# The Light of Asia *Exported from [Holy-Writings.com](https://www.holy-writings.com/) on 2026-06-18 — 1 clipping.* --- > Produced by Jake Jaqua > > THE LIGHT OF ASIA > > By Sir Edwin Arnold > > This volume is dutifully inscribed to the Sovereign, > Grand Master, and Companions of The Most Exalted Order > of the Star of India by The Author. > > Book The First > > The Scripture of the Saviour of the World, > Lord Buddha--Prince Siddartha styled on earth > In Earth and Heavens and Hells Incomparable, > All-honoured, Wisest, Best, most Pitiful; > The Teacher of Nirvana and the Law. > > Then came he to be born again for men. > > Below the highest sphere four Regents sit > Who rule our world, and under them are zones > Nearer, but high, where saintliest spirits dead > Wait thrice ten thousand years, then live again; > And on Lord Buddha, waiting in that sky, > Came for our sakes the five sure signs of birth > So that the Devas knew the signs, and said > "Buddha will go again to help the World." > "Yea!" spake He, "now I go to help the World. > This last of many times; for birth and death > End hence for me and those who learn my Law. > I will go down among the Sakyas, > Under the southward snows of Himalay, > Where pious people live and a just King." > > That night the wife of King Suddhodana, > Maya the Queen, asleep beside her Lord, > Dreamed a strange dream; dreamed that a star > from heaven-- > Splendid, six-rayed, in colour rosy-pearl, > Whereof the token was an Elephant > Six-tusked and whiter than Vahuka's milk-- > Shot through the void and, shining into her, > Entered her womb upon the right. Awaked, > Bliss beyond mortal mother's filled her breast, > And over half the earth a lovely light > Forewent the morn. The strong hills shook; the waves > Sank lulled; all flowers that blow by day came forth > As 't were high noon; down to the farthest hells > Passed the Queen's joy, as when warm sunshine thrills > Wood-glooms to gold, and into all the deeps > A tender whisper pierced. "Oh ye," it said, > "The dead that are to live, the live who die, > Uprise, and hear, and hope! Buddha is come!" > Whereat in Limbos numberless much peace > Spread, and the world's heart throbbed, and a wind blew > With unknown freshness over lands and seas. > And when the morning dawned, and this was told, > The grey dream-readers said "The dream is good! > The Crab is in conjunction with the Sun; > The Queen shall bear a boy, a holy child > Of wondrous wisdom, profiting all flesh, > Who shall deliver men from ignorance, > Or rule the world, if he will deign to rule." > > In this wise was the holy Buddha born. > > Queen Maya stood at noon, her days fulfilled, > Under a Palsa in the Palace-grounds, > A stately trunk, straight as a temple-shaft, > With crown of glossy leaves and fragrant blooms; > And, knowing the time some--for all things knew-- > The conscious tree bent down its boughs to make > A bower above Queen Maya's majesty, > And Earth put forth a thousand sudden flowers > To spread a couch, while, ready for the bath, > The rock hard by gave out a limpid stream > Of crystal flow. So brought she forth her child > Pangless--he having on his perfect form > The marks, thirty and two, of blessed birth; > Of which the great news to the Palace came. > But when they brought the painted palanquin > To fetch him home, the bearers of the poles > Were the four Regents of the Earth, come down > From Mount Sumeru--they who write men's deeds > On brazen plates--the Angel of the East, > Whose hosts are clad in silver robes, and bear > Targets of pearl: the Angel of the South, > Whose horsemen, the Kumbhandas, ride blue steeds, > With sapphire shields: the Angel of the West, > By Nagas followed, riding steeds blood-red, > With coral shields: the Angel of the North, > Environed by his Yakshas, all in gold, > On yellow horses, bearing shields of gold. > These, with their pomp invisible, came down > And took the poles, in caste and outward garb > Like bearers, yet most mighty gods; and gods > Walked free with men that day, though men knew not > For Heaven was filled with gladness for Earth's sake, > Knowing Lord Buddha thus was come again. > > But King Suddhodana wist not of this; > The portents troubled, till his dream-readers > Augured a Prince of earthly dominance, > A Chakravartin, such as rise to rule > Once in each thousand years; seven gifts he has > The Chakra-ratna, disc divine; the gem; > The horse, the Aswa-ratna, that proud steed > Which tramps the clouds; a snow-white elephant, > The Hasti-ratna, born to bear his King; > The crafty Minister, the General > Unconquered, and the wife of peerless grace, > The Istri-ratna, lovelier than the Dawn. > For which gifts looking with this wondrous boy, > The King gave order that his town should keep > High festival; therefore the ways were swept, > Rose-odours sprinkled in the street, the trees > Were hung with lamps and flags, while merry crowds > Gaped on the sword-players and posturers, > The jugglers, charmers, swingers, rope-walkers, > The nautch-girls in their spangled skirts and bells > That chime light laughter round their restless feet; > The masquers wrapped in skins of bear and deer. > The tiger-tamers, wrestlers, quail-fighters, > Beaters of drum and twanglers of the wire, > Who made the people happy by command. > Moreover from afar came merchant-men, > Bringing, on tidings of this birth, rich gifts > In golden trays; goat-shawls, and nard and jade, > Turkises, "evening-sky" tint, woven webs-- > So fine twelve folds hide not a modest face-- > Waist-cloths sewn thick with pearls, and sandalwood; > Homage from tribute cities; so they called > Their Prince Svarthasiddh, "All-Prospering," > Briefer, Siddartha. > > 'Mongst the strangers came > A grey-haired saint, Asita, one whose ears, > Long closed to earthly things, caught heavenly sounds, > And heard at prayer beneath his peepul-tree > The Devas singing songs at Buddha's birth. > Wondrous in lore he was by age and fasts; > Him, drawing nigh, seeming so reverend, > The King saluted, and Queen Maya made > To lay her babe before such holy feet; > But when he saw the Prince the old man cried > "Ah, Queen, not so!" and thereupon he touched > Eight times the dust, laid his waste visage there, > Saying, "O Babe! I worship! Thou art He! > I see the rosy light, the foot-sole marks, > The soft curled tendril of the Swastika, > The sacred primal signs thirty and two, > The eighty lesser tokens. Thou art Buddh, > And thou wilt preach the Law and save all flesh > Who learn the Law, though I shall never hear, > Dying too soon, who lately longed to die; > Howbeit I have seen Thee. Know, O King! > This is that Blossom on our human tree > Which opens once in many myriad years-- > But opened, fills the world with Wisdom's scent > And Love's dropped honey; from thy royal root > A Heavenly Lotus springs: Ah, happy House! > Yet not all-happy, for a sword must pierce > Thy bowels for this boy--whilst thou, sweet Queen! > Dear to all gods and men for this great birth, > Henceforth art grown too sacred for