mpet music to the warriors yield?

Harp is hushed within the dark tents and the voice of warlike song,
Bards beside the evening camp-fire tales of war do not prolong!

Good Yudhishthir's tent is voiceless, and my brothers look so pale,
Abhimanyu comes not joyous Krishna and his sire to hail!

Abhimanyu's love and greeting bless like blessings from above,
Fair Subhadra's joy and treasure, Arjun's pride and hope and love!"

Softly and with many tear-drops did the sad Yudhishthir tell,
How in dreadful field of battle gallant Abhimanyu fell!

How the impious Jayadratha fell on Arjun's youthful son,--
He with six proud Kuru chieftains,--Abhimanyu all alone!

How the young prince, reft of weapon and deprived of steed and car,
Fell as falls a Kshatra warrior fighting on the field of war!

Arjun heard; the father's bosom felt the cruel cureless wound,
"Brave and gallant boy!" said Arjun;--and he sank upon the ground!

Moments passed of voiceless sorrow and of speechless bitter tear,
Sobs within his mailed bosom smote the weeping listener's ear!

Moments passed; with rising anger quivered Arjun's iron frame,
Abhimanyu's cruel murder smote the father's heart to flame!

"Didst thou say that Sindhu's monarch on my Abhimanyu bore,--
He alone,--and Jayadratha leagued with six marauders more?

Didst thou say the impious Kurus stooped unto this deed of shame,
Outrage on the laws of honour, stain upon a warrior's fame?

Father's curse and warrior's hatred sting them to their dying breath,
For they feared my boy in battle, hunted him to cruel death,

Hear my vow, benign Yudhishthir, hear me, Krishna righteous lord,
Arjun's hand shall slay the slayer, Arjun plights his solemn word!

May I never reach the bright sky where the righteous fathers dwell,
May I with the darkest sinners live within the deepest hell,--

With the men who slay their fathers, shed their loving mothers' blood,
Stain the sacred bed of _gurus_, steal their gold and holy food,

Cherish envy, cheat their kinsmen, speak the low and dastard lie,--
If, ere comes to-morrow's sunset, Jayadratha doth not die!

Jayadratha dies to-morrow, victim to my vengeful ire,
Arjun else shall yield his weapons, perish on the flaming pyre!"

Softer tear-drops wept the mother, joyless was Subhadra's life,--
Krishna's fair and honoured sister, Arjun's dear and loved wife:

"Dost thou lie on field of battle smeared with dust and foeman's gore,
Child of light and love and sw