Mounted on their milk-white chargers proudly did the princes sweep,
Like the sea-birds skimming gaily o'er the bosom of the deep,
Five of stout Gandhara's princes in that fatal combat fell,
And a sixth in fear and faintness fled the woeful tale to tell!
Short, alas, Iravat's triumph, transient was the victor's joy,
Alumbusha dark and dreadful came against the gallant boy,
Fierce and fateful was the combat, mournful is the tale to tell,
Like a lotus rudely severed, gallant son of Arjun fell!
Arjun heard the tale of sorrow, and his heart was filled with grief,
Thus he spake a father's anguish, faint his accents, few and brief:
“Wherefore, Krishna, for a kingdom mingle in this fatal fray,
Kinsmen killed and comrades slaughtered,—dear, alas! the price we pay!
Woe unto Hastina's empire built upon our children's grave!
Dearer than the throne of monarchs was Iravat young and brave!
Young in years and rich in beauty, with thy mother's winsome eye!
Art thou slain, my gallant warrior, and thy father was not nigh?
But thy young blood calls for vengeance! noble Krishna, drive the car,
Let them feel the father's prowess, those who slew the son in war!”
And he dashed the glistening tear-drop, and his words were few and brief,
Broken ranks and slaughtered chieftains spoke an angry father's grief!