LXXIII.

The leader of war with eagerness {177a} conducts the battle, Mallet of the land, {177b} he loved the mighty reapers; {177c} Stout youth, the freshness of his form was stained with blood, His accoutrements resounded, his chargers made a clang; {177d} His cheeks {177e} are covered with armour, And thus, image of death, he scatters desolation in the toil; In the first onset his lances penetrate the targets, {177f} And a track of surrounding light is made by the aim of the darting of his spears.