Vain, alas! the voice of Bhishma like the voice of angel spoke,
Hatred dearer than his life-blood in the proud Duryodhan woke!
Darker grew the gloomy midnight, and the princes went their way,
On his bed of pointed arrows Bhishma lone and dying lay,
Karna, though he loved not Bhishma whilst the chieftain lived in fame,
Gently to the dying Bhishma in the midnight darkness came!
Bhishma heard the tread of Karna, and he oped his glazing eye,
Spake in love and spake in sadness, and his bosom heaved a sigh:
“Pride and envy, noble Karna, filled our warlike hearts with strife,
Discord ends with breath departing, envy sinks with fleeting life!
More I have to tell thee, Karna, but my parting breath may fail,
Feeble are my dying accents, and my parchéd lips are pale!
Arjun beats not noble Karna in the deeds of valour done,
Nor excels in birth and lineage, Karna, thou art Pritha's son!
Pritha bore thee, still unwedded, and the Sun inspired thy birth,
God-born man! No mightier archer treads this broad and spacious earth!
Pritha cast thee in her sorrow, hid thee with a maiden's shame,
And a driver, not thy father, nursed thee, chief of warlike fame!
Arjun is thy brother, Karna, end this sad fraternal war,
Seek not life-blood of thy brother, nor against him drive thy car!”