which
  Pierced deep the temple.  Thus enraged, the beast
  Began the chase again, but still the steed
  Was fleeter than the wearied elephant,
  And once again he stopped, but Timma hurled
  A second, which went deeper than the first,
  And roused him all the more—­and nevermore
  He stopped, but towards Vijiapore the chase
  Continued; for in due succession flew
  Six jav’lins, lightning-like, with deadly aim. 
  Thus, by the angry beast pursued, he neared
  At last the little stream that must perforce
  Be crossed to reach the royal city gate. 
  Then from the pouch that dangled on his back,
  His only jav’lin, with his utmost might,
  Discharged, that so enraged the maddened beast,
  With fury rushing, that his writhing trunk
  Had all but touched the rider and his horse
  In one embrace to crush them both; but soon
  The keen-eyed youth the danger saw, and spurred
  His horse, which bounded o’er the stream, when lo! 
  Two arrows crossed each other underneath. 
  One pierced the min’ster dead; the other pierced
  The royal Bukka, who unconscious fell. 
  One moment more, and at the palace gate
  The wearied rider on his foaming steed
  Stood, like a warrior coming with his spoils,
  The beast beside him, which, worn out, fell dead. 
  And as the tall and massive gate of some
  Old fort with spikes deep driven to withstand
  The foe, who battered it incessant, falls,
  And, powerless to stand the shock, at last
  Falls with a crash that far and wide was heard,
  So fell the beast, his massive corpse all torn
  And mangled, and with jav’lins planted deep,
  And when he fell from his huge throat went forth
  A wail, his last, like roaring thunder, that
  Resounded through the hills of Vijiapore. 
    Another moment and brave Timma sat
  Upon the bridal seat, the veil was drawn,
  And, through the veil, the sacred knot was tied
  Round Chandra’s neck, and all was merry there. 
    And still another moment when—­alas! 
  For that strange fickleness of human life
  Whose joys and griefs each other follow like
  The spokes of some fast-going wheel—­there came
  The wounded Bukka with a violent wail
  That Timma had the king’s adviser slain,
  Whose body lay upon the riverside,
  Exposed to all the carrion birds of prey,
  And him too wounded, but the arrow pierced
  Not deep, but laid him senseless for awhile;
  But soon, with consciousness restored, his wound
  He washed, and straightway hastened on his steed,
  In time to tell the story, sad but true,
  And stop the marriage of that coward with
  The fairest and the noblest of the land. 
  As when upon a tree, whose boughs with fruits
  Are laden, birds innumerable sit,
  Them to enjoy and to be merry there,
  The cruel hand of man to mar their joys
  Hurls suddenly a stone, and all the air