And ere the treacherous wretch could string his bow,
A pointed arrow carrying death with it,
Like lightning flew from forth the maiden's hands,
Pierced deep into his head, that plans devised
To kill his royal master and once more
Thought ill of Panchala and her good king.
His body lifeless lay upon the field.

Then spake the maiden to the grateful king:--
"Thou, noble ruler of this ancient land!
Before thy sacred presence and before
All these assembled in thy royal court,
I will reveal my story, sad but true.
I am the only child of him that ruled
The neighbouring state, whose kings for centuries
In peace and friendship lived with Panchala.
Alas! the villain, whom my arrow gave
To crows and to the eagles of the air,
Usurped my father's throne, and sad to tell,
He instant orders gave to murder us.
The menials sent to do the cruel deed
Felt pity for the fallen king and me,
His only daughter, in the woods left us
And went away, reporting they had done
The deed; and there, in that deserted place,
Unknown we lived a wretched life for years.
And glad I am that death ignoble, which
The wretch deserved, has now befallen him.

"This person standing here--I now remove