more woe, > And life is woe, therefore in seven days > Painless thou shalt attain the close of pain." > > Which fell: for on the seventh evening > Queen Maya smiling slept, and waked no more, > Passing content to Trayastrinshas-Heaven, > Where countless Devas worship her and wait > Attendant on that radiant Motherhead. > But for the Babe they found a foster-nurse, > Princess Mahaprajapati--her breast > Nourished with noble milk the lips of > Him Whose lips comfort the Worlds. > > When th' eighth year passed > The careful King bethought to teach his son > All that a Prince should learn, for still he shunned > The too vast presage of those miracles, > The glories and the sufferings of a Buddh. > So, in full council of his Ministers, > "Who is the wisest man, great sirs," he asked, > "To teach my Prince that which a Prince should know?" > Whereto gave answer each with instant voice > "King! Viswamitra is the wisest one, > The farthest-seen in Scriptures, and the best > In learning, and the manual arts, and all." > Thus Viswamitra came and heard commands; > And, on a day found fortunate, the Prince > Took up his slate of ox-red sandal-wood, > All-beautified by gems around the rim, > And sprinkled smooth with dust of emery, > These took he, and his writing-stick, and stood > With eyes bent down before the Sage, who said, > "Child, write this Scripture, speaking slow the verse > 'Gayatri' named, which only High-born hear:-- > > "Om, tatsaviturvarenyam > Bhargo devasya dhimahi > Dhiyo yo na prachodayat." > > "Acharya, I write," meekly replied > The Prince, and quickly on the dust he drew-- > Not in one script, but many characters > The sacred verse; Nagri and Dakshin, Ni, > Mangal, Parusha, Yava, Tirthi, Uk, > Darad, Sikhyani, Mana, Madhyachar, > The pictured writings and the speech of signs, > Tokens of cave-men and the sea-peoples, > Of those who worship snakes beneath the earth, > And those who flame adore and the sun's orb, > The Magians and the dwellers on the mounds; > Of all the nations all strange scripts he traced > One after other with his writing-stick. > Reading the master's verse in every tongue; > And Viswamitra said, "It is enough, > Let us to numbers. > > "After me repeat > Your numeration till we reach the Lakh, > One, two, three, four, to ten, and then by tens > To hundreds, thousands." After him the child > Named digits, decads, centuries; nor paused, > The round Lakh reached, but softly murmured on > "Then comes the koti, nahut, ninnahut, > Khamba, viskhamba, abab, attata, > To kumuds, gundhikas, and utpalas, > By pundarikas unto padumas, > Which last is how you count the utmost grains > Of Hastagiri ground to finest dust; > But beyond that a numeration is, > The Katha, used to count the stars of night; > The Koti-Katha, for the ocean drops; > Ingga, the calculus of circulars; > Sarvanikchepa, by the which you deal > With all the sands of Gunga, till we come > To Antah-Kalpas, where the unit is > The sands of ten crore Gungas. If one seeks > More comprehensive scale, th' arithmic mounts > By the Asankya, which is the tale > Of all the drops that in ten thousand years > Would fall on all the worlds by daily rain; > Thence unto Maha Kalpas, by the which > The Gods compute their future and their past." > > "'Tis good," the Sage rejoined, "Most noble Prince, > If these thou know'st, needs it that I should teach > The mensuration of the lineal?" > Humbly the boy replied, "Acharya!" > "Be pleased to hear me. Paramanus ten > A parasukshma make; ten of those build > The trasarene, and seven trasarenes > One mote's-length floating in the beam, seven motes > The whisker-point of mouse, and ten of these > One likhya; likhyas ten a yuka, ten > Yukas a heart of barley, which is held > Seven times a wasp-waist; so unto the grain > Of mung and mustard and the barley-corn, > Whereof ten give the finger joint, twelve joints > The span, wherefrom we reach the cubit, staff, > Bow-length, lance-length; while twenty lengths of lance > Mete what is named a 'breath,' which is to say > Such space as man may stride with lungs once filled, > Whereof a gow is forty, four times that > A yojana; and, Master! if it please, > I shall recite how many sun-motes lie > From end to end within a yojana." > Thereat, with instant skill, the little Prince > Pronounced the total of the atoms true. > But Viswamitra heard it on his face > Prostrate before the boy; "For thou," he cried, > "Art Teacher of thy teachers--thou, not I, > Art Guru. Oh, I worship thee, sweet Prince! > That comest to my school only to show > Thou knowest all without the books, and know'st > Fair reverence besides." > > Which reverence > Lord Buddha kept to all his schoolmasters, > Albeit beyond their learning taught; in speech > Right gentle, yet so wise; princely of mien, > Yet softly-mannered; modest, deferent, > And tender-hearted, though of fearless blood; > No bolder horseman in the youthful band > E'er rode in gay chase of the shy gazelles; > No keener driver of the chariot > In mimic contest scoured the Palace-courts; > Yet in mid-play the boy would ofttimes pause, > Letting the deer pass free; would ofttimes yield > His half-won race because the labouring steeds > Fetched painful breath; or if his princely mates > Saddened to lose, or if some wistful dream > Swept o'er his thoughts. And ever with the years > Waxed this compassionateness of our Lord, > Even as a great tree grows from two soft leaves > To spread its shade afar; but hardly yet > Knew the young child of sorrow, pain, or tears, > Save as strange names for things not felt by kings, > Nor ever to be felt. But it befell > In the Royal garden on a day of spring, > A flock of wild swans passed, voyaging north > To their nest-places on Himala's breast. > Calling in love-notes down their snowy line > The bright birds flew, by fond love piloted; > And Devadatta, cousin of the Prince, > Pointed his bow, and loosed a wilful shaft > Which found the wide wing of the foremost swan > Broad-spread to glide upon the free blue road, > So that it fell, the bitter arrow fixed, > Bright scarlet blood-gouts staining the pure plumes. > Which seeing, Prince Siddartha took the bird > Tenderly up, rested it in his lap > Sitting with knees crossed, as Lord Buddha sits > And, soothing with a touch the wild thing's fright, > Composed its ruffled vans, calmed its quick heart, > Caressed it into peace with light kind palms > As soft as plantain-leaves an hour unrolled; > And while the left hand held, the right hand drew > The cruel steel forth from the wound and laid > Cool leaves and healing honey on the smart. > Yet all so little knew the boy of pain > That curiously into his wrist he pressed > The arrow's barb, and winced to feel it sting, > And turned with tears to soothe his bird again. > > Then some one came who said, "My Prince hath shot > A swan, which fell among the roses here, > He bids me pray you send it. Will you send?" > "Nay," quoth Siddartha, "if the bird were dead > To send it to the slayer might be well, > But the swan lives; my cousin hath but killed > The