“Abandon’d all, both shield and spear,
Demented by their madd’ning fear,
Nought else they know, nought else repeat,
Than their sad loss—their dread retreat.
“Long and loud the death-wail rose,
They cut their arms—blood freely flows!
While tears run down the sadden’d cheek,
And on their breast they strike and beat.
“‘My son! my brother! O my friend!’
The women thus lament their end;
While burkas try all magic art,
To cause the monster to depart.
“Oh! then were long days of sadness,
Unavailing wrath, and madness!
But who, they ask, can kill Kupirri?
Can bold man, can charm or wirri?
“Then they arose in wild despair,
Invoke the gnomes of earth and air
Dread magic rites initiate,
All spirits bad propitiate.
“The warra warra now declare
Sure success to those who’d dare
Their monster-enemy to face,
The scourge of their devoted race.
“Murmurs of doubt run through the throng—
Who able was, or who was strong?
With what weapons could they fight
The monster on Nilarro’s height?
“But none among the young or old,
As hunters, were so brave or bold
As the noted fighter “Inda,”
And his far-famed brother “Pilla.”
“‘We go,’ they in one voice exclaim,
‘Though we should ne’er return again,
We’ll perish, or we’ll victors be
O’er this cursed beast, Kupirri.’
“Then with great skill, and with rare art,
They well anoint and paint each part
With mystic dots, with stripe and line,
From head to foot in karkoo shine.