Page:Poets of John Company.djvu/102

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Oh Laha Pennoo! Lord of Strife!
 * Oh watch our weapons as thine own!

And at each mark of mortal life
 * Direct the shaft and hurl the stone;

Make wide the wounds on every frame, Deface the dead, the living maim.

Oh! let our ponderous axes fall
 * Like blows of death from tiger-paws.

Or crush bone, flesh, and garb, and all.
 * As 'twixt the fierce hyena's jaws;

Let arms not ours as brittle be As long pods of the karta tree.

Each aim misguide, unnerve each hand
 * Of those to mock our might that dare,

Make all their weapons light as sand,
 * Or mowa blossoms borne on air;

Or let our wounds quick dry again, As blood-drops on the dusty plain.

May every axe wear ruddy hue
 * As home we come from victory's field;

And while our women, proud and true,
 * Their stores of sweet refreshment yield.

May neighbouring Beauties seek our bowers. And yearn to mix their blood with ours.

Our war-gained wealth let all behold,
 * Brass vessels, herds and scented leaf.

And maids present to parents old
 * The trophies of our struggle brief;

And fowl and buffalo and sheep Thy shrine in sacred blood shall steep.

Oh! Laha Pennoo! God of War!
 * Not new the favor now we crave;

For thy fierce smile, like lurid star,
 * Oft led to strife our fathers brave;

And we their sons, when danger lours. Still hail their honored God and ours!