god-like speed which throbbed in this white wing." > And Devadatta answered, "The wild thing, > Living or dead, is his who fetched it down; > 'T was no man's in the clouds, but fall'n 't is mine, > Give me my prize, fair Cousin." Then our Lord > Laid the swan's neck beside his own smooth cheek > And gravely spake, "Say no! the bird is mine, > The first of myriad things which shall be mine > By right of mercy and love's lordliness. > For now I know, by what within me stirs, > That I shall teach compassion unto men > And be a speechless world's interpreter, > Abating this accursed flood of woe, > Not man's alone; but, if the Prince disputes, > Let him submit this matter to the wise > And we will wait their word." So was it done; > In full divan the business had debate, > And many thought this thing and many that, > Till there arose an unknown priest who said, > "If life be aught, the saviour of a life > Owns more the living thing than he can own > Who sought to slay--the slayer spoils and wastes, > The cherisher sustains, give him the bird:" > Which judgment all found just; but when the King > Sought out the sage for honour, he was gone; > And some one saw a hooded snake glide forth,-- > The gods come ofttimes thus! So our Lord Buddh > Began his works of mercy. > > Yet not more > Knew he as yet of grief than that one bird's, > Which, being healed, went joyous to its kind. > But on another day the King said, "Come, > Sweet son! and see the pleasaunce of the spring, > And how the fruitful earth is wooed to yield > Its riches to the reaper; how my realm-- > Which shall be thine when the pile flames for me-- > Feeds all its mouths and keeps the King's chest filled. > Fair is the season with new leaves, bright blooms, > Green grass, and cries of plough-time." So they rode > Into a lane of wells and gardens, where, > All up and down the rich red loam, the steers > Strained their strong shoulders in the creaking yoke > Dragging the ploughs; the fat soil rose and rolled > In smooth dark waves back from the plough; who drove > Planted both feet upon the leaping share > To make the furrow deep; among the palms > The tinkle of the rippling water rang, > And where it ran the glad earth 'broidered it > With balsams and the spears of lemon-grass. > Elsewhere were sowers who went forth to sow; > And all the jungle laughed with nesting-songs, > And all the thickets rustled with small life > Of lizard, bee, beetle, and creeping things > Pleased at the spring-time. In the mango-sprays > The sun-birds flashed; alone at his green forge > Toiled the loud coppersmith; bee-eaters hawked > Chasing the purple butterflies; beneath, > Striped squirrels raced, the mynas perked and picked, > The nine brown sisters chattered in the thorn, > The pied fish-tiger hung above the pool, > The egrets stalked among the buffaloes, > The kites sailed circles in the golden air; > About the painted temple peacocks flew, > The blue doves cooed from every well, far off > The village drums beat for some marriage-feast; > All things spoke peace and plenty, and the Prince > Saw and rejoiced. But, looking deep, he saw > The thorns which grow upon this rose of life > How the sweat peasant sweated for his wage, > Toiling for leave to live; and how he urged > The great-eyed oxen through the flaming hours, > Goading their velvet flanks: then marked he, too, > How lizard fed on ant, and snake on him, > And kite on both; and how the fish-hawk robbed > The fish-tiger of that which it had seized; > The shrike chasing the bulbul, which did chase > The jewelled butterflies; till everywhere > Each slew a slayer and in turn was slain, > Life living upon death. So the fair show > Veiled one vast, savage, grim conspiracy > Of mutual murder, from the worm to man, > Who himself kills his fellow; seeing which-- > The hungry ploughman and his labouring kine, > Their dewlaps blistered with the bitter yoke, > The rage to live which makes all living strife-- > The Prince Siddartha sighed. "In this," he said, > "That happy earth they brought me forth to see? > How salt with sweat the peasant's bread! how hard > The oxen's service! in the brake how fierce > The war of weak and strong! i' th' air what plots! > No refuge e'en in water. Go aside > A space, and let me muse on what ye show." > So saying, the good Lord Buddha seated him > Under a jambu-tree, with ankles crossed-- > As holy statues sit--and first began > To meditate this deep disease of life, > What its far source and whence its remedy. > So vast a pity filled him, such wide love > For living things, such passion to heal pain, > That by their stress his princely spirit passed > To ecstasy, and, purged from mortal taint > Of sense and self, the boy attained thereat > Dhyana, first step of "the path." > > There flew > High overhead that hour five holy ones, > Whose free wings faltered as they passed the tree. > "What power superior draws us from our flight?" > They asked, for spirits feel all force divine, > And know the sacred presence of the pure. > Then, looking downward, they beheld the Buddh > Crowned with a rose-hued aureole, intent > On thoughts to save; while from the grove a voice > Cried, "Rishis! this is He shall help the world, > Descend and worship." So the Bright Ones came > And sang a song of praise, folding their wings, > Then journeyed on, taking good news to Gods. > > But certain from the King seeking the Prince > Found him still musing, though the noon was past, > And the sun hastened to the western hills > Yet, while all shadows moved, the jambu-tree's > Stayed in one quarter, overspreading him, > Lest the sloped rays should strike that sacred head; > And he who saw this sight heard a voice say, > Amid the blossoms of the rose-apple, > "Let be the King's son! till the shadow goes > Forth from his heart my shadow will not shift." > > Book The Second > > Now, when our Lord was come to eighteen years, > The King commanded that there should be built > Three stately houses, one of hewn square beams > With cedar lining, warm for winter days; > One of veined marbles, cool for summer heat; > And one of burned bricks, with blue tiles bedecked, > Pleasant at seed-time, when the champaks bud-- > Subha, Suramma, Ramma, were their names. > Delicious gardens round about them bloomed, > Streams wandered wild and musky thickets stretched, > With many a bright pavilion and fair lawn > In midst of which Siddartha strayed at will, > Some new delight provided every hour; > And happy hours he knew, for life was rich, > With youthful blood at quickest; yet still came > The shadows of his meditation back, > As the lake's silver dulls with driving clouds. > > Which the King marking, called his Ministers: > "Bethink ye, sirs I how the old Rishi spake," > He said, "and what my dream-readers foretold. > This boy, more dear to me than mine heart's blood, > Shall be of universal dominance, > Trampling the neck of all his enemies, > A King of kings--and this is in my heart;-- > Or he shall tread the sad and lowly path > Of self-denial and of pious pains, > Gaining who knows what