Page:Oriental Sketches Dramatic Sketches and Tales.pdf/67

Not long sustains the dreadful fight,
    But sinks beneath the cruel beak
Of his fierce foe, who drinks the blood,
    Ere from the breast life's pulses part,
And rushing in a crimson flood,
    From the poor victim's quivering heart.
And all around, the thronging rout
    Whose motley groups on foot advance,
Filling the air with cry and shout,
    And armed with javelin and lance,
Or simpler spears of the bamboo,
With reckless footsteps rushing through
The dark defiles of the ravine,
Heighten the spirit of the scene;
Where gaily trapped, the fiery horse
    With all his native ardour pants,
Outstripping in his rapid course
    The more majestic elephants.
And chiefs in regal pomp arrayed,
Silver and silk, and gold brocade,