“It is not wise, they say,
With willing feet to track the way
To hell: Though only men who’ve lost
All love of life by misery crossed,
Would rush into the tiger’s lair,
And die, poor reckless victims there;
I gird my loins whate’er may be,
And work and wait for victory.”
He then donned his armor and walked toward the richly caparisoned Rakush, who stood impatiently waiting for his master. The young warrior took his beautiful mother in his arms and kissed her tenderly, then mounting his gallant steed he rode away into the unknown dangers of his perilous campaign.