good, when all is lost > Worth keeping; and to this his wistful eyes > Do still incline amid my palaces. > But ye are sage, and ye will counsel me; > How may his feet be turned to that proud road > Where they should walk, and all fair signs come true > Which gave him Earth to rule, if he would rule?" > > The eldest answered, "Maharaja! love > Will cure these thin distempers; weave the spell > Of woman's wiles about his idle heart. > What knows this noble boy of beauty yet, > Eyes that make heaven forgot, and lips of balm? > Find him soft wives and pretty playfellows; > The thoughts ye cannot stay with brazen chains > A girl's hair lightly binds." > > And all thought good, > But the King answered, "if we seek him wives, > Love chooseth ofttimes with another eye; > And if we bid range Beauty's garden round, > To pluck what blossom pleases, he will smile > And sweetly shun the joy he knows not of." > Then said another, "Roams the barasingh > Until the fated arrow flies; for him, > As for less lordly spirits, some one charms, > Some face will seem a Paradise, some form > Fairer than pale Dawn when she wakes the world. > This do, my King! Command a festival > Where the realm's maids shall be competitors > In youth and grace, and sports that Sakyas use. > Let the Prince give the prizes to the fair, > And, when the lovely victors pass his seat, > There shall be those who mark if one or two > Change the fixed sadness of his tender cheek; > So we may choose for Love with Love's own eyes, > And cheat his Highness into happiness." > This thing seemed good; wherefore upon a day > The criers bade the young and beautiful > Pass to the palace, for 't was in command > To hold a court of pleasure, and the Prince > Would give the prizes, something rich for all, > The richest for the fairest judged. So flocked > Kapilavastu's maidens to the gate, > Each with her dark hair newly smoothed and bound, > Eyelashes lustred with the soorma-stick, > Fresh-bathed and scented; all in shawls and cloths > Of gayest; slender hands and feet new-stained > With crimson, and the tilka-spots stamped bright. > Fair show it was of all those Indian girls > Slow-pacing past the throne with large black eyes > Fixed on the ground, for when they saw the Prince > More than the awe of Majesty made beat > Their fluttering hearts, he sate so passionless, > Gentle, but so beyond them. Each maid took > With down-dropped lids her gift, afraid to gaze; > And if the people hailed some lovelier one > Beyond her rivals worthy royal smiles, > She stood like a scared antelope to touch > The gracious hand, then fled to join her mates > Trembling at favour, so divine he seemed, > So high and saint-like and above her world. > Thus filed they, one bright maid after another, > The city's flowers, and all this beauteous march > Was ending and the prizes spent, when last > Came young Yasodhara, and they that stood > Nearest Siddartha saw the princely boy > Start, as the radiant girl approached. A form > Of heavenly mould; a gait like Parvati's; the > Eyes like a hind's in love-time, face so fair > Words cannot paint its spell; and she alone > Gazed full-folding her palms across her breasts > On the boy's gaze, her stately neck unbent. > "Is there a gift for me?" she asked, and smiled. > "The gifts are gone," the Prince replied, "yet take > This for amends, dear sister, of whose grace > Our happy city boasts;" therewith he loosed > The emerald necklet from his throat, and clasped > Its green beads round her dark and silk-soft waist; > And their eyes mixed, and from the look sprang love. > > Long after--when enlightenment was full-- > Lord Buddha--being prayed why thus his heart > Took fire at first glance of the Sakya girl, > Answered, "We were not strangers, as to us > And all it seemed; in ages long gone by > A hunter's son, playing with forest girls > By Yamun's spring, where Nandadevi stands, > Sate umpire while they raced beneath the firs > Like hares at eve that run their playful rings; > One with flower-stars crowned he, one with long plumes > Plucked from eyed pheasant and the junglecock, > One with fir-apples; but who ran the last > Came first for him, and unto her the boy > Gave a tame fawn and his heart's love beside. > And in the wood they lived many glad years, > And in the wood they undivided died. > Lo! as hid seed shoots after rainless years, > So good and evil, pains and pleasures, hates > And loves, and all dead deeds, come forth again > Bearing bright leaves or dark, sweet fruit or sour. > Thus I was he and she Yasodhara; > And while the wheel of birth and death turns round, > That which hath been must be between us two." > > But they who watched the Prince at prize-giving > Saw and heard all, and told the careful King > How sate Sidddrtha heedless till there passed > Great Suprabuddha's child, Yasodhara; > And how--at sudden sight of her--he changed, > And how she gazed on him and he on her, > And of the jewel-gift, and what beside > Passed in their speaking glance. > > The fond King smiled: > "Look! we have found a lure; take counsel now > To fetch therewith our falcon from the clouds. > Let messengers be sent to ask the maid > In marriage for my son." But it was law > With Sakyas, when any asked a maid > Of noble house, fair and desirable, > He must make good his skill in martial arts > Against all suitors who should challenge it; > Nor might this custom break itself for kings. > Therefore her father spake: "Say to the King, > The child is sought by princes far and near; > If thy most gentle son can bend the bow, > Sway sword, and back a horse better than they, > Best would he be in all and best to us > But how shall this be, with his cloistered ways?" > Then the King's heart was sore, for now the Prince > Begged sweet Yasodhara for wife--in vain, > With Devadatta foremost at the bow, > Ardjuna master of all fiery steeds, > And Nanda chief in sword-play; but the Prince > Laughed low and said, "These things, too, I > have learned; > Make proclamation that thy son will meet > All comers at their chosen games. I think > I shall not lose my love for such as these." > So 't was given forth that on the seventh day > The Prince Siddartha summoned whoso would > To match with him in feats of manliness, > The victor's crown to be Yasodhara. > > Therefore, upon the seventh day, there went > The Sakya lords and town and country round > Unto the maidan; and the maid went too > Amid her kinsfolk, carried as a bride, > With music, and with litters gaily dight, > And gold-horned oxen, flower-caparisoned. > Whom Devadatta claimed, of royal line, > And Nanda and Ardjuna, noble both, > The flower of all youths there, till the Prince came > Riding his white horse Kantaka, which neighed, > Astonished at this great strange world without > Also Siddartha gazed with wondering eyes > On all those people born beneath the throne, > Otherwise housed than kings, otherwise fed, > And yet so like--perchance--in joys and griefs. > But when the Prince saw sweet Yasodhara, > Brightly he smiled, and drew his silken rein, > Leaped to the