SANSCRIT POEM BY SPIRI HARSHA. 



325 



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^ctt; ^jit^ f%TO frijT-JT ^ifTir ^t^if^ ^uftr i 



As he admired and praised its golden wings, 

 The bird imprisoned in his hand replied, 

 Fie on the King allured by golden wings, 

 To covet me. Say, art not thou thyself 

 A sea of wealth ? and by a drop like me 

 What increase to the ocean will be made ? 

 My death will more than simple murder be, 

 A lasting stain upon thy memory. 

 For on thine honour I reliance placed : 

 And sages say, it is a barbarous deed ; 

 To kill a fo9 who trusts to thee for life I 

 In every place thine armies are immense, 

 And is thy soul so bent on cruelty, 

 That all their slaughters cannot thee suffice ? 



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