e like newly lighted fire,
Abhimanyu's sad remembrance kindled fresh a father's ire!

And he drew his bow _gandiva_, aimed his dart with stifled breath,
Vengeance for his murdered hero winged the fatal dart of death!

Like the fiery bolt of lightning Arjun's lurid arrow sped,
Like the red and flaming meteor Karna fell among the dead!

III

Fall of Salya

Darkly closed the shades of midnight, Karna still and lifeless lay,
Ghast and pale o'er slaughtered thousands fell the morrow's sickly ray,

Bowman brave and proud preceptor, Kripa to Duryodhan said,
Tear bedimmed the warrior's eyelids and his manly bosom bled:

"Leaderless the Kuru's forces, by a dire misfortune crost,
Like the moonless shades of midnight in their utter darkness lost!

Like a summer-dried river, weary waste of arid sand,
Lost its pride of fresh'ning waters sweeping o'er the grateful land!

As a spark of fire consumeth summer's parched and sapless wood,
Kuru's lordless, lifeless forces shall be angry Arjun's food!

Bhima too will seek fulfilment of the dreadful vow he made,
Brave Satyaki wreak his vengeance for his sons untimely slayed!

Bid this battle cease, Duryodhan, pale and fitful is thy star,
Blood enough of friendly nations soaks this crimson field of war!

Bid them live,--the few survivors of a vast and countless host,
Let thy few remaining brothers live,--for many are the lost!

Kindly heart hath good Yudhishthir, still he seeks for rightful peace,
Render back his ancient kingdom, bid this war of kinsmen cease!"

"Kripa," so Duryodhan answered, "in this sad and fatal strife,
Ever foremost of our warriors, ever careless of thy life,

Ever in the council chamber thou hast words of wisdom said,
Needless war and dire destruction by thy peaceful counsel stayed,

Every word that 'scapes thee, Kripa, is a word of truth and weight,
Nathless thy advice for concord, wise preceptor, comes too late!

Hope not that the good Yudhishthir will again our friendship own,
Cheated once by deep Sakuni of his kingdom and his throne,

Rugged Bhima will not palter, fatal is the vow he made,
Vengeful Arjun will not pardon gallant Abhimanyu dead!

Fair Draupadi doth her penance, so our ancient matrons say,
In our blood to wash her insult and her proud insulters slay,

Fair Subhadra morn and evening weeps her dear departed son,
Feeds Draupadi's deathless anger for the hero dead and gone,

Deeply in their bosoms rankle wrongs and insults we have g