| Sanjaya. Him, filled with such
compassion and such grief, With eyes tear-dimmed despondent, in
stern words The Driver, Madhusudan, thus addressed:
Krishna. How hath this weakness
taken thee? Whence springs The inglorious trouble, shameful to the brave,
Barring the path of virtue? Nay, Arjun! Forbid thyself to feebleness! it mars
Thy warrior-name! cast off the coward-fit! Wake! Be thyself! Arise Scourge of thy Foes!
Arjuna.
How can I, in the battle, shoot with shafts
On Bhishma, or on Drona- O thou Chief!-Both worshipful, both honourable men?
Better to live on beggar's bread With those we love alive, Than taste their blood in rich
feasts spread, And guiltily survive! Ah! were it worse- who knows?- to
be Victor or vanquished here, When those confront us angrily Whose death leaves living drear?
In pity lost, by doubtings tossed, My thoughts- distracted- turn
To Thee, the Guide I reverence most, That I may counsel learn: I know not what
would heal the grief Burned into soul and sense, If I were earth's unchallenged chief- A god- and
these gone thence!
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