When Rávan saw his darts repelled, With double rage his bosom swelled. He summoned, wroth but undismayed, A mightier charm to lend its aid. And, fierce as fire before the blast, A storm of missiles thick and fast, Spear, pike and javelin, mace and brand, Came hurtling from the giant's hand.
But, mightier still, the arms employed By Raghu's son their force destroyed, And every dart fell dulled and spent By powers the bards of heaven had lent. With his huge mace Vibhíshan slew The steeds that Ravan'a chariot drew. Then Rávan hurled in deadly ire A ponderous spear that flashed like fire:
But Ráma's arrows checked its way, And harmless on the earth it lay, The giant seized a mightier spear, Which Death himself would shun with fear. Vibhíshan with the stroke had died, But Lakshman'a hand his bowstring plied, And flying arrows thick as hail Smote fiercely on the giant's mail.
Then Rávan turned his aim aside, On Lakshman looked and fiercely cried: 'Thou, thou again my wrath hast braved, And from his death Vibhíshan saved. Now in his stead this spear receive Whose deadly point thy heart shall cleave.' He ceased: he hurled the mortal dart By Maya forged with magic art.
The spear, with all his fury flung. Swift, flickering like a serpent's tongue, Adorned with many a tinkling bell, Smote Lakshman, and the hero fell. When Ráma saw, he heaved a sigh, A tear one moment dimmed his eye. But tender grief was soon repressed And thoughts of vengeance filled his breast.
The air around him flashed and gleamed As from his bow the arrows streamed; And Lanká's lord, the foeman's dread, O'erwhelmed with terror turned and fled.
