And he will sure kill me and take you back
Unto your angry sire. Thou art a girl
Born of the martial Kshatriya race, and hence
Thou knowest well to ride the wildest horse;
So let me now dismount for thee t'escape."
"'Tis better far I die with thee," she said,
"But I have here the javelin thou didst give
Before thou went'st to kill the elephant,
The eighth and last, concealed within my veil.
Take this and stop the coming foe,--but oh!
Kill not the wretch who dared to follow us,
And sully this our happy bridal hour
By murder; only stay, oh, stay the chase!"
So said, she gave the jav'lin, which he hurled
Upon the chasing charger's breast with all
His might, and straightway horse and rider fell;
And, like those innocent and helpless doves,
The loving pair together fled away,
Their life of joy and freedom to renew.
Before the fury of an angered king
For full three days and nights they ran, and found
At last a safe and happy shelter in
A shepherd's cot, and in those troublous times
'Twas easier for the brave to kingdoms found,
Rear palaces, and rulers strong become,
Than for the toiling peasants, from sown fields,
To reap their crops and safely bear them home.
Brave Timma was a stranger 'mongst new men;
The many tigers by his arrows killed
And neighboring clans and lawless robbers kept