earth from Kantaka's broad back, > And cried, "He is not worthy of this pearl > Who is not worthiest; let my rivals prove > If I have dared too much in seeking her." > Then Nanda challenged for the arrow-test > And set a brazen drum six gows away, > Ardjuna six and Devadatta eight; > But Prince Siddartha bade them set his drum > Ten gows from off the line, until it seemed > A cowry-shell for target. Then they loosed, > And Nanda pierced his drum, Ardjuna his, > And Devadatta drove a well-aimed shaft > Through both sides of his mark, so that the crowd > Marvelled and cried; and sweet Yasodhara > Dropped the gold sari o'er her fearful eyes, > Lest she should see her Prince's arrow fail. > But he, taking their bow of lacquered cane, > With sinews bound, and strung with silver wire, > Which none but stalwart arms could draw a span, > Thrummed it--low laughing--drew the twisted string > Till the horns kissed, and the thick belly snapped > "That is for play, not love," he said; "hath none > A bow more fit for Sakya lords to use?" > And one said, "There is Sinhahanu's bow, > Kept in the temple since we know not when, > Which none can string, nor draw if it be strung." > "Fetch me," he cried, "that weapon of a man!" > They brought the ancient bow, wrought of black steel, > Laid with gold tendrils on its branching curves > Like bison-horns; and twice Siddartha tried > Its strength across his knee, then spake "Shoot now > With this, my cousins!" but they could not bring > The stubborn arms a hand's-breadth nigher use; > Then the Prince, lightly leaning, bent the bow, > Slipped home the eye upon the notch, and twanged > Sharply the cord, which, like an eagle's wing > Thrilling the air, sang forth so clear and loud > That feeble folk at home that day inquired > "What is this sound?" and people answered them, > "It is the sound of Sinhahanu's bow, > Which the King's son has strung and goes to shoot;" > Then fitting fair a shaft, he drew and loosed, > And the keen arrow clove the sky, and drave > Right through that farthest drum, nor stayed its flight, > But skimmed the plain beyond, past reach of eye. > > Then Devadatta challenged with the sword, > And clove a Talas-tree six fingers thick; > Ardjuna seven; and Nanda cut through nine; > But two such stems together grew, and both > Siddartha's blade shred at one flashing stroke, > Keen, but so smooth that the straight trunks upstood, > And Nanda cried, "His edge turned!" and the maid > Trembled anew seeing the trees erect, > Until the Devas of the air, who watched, > Blew light breaths from the south, and both green crowns > Crashed in the sand, clean-felled. > > Then brought they steeds, > High-mettled, nobly-bred, and three times scoured > Around the maidan, but white Kantaka > Left even the fleetest far behind--so swift, > That ere the foam fell from his mouth to earth > Twenty spear-lengths he flew; but Nanda said, > "We too might win with such as Kantaka; > Bring an unbroken horse, and let men see > Who best can back him." So the syces brought > A stallion dark as night, led by three chains, > Fierce-eyed, with nostrils wide and tossing mane, > Unshod, unsaddled, for no rider yet > Had crossed him. Three times each young Sakya > Sprang to his mighty back, but the hot steed > Furiously reared, and flung them to the plain > In dust and shame; only Ardjuna held > His seat awhile, and, bidding loose the chains, > Lashed the black flank, and shook the bit, and held > The proud jaws fast with grasp of master-hand, > So that in storms of wrath and rage and fear > The savage stallion circled once the plain > Half-tamed; but sudden turned with naked teeth, > Gripped by the foot Ardjuna, tore him down, > And would have slain him, but the grooms ran in, > Fettering the maddened beast. Then all men cried, > "Let not Siddartha meddle with this Bhut, > Whose liver is a tempest, and his blood > Red flame;" but the Prince said, "Let go the chains, > Give me his forelock only," which he held > With quiet grasp, and, speaking some low word, > Laid his right palm across the stallion's eyes, > And drew it gently down the angry face, > And all along the neck and panting flanks, > Till men astonished saw the night-black horse > Sink his fierce crest and stand subdued and meek, > As though he knew our Lord and worshipped him. > Nor stirred he while Siddartha mounted, then > Went soberly to touch of knee and rein > Before all eyes, so that the people said, > "Strive no more, for Siddartha is the best." > > And all the suitors answered "He is best!" > And Suprabuddha, father of the maid, > Said, "It was in our hearts to find thee best, > Being dearest, yet what magic taught thee more > Of manhood 'mid thy rose-bowers and thy dreams > Than war and chase and world's work bring to these? > But wear, fair Prince, the treasure thou halt won." > Then at a word the lovely Indian girl > Rose from her place above the throng, and took > A crown of mogra-flowers and lightly drew > The veil of black and gold across her brow, > Proud pacing past the youths, until she came > To where Siddartha stood in grace divine, > New lighted from the night-dark steed, which bent > Its strong neck meekly underneath his arm. > Before the Prince lowly she bowed, and bared > Her face celestial beaming with glad love; > Then on his neck she hung the fragrant wreath, > And on his breast she laid her perfect head, > And stooped to touch his feet with proud glad eyes, > Saying, "Dear Prince, behold me, who am thine!" > And all the throng rejoiced, seeing them pass > Hand fast in hand, and heart beating with heart, > The veil of black and gold drawn close again. > > Long after--when enlightenment was come-- > They prayed Lord Buddha touching all, and why > She wore this black and gold, and stepped so proud. > And the World-honoured answered, "Unto me > This was unknown, albeit it seemed half known; > For while the wheel of birth and death turns round, > Past things and thoughts, and buried lives come back. > I now remember, myriad rains ago, > What time I roamed Himala's hanging woods, > A tiger, with my striped and hungry kind; > I, who am Buddh, couched in the kusa grass > Gazing with green blinked eyes upon the herds > Which pastured near and nearer to their death > Round my day-lair; or underneath the stars > I roamed for prey, savage, insatiable, > Sniffing the paths for track of man and deer. > Amid the beasts that were my fellows then, > Met in deep jungle or by reedy jheel, > A tigress, comeliest of the forest, set > The males at war; her hide was lit with gold, > Black-broidered like the veil Yasodhara > Wore for me; hot the strife waged in that wood > With tooth and claw, while underneath a neem > The fair beast watched us bleed, thus fiercely wooed. > And I remember, at the end she came > Snarling past this and that torn forest-lord > Which I had conquered, and with fawning jaws > Licked my quick-heaving flank, and with me went > Into the wild with proud steps, amorously. > The wheel of birth and death turns low and high." > > Therefore the maid was given unto the