wide
  To bring them home; the cruel Moslems, too,
  Aware that Timma’s absence weakened him,
  Combined a sudden rush to make upon
  The royal city, kill her ruler, and
  Divide the spoils and take his vast domains. 
  And now the wily Bukka with those foes
  Of foreign faith conspired; what though he fought
  As usual in the ranks of Vijiapore,
  Under the banner of her Hindu king! 
  To them he would run in the thickest of
  The fight and sudden turn the tide of war,
  And, from the conquered spoils, for his own share,
  He wanted neither lands nor riches, but
  Demanded Chandra and her lord alive. 
  And news of instant war had travelled far
  And wide, the princes and the chieftains poured
  Their loyal forces, ready to avenge
  Their Moslem foes, who, for no cause, thus dared
  Their city to invade so suddenly. 
  And Timma hastened with his wife at last,
  And was with joy received by all, who lost
  All hopes of ever seeing them alive. 
  And soon a council in the royal hall
  Was held, to name a leader and decide
  How best to strike at once th’ advancing foes. 
  Many felt proud by Timma to be led
  To victory in the field or glorious death,
  And many too in that assembly said
  That Bukka should not join their Hindu ranks,
  For he would, in the midst of battle, join
  The Moslem ranks and surely bring defeat
  And ruin too upon their aged king,
  The noble Ramaraj of Vijiapore,
  And cause their ancient kingdom’s overthrow. 
  But said one counted high for wisdom there: 
  “Do good, and so chide him that evil does,
  Is the oft-quoted saying of our true
  And ancient faith, and this is but the war
  For mastery ’tween different creeds and faiths,
  And hence let Bukka forthwith come to fight
  Against the common foes, who thus combined
  To mar our ancient faith and change our lives,
  And let our Ramaraj himself go forth
  And lead, and everlasting glory win,
  And in defence of our old Hindu faith,
  Or, if he falls, let him to Swarga go
  To join th’ immortals there; and one word more
  To thee, O Timma,—­bury all the past,
  And Bukka for his sins forgive, and both
  Go hand in hand to fight the Moslem foes. 
  To pardon is the spirit of our faith.” 
  To this consent was gladly giv’n by all,
  And the propitious day and hour to march
  Was soon named by the holy Brahmin priest,
  So deeply versed in all the starry lore. 
  Brave Timma sought his anxious wife ere he
  Went forth to fight, and thus took leave of her. 
  “Dear wife! the day to march is named at last. 
  Your aged sire and our dear monarch leads
  The war, and Bukka, as a Hindu true,
  Joins us to fight against the Moslem horde,
  And doubly glad I am that in this war,
  With Bukka vying in the field with me,