The Colas c11.52

c11.52

Death! Right silly art thou, ruthless one:
Through lack of sense thou eat'st thine own seed-corn!
Thou yet shalt see the truth of what I say.
Warriors with gleaming swords, and elephant and horse
Fell on the battle-plain that flowed with blood;
Daily he was insatiate, slew his foes,
And fed thine hunger! Like thyself a strength
He had that knew no ruth nor vengeance feared.
This Vaḷavan who wore great golden ornaments,
Whose flowery garland swarmed with humming bees,
Since thou hast borne away,—who shall appease thine hunger now?