Prince > A willing spoil; and when the stars were good-- > Mesha, the Red Ram, being Lord of heaven-- > The marriage feast was kept, as Sakyas use, > The golden gadi set, the carpet spread, > The wedding garlands hung, the arm-threads tied, > The sweet cake broke, the rice and attar thrown, > The two straws floated on the reddened milk, > Which, coming close, betokened "love till death;" > The seven steps taken thrice around the fire, > The gifts bestowed on holy men, the alms > And temple offerings made, the mantras sung, > The garments of the bride and bridegroom tied. > Then the grey father spake: "Worshipful Prince, > She that was ours henceforth is only thine; > Be good to her, who hath her life in thee." > Wherewith they brought home sweet Yasodhara, > With songs and trumpets, to the Prince's arms, > And love was all in all. > > Yet not to love > Alone trusted the King; love's prison-house > Stately and beautiful he bade them build, > So that in all the earth no marvel was > Like Vishramvan, the Prince's pleasure-place. > Midway in those wide palace-grounds there rose > A verdant hill whose base Rohini bathed, > Murmuring adown from Himalay's broad feet, > To bear its tribute into Gunga's waves. > Southward a growth of tamarind trees and sal, > Thick set with pale sky-coloured ganthi flowers, > Shut out the world, save if the city's hum > Came on the wind no harsher than when bees > Hum out of sight in thickets. Northward soared > The stainless ramps of huge Hamala's wall, > Ranged in white ranks against the blue-untrod > Infinite, wonderful--whose uplands vast, > And lifted universe of crest and crag, > Shoulder and shelf, green slope and icy horn, > Riven ravine, and splintered precipice > Led climbing thought higher and higher, until > It seemed to stand in heaven and speak with gods. > Beneath the snows dark forests spread, sharp laced > With leaping cataracts and veiled with clouds > Lower grew rose-oaks and the great fir groves > Where echoed pheasant's call and panther's cry > Clatter of wild sheep on the stones, and scream > Of circling eagles: under these the plain > Gleamed like a praying-carpet at the foot > Of those divinest altars. 'Fronting this > The builders set the bright pavilion up, > 'Fair-planted on the terraced hill, with towers > On either flank and pillared cloisters round. > Its beams were carved with stories of old time-- > Radha and Krishna and the sylvan girls-- > Sita and Hanuman and Draupadi; > And on the middle porch God Ganesha, > With disc and hook--to bring wisdom and wealth-- > Propitious sate, wreathing his sidelong trunk. > By winding ways of garden and of court > The inner gate was reached, of marble wrought, > White with pink veins; the lintel lazuli, > The threshold alabaster, and the doors > Sandalwood, cut in pictured panelling; > Whereby to lofty halls and shadowy bowers > Passed the delighted foot, on stately stairs, > Through latticed galleries, 'neath painted roofs > And clustering columns, where cool fountains--fringed > With lotus and nelumbo--danced, and fish > Gleamed through their crystal, scarlet, gold, and blue. > Great-eyed gazelles in sunny alcoves browsed > The blown red roses; birds of rainbow wing > Fluttered among the palms; doves, green and grey, > Built their safe nests on gilded cornices; > Over the shining pavements peacocks drew > The splendours of their trains, sedately watched > By milk-white herons and the small house-owls. > The plum-necked parrots swung from fruit to fruit; > The yellow sunbirds whirred from bloom to bloom, > The timid lizards on the lattice basked > Fearless, the squirrels ran to feed from hand, > For all was peace: the shy black snake, that gives > Fortune to households, sunned his sleepy coils > Under the moon-flowers, where the musk-deer played, > And brown-eyed monkeys chattered to the crows. > And all this house of love was peopled fair > With sweet attendance, so that in each part > With lovely sights were gentle faces found, > Soft speech and willing service, each one glad > To gladden, pleased at pleasure, proud to obey; > Till life glided beguiled, like a smooth stream > Banked by perpetual flowers, Yasodhara > Queen of the enchanting Court. > > But innermost, > Beyond the richness of those hundred halls, > A secret chamber lurked, where skill had spent > All lovely fantasies to lull the mind. > The entrance of it was a cloistered square-- > Roofed by the sky, and in the midst a tank-- > Of milky marble built, and laid with slabs > Of milk-white marble; bordered round the tank > And on the steps, and all along the frieze > With tender inlaid work of agate-stones. > Cool as to tread in summer-time on snows > It was to loiter there; the sunbeams dropped > Their gold, and, passing into porch and niche, > Softened to shadows, silvery, pale, and dim, > As if the very Day paused and grew Eve. > In love and silence at that bower's gate; > For there beyond the gate the chamber was, > Beautiful, sweet; a wonder of the world! > Soft light from perfumed lamps through windows fell > Of nakre and stained stars of lucent film > On golden cloths outspread, and silken beds, > And heavy splendour of the purdah's fringe, > Lifted to take only the loveliest in. > Here, whether it was night or day none knew, > For always streamed that softened light, more bright > Than sunrise, but as tender as the eve's; > And always breathed sweet airs, more joy-giving > Than morning's, but as cool as midnight's breath; > And night and day lutes sighed, and night and day > Delicious foods were spread, and dewy fruits, > Sherbets new chilled with snows of Himalay, > And sweetmeats made of subtle daintiness, > With sweet tree-milk in its own ivory cup. > And night and day served there a chosen band > Of nautch girls, cup-bearers, and cymballers, > Delicate, dark-browed ministers of love, > Who fanned the sleeping eyes of the happy Prince, > And when he waked, led back his thoughts to bliss > With music whispering through the blooms, and charm > Of amorous songs and dreamy dances, linked > By chime of ankle-bells and wave of arms > And silver vina-strings; while essences > Of musk and champak and the blue haze spread > From burning spices soothed his soul again > To drowse by sweet Yasodhara; and thus > Siddartha lived forgetting. > > Furthermore, > The King commanded that within those walls > No mention should be made of death or age, > Sorrow, or pain, or sickness. If one drooped > In the lovely Court--her dark glance dim, her feet > Faint in the dance--the guiltless criminal > Passed forth an exile from that Paradise, > Lest he should see and suffer at her woe. > Bright-eyed intendants watched to execute > Sentence on such as spake of the harsh world > Without, where aches and plagues were, tears > and fears, > And wail of mourners, and grim fume of pyres. > `T was treason if a thread of silver strayed > In tress of singing-girl or nautch-dancer; > And every dawn the dying rose was plucked, > The dead leaves hid, all evil sights removed > For said the King, "If he shall pass his youth > Far from