"Hast thou yet, O tardy Arjun! base, insulting Karna slain,
Karna dealing dire destruction on this battle's reddened plain?

Like his teacher Par'su-Rama dyes in purple blood his course,
Like a snake of deathful poison Karna guards the Kuru force!

Karna smote my chariot-driver and my standard rent in twain,
Shattered car and lifeless horses strew the red inglorious plain,

Scarce with life in speechless anguish from the battle-field I fled,
Scorn of foes and shame of kinsmen! Warrior's fame and honour dead!

Ten long years and three Yudhishthir joy nor peace nor rest hath seen,
And while Karna lives and glories, all our insults still are green,

Hast thou, Arjun, slain that chieftain as in swelling pride he stood,
Hast thou wiped our wrongs and insults in that chariot-driver's blood?"

"At a distance," Krishna answered, "fiery Arjun fought his way,
Now he meets the archer Karna, and he vows his death to-day."

Anger lit Yudhishthir's forehead, and a tremor shook his frame,
As he spake to silent Arjun words of insult and of shame:

"Wherefore like a painted warrior doth the helmed Arjun stand,
Wherefore useless lies _gandiva_ in his weak and nerveless hand,

Wherefore hangs yon mighty sabre from his belt of silk and gold,
Wherefore doth the peerless Krishna drive his coursers fleet and bold,

If afar from war's arena timid Arjun seeks to hide,
If he shuns the mighty Karna battling in unconquered pride?

Arjun! yield thy famed _gandiva_ unto worthier hands than thine,
On some braver, truer warrior let thy mighty standard shine,

Yield thy helmet and thy armour, yield thy gleaming sword and shield,
Hide thee from this deathful battle, matchless Karna rules the field!"

Sparkled Arjun's eye in anger with a red and livid flame,
And the tempest of his passion shook his more than mortal frame,

Heedless, on the sword-hilt Arjun placed his swift and trembling hand,
Heedless, with a warrior's instinct drew the dark and glistening brand!

Sacred blood of king and elder would have stained his trenchant steel,
But the wise and noble Krishna strove the fatal feud to heal:

"Not before thy elder, Arjun, but in yonder purple field,
'Gainst thy rival and thy foeman use thy warlike sword and shield!

Render honour to thy elder, quench thy hasty, impious wrath,
Sin not 'gainst holy _sastra_, leave not virtue's sacred path!

Bow before thy virtuous elder as before the gods in heaven,
Sheathe thy sword and quell thy pass