With streams of rushing blood were dyed.
Still unsubdued though wounded oft
The shattered trunk he raised aloft,
And down with well-directed aim
On Jambumáli's chest it came.
There crushed upon the trampled grass
He lay an undistinguished mass,
The foeman's eye no more could see
His head or chest or arm or knee.
And bow and car and steeds[875] and store