such things as move to wistfulness, > And brooding on the empty eggs of thought, > The shadow of this fate, too vast for man, > May fade, belike, and I shall see him grow > To that great stature of fair sovereignty > When he shall rule all lands--if he will rule-- > The King of kings and glory of his time." > > Wherefore, around that pleasant prison house > Where love was gaoler and delights its bars, > But far removed from sight--the King bade build > A massive wall, and in the wall a gate > With brazen folding-doors, which but to roll > Back on their hinges asked a hundred arms; > Also the noise of that prodigious gate > Opening was heard full half a yojana. > And inside this another gate he made, > And yet within another--through the three > Must one pass if he quit that pleasure-house. > Three mighty gates there were, bolted and barred, > And over each was set a faithful watch; > And the King's order said, "Suffer no man > To pass the gates, though he should be the Prince > This on your lives--even though it be my son." > > Book The Third > > In which calm home of happy life and love > Ligged our Lord Buddha, knowing not of woe, > Nor want, nor pain, nor plague, nor age, nor death, > Save as when sleepers roam dim seas in dreams, > And land awearied on the shores of day, > Bringing strange merchandise from that black voyage. > Thus ofttimes when he lay with gentle head > Lulled on the dark breasts of Yasodhara, > Her fond hands fanning slow his sleeping lids, > He would start up and cry, "My world! Oh, world! > I hear! I know! I come!" And she would ask, > "What ails my Lord?" with large eyes terrorstruck; > For at such times the pity in his look > Was awful, and his visage like a god's. > Then would he smile again to stay her tears, > And bid the vinas sound; but once they set > A stringed gourd on the sill, there where the wind > Could linger o'er its notes and play at will-- > Wild music makes the wind on silver strings-- > And those who lay around heard only that; > But Prince Siddartha heard the Devas play, > And to his ears they sang such words as these:-- > > We are the voices of the wandering wind, > Which moan for rest and rest can never find; > Lo! as the wind is so is mortal life, > A moan, a sigh, a sob, a storm, a strife. > > Wherefore and whence we are ye cannot know, > Nor where life springs nor whither life doth go; > We are as ye are, ghosts from the inane, > What pleasure have we of our changeful pain? > > What pleasure hast thou of thy changeless bliss? > Nay, if love lasted, there were joy in this; > But life's way is the wind's way, all these things > Are but brief voices breathed on shifting strings. > > O Maya's son! because we roam the earth > Moan we upon these strings; we make no mirth, > So many woes we see in many lands, > So many streaming eyes and wringing hands. > > Yet mock we while we wail, for, could they know, > This life they cling to is but empty show; > 'Twere all as well to bid a cloud to stand, > Or hold a running river with the hand. > > But thou that art to save, thine hour is nigh! > The sad world waileth in its misery, > The blind world stumbleth on its round of pain; > Rise, Maya's child! wake! slumber not again! > > We are the voices of the wandering wind > Wander thou, too, O Prince, thy rest to find; > Leave love for love of lovers, for woe's sake > Quit state for sorrow, and deliverance make. > > So sigh we, passing o'er the silver strings, > To thee who know'st not yet of earthly things; > So say we; mocking, as we pass away, > These lovely shadows wherewith thou dost play. > > Thereafter it befell he sate at eve > Amid his beauteous Court, holding the hand > Of sweet Yasodhara, and some maid told-- > With breaks of music when her rich voice dropped-- > An ancient tale to speed the hour of dusk, > Of love, and of a magic horse, and lands > Wonderful, distant, where pale peoples dwelled > And where the sun at night sank into seas. > Then spake he, sighing, "Chitra brings me back. > The wind's song in the strings with that fair tale. > Give her, Yasodhara, thy pearl for thanks. > But thou, my pearl! is there so wide a world? > Is there a land which sees the great sun roll > Into the waves, and are there hearts like ours, > Countless, unknown, not happy--it may be-- > Whom we might succour if we knew of them? > Ofttimes I marvel, as the Lord of day > Treads from the east his kingly road of gold, > Who first on the world's edge hath hailed his beam, > The children of the morning; oftentimes, > Even in thine arms and on thy breasts, bright wife, > Sore have I panted, at the sun's decline, > To pass with him into that crimson west > And see the peoples of the evening. > There must be many we should love--how else? > Now have I in this hour an ache, at last, > Thy soft lips cannot kiss away: oh, girl! > O Chitra! you that know of fairyland! > Where tether they that swift steed of the tale? > My palace for one day upon his back, > To ride and ride and see the spread of the earth! > Nay, if I had yon callow vulture's plumes-- > The carrion heir of wider realms than mine-- > How would I stretch for topmost Himalay, > Light where the rose-gleam lingers on those snows, > And strain my gaze with searching what is round! > Why have I never seen and never sought? > Tell me what lies beyond our brazen gates." > > Then one replied, "The city first, fair Prince! > The temples, and the gardens, and the groves, > And then the fields, and afterwards fresh fields, > With nullahs, maidans, jungle, koss on koss; > And next King Bimbasara's realm, and then > The vast flat world, with crores on crores of folk." > "Good," said Siddartha, "let the word be sent > That Channa yoke my chariot--at noon > Tomorrow I shall ride and see beyond." > > Whereof they told the King: "Our Lord, thy son, > Wills that his chariot be yoked at noon, > That he may ride abroad and see mankind." > > "Yea!" spake the careful King, "'tis time he see! > But let the criers go about and bid > My city deck itself, so there be met > No noisome sight; and let none blind or maimed, > None that is sick or stricken deep in years, > No leper, and no feeble folk come forth." > Therefore the stones were swept, and up and down > The water-carriers sprinkled all the streets > From spirting skins, the housewives scattered fresh > Red powder on their thresholds, strung new wreaths, > And trimmed the tulsi-bush before their doors. > The paintings on the walls were heightened up > With liberal brush, the trees set thick with flags, > The idols gilded; in the four-went ways > Suryadeva and the great gods shone > 'Mid shrines of leaves; so that the city seemed > A capital of some enchanted land. > Also the criers passed, with drum and gong, > Proclaiming loudly, "Ho! all citizens, > The King commands that there be seen today > No evil sight: let no one blind or maimed, > None that is sick or stricken deep in years, > No leper, and no feeble folk go forth. > Let none, too, burn his dead nor bring them out > Till nightfall. Thus Suddhodana commands." > > So all was comely and