Pierced to the soul by sorrow's sting Thus wailed the evil-hearted king. Then Tris'iras stood forth and cried: 'Yea, father, he has fought and died, Our bravest: and the loss is sore: But rouse thee, and lament no more. Hast thou not still thy coat of mail, Thy bow and shafts which never fail?
A thousand asses draw thy car Which roars like thunder heard afar. Thy valour and thy warrior skill, Thy God-given strength, are left thee still. Unarmed, thy matchless might subdued The Gods and Da'nav multitude. Armed with thy glorious weapons, how Shall Raghu's son oppose thee now?
Or, sire, within thy palace stay; And I myself will sweep away Thy foes, like Garúd when he makes A banquet of the writhing snakes Soon Raghu's son shall press the plain, As Narak fell by Vishnu slain, Or S'ambar in rebellious pride Who met the King of Gods and died.'
The monarch heard: his courage grew, And life and spirit came anew. Devántak and Narántak heard, And their fierce souls with joy were stirred; And Atikáya burned to fight, And heard the summons with delight; While from the rest loud rang the cry, 'I too will fight,' 'and I,' 'and I.'
The joyous king his sons embraced, With gold and chains and jewels graced, And sent them forth with stirring speech Of benison and praise to each. Forth from the gate the princes sped And ranged for war the troops they led. The Vánar legions charged anew. And trees and rocks for missiles flew.
They saw Narántak's mighty form Borne on a steed that mocked the storm. To check his charge in vain they strove: Straight through their host his way he clove, As springs a dolphin through the tide: And countless Vánars fell and died, And mangled limbs and corpses lay To mark the chief's ensanguined way, Sugrívá saw them fall or fly When fierce Narántak's steed was nigh, And marked the giant where he sped O'er heaps of dying or of dead.
He bade the royal Angad face That bravest chief of giant race. As springs the sun from clouds dispersed, So Angad from the Vánars burst. No weapon for the fight he bore Save nails and teeth, and sought no more. 'Leave, giant chieftain,' thus he spoke, 'Leave foes unworthy of thy stroke, And bend against a nobler heart The terrors of thy deadly dart.'
Narántak heard the words he spake: Fast breathing, like an angry snake, With bloody teeth his lips he pressed And hurled his dart at Angad's breast. True was the aim and fierce the stroke, Yet on his breast the missile broke. Then Angad at the giant flew. And with a blow his courser slew:
The fierce hand crushed through flesh and bone, And steed and rider fell o'erthrown. Narántak's eyes with fury blazed: His heavy hand on high he raised And struck in savage wrath the head Of Báli's son, who reeled and bled, Fainted a moment and no more: Then stronger, fiercer than before Smote with that fist which naught could stay, And crushed to death the giant lay.
