LXXIII.
The leader of war with eagerness [177a] conducts the battle,
Mallet of the land, [177b] he loved the mighty reapers; [177c]
Stout youth, the freshness of his form was stained with blood,
His accoutrements resounded, his chargers made a clang; [177d]
His cheeks [177e] are covered with armour,
And thus, image of death, he scatters desolation in the toil;
In the first onset his lances penetrate the targets, [177f]
And a track of surrounding light is made by the aim of the darting of his spears.