Unconscious that his path's beset
By armed and desperate men;
A brave gerfalcon on his wrist,
The bugle on his breast,
The sunlight gleaming brightly on
His nodding plume and crest.
Not clad in steel, from head to heel
In satin rich arrayed,
With his trusty sword, Pokurna's lord
Is riding through the glade,
To see his falcon proudly soar
And strike, he comes so far;
In peaceful guise he rideth on,
Nor dreams of blood or war.
All sudden from their ambush
The treacherous foemen rose,
With vengeful eyes and glittering arms,
With spears and bended bows:
And ere the chief could draw his blade,
They hemmed him darkly round,
And plucked him from his frightened steed,
And bore him to the ground.
The king sat on a gorgeous throne,
All rough with ruddy gold,
Begirt with many a haughty peer,
And warriors stern and bold;
With many a vassal-prince around,
For they had come from far
To pay their homage to their lord,
The sovereign of Marwar.
With fetters on his manly hands,
Within that hostile ring,
With dauntless look the chief appeared
Before his angry king.
Page:The Bengali Book of English Verse.djvu/73
OMESH CHUNDER DUTT.
41
