en
Rama and Ravan, and a description of sights and sounds of evil omen
foreboding the destruction of the giant.]

Canto CVIII. The Battle.

He spoke, and vanished: Rama raised
His eyes with reverence meet, and praised
The glorious Day-God full in view:
Then armed him for the fight anew.
Urged onward by his charioteer
The giant's foaming steeds came near,
And furious was the battle's din
Where each resolved to die or win.
The Rakshas host and Vanar bands
Stood with their weapons in their hands,
And watched in terror and dismay
The fortune of the awful fray.
The giant chief with rage inflamed
His darts at Rama's pennon aimed;
But when they touched the chariot made
By heavenly hands their force was stayed.
Then Rama's breast with fury swelled;
He strained the mighty bow he held,
And straight at Ravan's banner flew
An arrow as the string he drew--
A deadly arrow swift of flight,
Like some huge snake ablaze with light,
Whose fury none might e'er repel,--
And, split in twain, the standard fell.
At Rama's steeds sharp arrows, hot
With flames of fire, the giant shot.
Unmoved the heavenly steeds sustained
The furious shower the warrior rained,
As though soft lotus tendrils smote
Each haughty crest and glossy coat.
Then volleyed swift by magic art,
Tree, mountain peak and spear and dart,
Trident and pike and club and mace
Flew hurtling straight at Rama's face.
But Rama with his steeds and car
Escaped the storm which fell afar
Where the strange missiles, as they rushed
To earth, a thousand Vanars crushed.

Canto CIX. The Battle.

With wondrous power and might and skill
The giant fought with Rama still.
Each at his foe his chariot drove,
And still for death or victory strove.
The warriors' steeds together dashed,
And pole with pole reechoing clashed.
Then Rama launching dart on dart
Made Ravan's coursers swerve and start.
Nor was the lord of Lanka slow
To rain his arrows on the foe,
Who showed, by fiery points assailed,
No trace of pain, nor shook nor quailed.
Dense clouds of arrows Rama shot
With that strong arm which rested not,
And spear and mace and club and brand
Fell in dire rain from Ravan's hand.
The storm of missiles fiercely cast
Stirred up the oceans with its blast,
And Serpent-Gods and fiends who dwell
Below were troubled by the swell.
The earth with hill and plain and brook
And grove and garden reeled and shook:
The very sun grew cold and pale,
And horror stilled the ris