung
From the great flag above him hung,
Where, blazoned with refulgent lines,
Rahu(988) the dreadful Dragon shines.
Full thirty quivers near his side,
His car with shafts is well supplied:
And flashing like the light of stars
Gleam his two mighty scimitars.
Say, best of giants, who is he
Before whose face the Vanars flee?"

Thus Rama spake. Vibhishan eyed
The giants' chief, and thus replied:
"This Rama, this is Ravan's son:
High fame his youthful might has won.
He, best of warriors, bows his ear
The wisdom of the wise to hear.
Supreme is he mid those who know
The mastery of sword and bow.
Unrivalled in the bold attack
On elephant's or courser's back,
He knows, beside, each subtler art,
To win the foe, to bribe, or part.
On him the giant hosts rely,
And fear no ill when he is nigh.
This peerless chieftain bears the name
Of Atikaya huge of frame,
Whom Dhanyamalini of yore
To Ravan lord of Lanka bore."

Roused by his bow-string's awful clang,
To meet their foes the Vanars sprang.
Armed with tall trees from Lanka's wood,
And rocks and mountain peaks, they stood.
The giant's arrows, gold-bedecked,
The storm of hurtling missiles checked;
And ever on his foemen poured
Fierce tempest from his clanging cord;
Nor could the Vanar chiefs sustain
His shafts' intolerable rain.
They fled: the victor gained the place
Where stood the lord of Raghu's race,
And cried with voice of thunder: "Lo,
Borne on my car, with shaft and bow,
I, champion of the giants, scorn
To fight with weaklings humbly born.
Come forth your bravest, if he dare,
And fight with one who will not spare."

Forth sprang Sumitra's noble child,(989)
And strained his ready bow, and smiled;
And giants trembled as the clang
Through heaven and earth reechoing rang.
The giant to his string applied
A pointed shaft, and proudly cried;
"Turn, turn, Sumitra's son and fly,
For terrible as Death am I.
Fly, nor that youthful form oppose,
Untrained in war, to warriors' blows.
What! wilt thou waste thy childish breath
And wake the dormant fire of death?
Cast down, rash boy, that useless bow:
Preserve thy life, uninjured go."

He ceased: and stirred by wrath & pride
Sumitra's noble son replied:
"By warlike deed, not words alone,
The valour of the brave is shown.