WITH SCINDIA TO DELHI
39
Then Scindia checked the gasping mare that rocked and groaned for breath,
And wheeled to charge and plunged the knife a hands-breadth in her side—
The hunter and the hunted know how that last pause is death—
The blood had chilled about her heart, she reared and fell and died.
Our Gods were kind. Before he heard the maiden's piteous scream
A log upon the Delhi road, beneath the mare he lay—
Lost mistress and lost battle passed before him like a dream;
The darkness closed about his eyes—I bore my King away.
