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'Yet more remain, brave chiefs who stake
Their noble lives for Rama鈥檚 sake.
See, glorious, golden-coated, one
Who glisters like the morning sun,
Whom thousands of his race surround,
'Tis Hara for his strength renowned,
Next comes a mighty chieftain, he
Whose legions, armed with rock and tree,
Press on, in numbers passing tale,
The ramparts of our town to scale.
O Ravan, see the king advance
Terrific with his fiery glance,
Girt by the bravest of his train,
Majestic as the God of Rain,
Parjanya, when his host of clouds
About the king, embattled, crowds:
On Rikshavan鈥檚 high mountain nursed,
In Narmada 听^[1] he slakes his thirst,
Dhumra, proud ursine chief, who leads
Wild warriors whom the forest breeds.
His brother, next in strength and age,
In Jambavan the famous sage.
Of yore his might and skill he lent
To him who rules the firmament,
And Indra鈥檚 liberal boons repaid
The chieftain for the timely aid.
There like a gloomy cloud that flies
Borne by the tempest through the skies,
Pramathi stands: he roamed of yore
The forest wilds on Ganga's shore,
Where elephants were struck with dread
And trembling at his coming fled.
There on his foes he loved to sate
The old hereditary hate. 听^[2]

Look, Gaja and Gavaksha show
Their lust of battle with the foe.
See Nala burning for the fray,
And Nila chafing at delay,
Behind the eager captains press
Wild hosts in numbers numberless,
And each for Rama鈥檚 sake would fall
Or force his way through Lanka's wall.'