总° औदन-bन्जिङ । Then, lion-like, each warrior brave Rushed on the coming foe, To strike for freedom-or the gravel Oh Death upon thy gory altar What blood-libations freely flow'd Oh Earth ! on that bright morn, what thousands Rendered to thee the dust they ow'd - But 'fore the Macedonians drivenFell India's hardy sons,- Proud mountain oaks by thunders rivenThat for their country's freedom bledAnd made on gore their glorious bed III. But dauntlessly there stood King Porus, towering 'midst the foe, Like a Himala-peak With its eternal crown of snow : And on his brow did shine The jewell'd regal diadem, His milk-white elephant Was deck'd with many a brilliant gem. He reck'd not of the phalanx That 'round him closed-but nobly fought, And like the angry winds that blow, And lofty mountain-pines lay low, Amidst them dreadful havoc wrought, And thin'd his crown and country's foe! The hardiest warriors, at his deeds, Awe-struck quail'd like wind-shaken reeds :
