Ramayana 3.171

The giant bent his bow, and true To Rama's brow three arrows flew. Then, raging as he felt the stroke, These words in anger Rama spoke: "Heroic chief! is such the power Of fiends who rove at midnight hour? Soft as the touch of flowers I feel The gentle blows thine arrows deal. Receive in turn my shafts, and know What arrows fly from Rama's bow." Thus as he spoke his wrath grew hot, And twice seven deadly shafts he shot, Which, dire as serpent's deadly fang, Straight to the giant's bosom sprang. Four arrows more,--each shaped to deal A mortal wound with barbed steel,-- The glorious hero shot, and slew The four good steeds the car that drew. Eight other shafts flew straight and fleet, And hurled the driver from his seat, And in the dust the banner laid That proudly o'er the chariot played. Then as the fiend prepared to bound Forth from his useless car to ground, The hero smote him to the heart, And numbed his arm with deadly smart. Again the chieftain, peerless-souled, Sent forth three rapid darts, and rolled With each keen arrow, deftly sped, Low in the dust a monstrous head. Then yielding to each deadly stroke, Forth spouting streams of blood and smoke, The headless trunk bedrenched with gore Fell to the ground and moved no more. The fiends who yet were left with life, Routed and crushed in battle strife, To Khara's side, like trembling deer Scared by the hunter, fled in fear. King Khara saw with furious eye His scattered giants turn and fly; Then rallying his broken train At Raghu's son he drove amain, Like Rahu(472) when his deadly might Comes rushing on the Lord of Night.