His long-tried friend had not o’er past the bound, Which mark’d the limits of the fatal ground; For when he saw the sad, untimely end Which seem’d to wait his dearer half, his friend, 340 Beneath a weight of more than mortal care, He stood transfix’d in motionless despair; His falt’ring tongue, with agony of wo, Cleav’d to his mouth! his blood forgot to flow. The glorious leader saw his mighty grief, And, pitying, strove to give his friend relief: The stern contempt of death, the warrior’s pride, No more his feelings or his judgment guide; To gentlest passions meltingly resign’d Each harsh emotion of his mighty mind: 350 Soft beam’d his lucid eye, the kindling flame Melted to love, before a brother’s name. With soften’d voice, and pitying looks, began The parting accents of the godlike man.
“Ah! more than brother, for thy gen’rous heart Has ever shewn a more than brother’s part; Say, my beloved, can the sobbing breath, The ling’ring tear, put off the stroke of death? The hand of destiny has fix’d my doom, By heav’n allotted to a warrior’s tomb. 360 Yet still my words in prophecy may say, Death shall not call my ev’ry part away: To late posterity, recording fame Shall tell the triumphs that adorn my name. Check then, O chosen of my soul, the tear Which mourns my path to Honour’s proudest bier; Accept a short, a last farewell, ere death Has chill’d my tongue, or claim’d my fleeting breath.” ‘Hold!’ cried the youth; but thus the chief pursued, While with fond eyes, his dearer self he view’d: 370 “Back to my wife, her lovely image bear, Torn from that heart which only beats for her. Ah! check the orphan’s tear, the widow’s sigh, Tell them, the lot of mortals is to die!”
Then drew a portrait from his manly breast, And to his lips th’ unconscious image prest, Gave it one sad, one ling’ring, last adieu, Then to his friend the precious token threw: “Fly, fly, my friend, ere yet it be too late, 379 E’en now approach the vengeful troops of fate.” ‘Die will I first,’ the faithful youth replies, While love courageous sparkles in his eyes; His steed he struck; his clanging arms rebound, The charger speeds him to the fatal ground, Close by the chieftain’s side: a smile as bright As erst o’er Chrishna shot its dazzling light[20], Flash’d o’er that pallid cheek with brilliant glow, Like sunshine beaming o’er an heap of snow. ‘Living, or dead, no earthly hand shall part The ties that bind thee to this constant heart.’ 390 No more he could;--he scarce could bare his brand, When down impetuous pour’d the hostile band. They saw the swampy marsh the chiefs that held, Nor dar’d, incautious, leap the fatal field, But from afar, their flying weapons pour, A glitt’ring tempest, and an iron show’r.