Classic Poem

They showed no respect for the chest of my lord, which is
as difficult to oppose as a powerful tiger living in a cave
who stretches himself, gets to his feet and emerges after prey,
my lord who is hard to harass, whose strong feet glowing
with their curving joints do not retreat in battle, whose might
is ferocious! They rose up roaring, “We are the best! We are
great! He is very young to fight against us! The spoils will be rich!”
Contemptuous of him they advanced, warriors without worth!
But when they scattered on the battlefield, with their eyes glazing,
he did not kill them there, but before their finely ornamented women
dying of shame, in the cities of their fathers,
to the clear beat of the kinai drum, there he went and killed them there!