As thus the warrior cried aloud:
“Slain by mine arrows Ráma lies,
And closed in death are Lakshmaṇ's eyes.
Dead are the mighty princes who
Dúshaṇ and Khara smote and slew.
The Gods and fiends may toil in vain
To free them from the binding chain.
The haughty chief, my father's dread,
Who drove him sleepless from his bed,
While Lanká, troubled like a brook