Fierce were his eyes: his monstrous hand
Held drawn for death his glittering brand.
There weeping stood the Maithil dame:
She shuddered as the giant came.
Near drew the rover of the night
And raised his sword in act to smite;
But, by his nobler heart impelled,
One Rákshas lord his arm withheld:
“Wilt thou, great Monarch,” thus he cried,
“Wilt thou, to heavenly Gods allied,