the houses trim > Throughout Kapilavastu, while the Prince > Came forth in painted car, which two steers drew, > Snow-white, with swinging dewlaps and huge humps > Wrinkled against the carved and lacquered yoke. > Goodly it was to mark the people's joy > Greeting their Prince; and glad. Siddartha waxed > At sight of all those liege and friendly folk > Bright-clad and laughing as if life were good. > "Fair is the world," he said, "it likes me well! > And light and kind these men that are not kings, > And sweet my sisters here, who toil and tend; > What have I done for these to make them thus? > Why, if I love them, should those children know? > I pray take up yon pretty Sakya boy > Who flung us flowers, and let him ride with me. > How good it is to reign in realms like this! > How simple pleasure is, if these be pleased > Because I come abroad! How many things > I need not if such little households hold > Enough to make our city full of smiles! > Drive, Channa! through the gates, and let me see > More of this gracious world I have not known." > > So passed they through the gates, a joyous crowd > Thronging about the wheels, whereof some ran > Before the oxen, throwing wreaths, some stroked > Their silken flanks, some brought them rice and cakes, > All crying, "Jai! jai! for our noble Prince!" > Thus all the path was kept with gladsome looks > And filled with fair sights--for the King's word was > That such should be--when midway in the road, > Slow tottering from the hovel where he hid, > Crept forth a wretch in rags, haggard and foul, > An old, old man, whose shrivelled skin, suntanned, > Clung like a beast's hide to his fleshless bones. > Bent was his back with load of many days, > His eyepits red with rust of ancient tears, > His dim orbs blear with rheum, his toothless jaws > Wagging with palsy and the fright to see > So many and such joy. One skinny hand > Clutched a worn staff to prop his quavering limbs, > And one was pressed upon the ridge of ribs > Whence came in gasps the heavy painful breath. > "Alms!" moaned he, "give, good people! for I die > Tomorrow or the next day!" then the cough > Choked him, but still he stretched his palm, and stood > Blinking, and groaning 'mid his spasms, "Alms!" > Then those around had wrenched his feeble feet > Aside, and thrust him from the road again, > Saying, "The Prince! dost see? get to thy lair!" > But that Siddartha cried, "Let be! let be! > Channa! what thing is this who seems a man, > Yet surely only seems, being so bowed, > So miserable, so horrible, so sad? > Are men born sometimes thus? What meaneth he > Moaning 'tomorrow or next day I die?' > Finds he no food that so his bones jut forth? > What woe hath happened to this piteous one?" > Then answer made the charioteer, "Sweet Prince! > This is no other than an aged man. > Some fourscore years ago his back was straight, > His eye bright, and his body goodly: now > The thievish years have sucked his sap away, > Pillaged his strength and filched his will and wit; > His lamp has lost its oil, the wick burns black; > What life he keeps is one poor lingering spark > Which flickers for the finish: such is age; > Why should your Highness heed?" > Then spake the Prince > "But shall this come to others, or to all, > Or is it rare that one should be as he?" > "Most noble," answered Channa, "even as he, > Will all these grow if they shall live so long." > "But," quoth the Prince, "if I shall live as long > Shall I be thus; and if Yasodhara > Live fourscore years, is this old age for her, > Jalini, little Hasta, Gautami, > And Gunga, and the others?" "Yea, great Sir!" > The charioteer replied. Then spake the Prince > "Turn back, and drive me to my house again! > I have seen that I did not think to see." > > Which pondering, to his beauteous Court returned > Wistful Siddartha, sad of mien and mood; > Nor tasted he the white cakes nor the fruits > Spread for the evening feast, nor once looked up > While the best palace-dancers strove to charm > Nor spake--save one sad thing--when wofully > Yasodhara sank to his feet and wept, > Sighing, "Hath not my Lord comfort in me?" > "Ah, Sweet!" he said, "such comfort that my soul > Aches, thinking it must end, for it will end, > And we shall both grow old, Yasodhara! > Loveless, unlovely, weak, and old, and bowed. > Nay, though we locked up love and life with lips > So close that night and day our breaths grew one > Time would thrust in between to filch away > My passion and thy grace, as black Night steals > The rose-gleams from you peak, which fade to grey > And are not seen to fade. This have I found, > And all my heart is darkened with its dread, > And all my heart is fixed to think how Love > Might save its sweetness from the slayer, Time, > Who makes men old." So through that night he sate > Sleepless, uncomforted. > > And all that night > The King Suddhodana dreamed troublous dreams. > The first fear of his vision was a flag > Broad, glorious, glistening with a golden sun, > The mark of Indra; but a strong wind blew, > Rending its folds divine, and dashing it > Into the dust; whereat a concourse came > Of shadowy Ones, who took the spoiled silk up > And bore it eastward from the city gates. > The second fear was ten huge elephants, > With silver tusks and feet that shook the earth, > Trampling the southern road in mighty march; > And he who sate upon the foremost beast > Was the King's son--the others followed him. > The third fear of the vision was a car, > Shining with blinding light, which four steeds drew, > Snorting white smoke and champing fiery foam; > And in the car the Prince Siddhartha sate. > The fourth fear was a wheel which turned and turned, > With nave of burning gold and jewelled spokes, > And strange things written on the binding tire, > Which seemed both fire and music as it whirled. > The fifth fear was a mighty drum, set down > Midway between the city and the hills, > On which the Prince beat with an iron mace, > So that the sound pealed like a thunderstorm, > Rolling around the sky and far away. > The sixth fear was a tower, which rose and rose > High o'er the city till its stately head > Shone crowned with clouds, and on the top the Prince > Stood, scattering from both hands, this way and that, > Gems of most lovely light, as if it rained > Jacynths and rubies; and the whole world came, > Striving to seize those treasures as they fell > Towards the four quarters. But the seventh fear was > A noise of wailing, and behold six men > Who wept and gnashed their teeth, and laid their palms > Upon their mouths, walking disconsolate. > > These seven fears made the vision of his sleep, > But none of all his wisest dream-readers > Could tell their meaning. Then the King was wroth, > Saying, "There cometh evil to my house, > And none of ye have wit to help me know > What the great gods portend sending me this." > So in the city men went sorrowful > Because the King had dreamed seven signs of fear > Which none could read; but to the gate there came > An aged man, in robe of deer-skin clad, > By guise a hermit, known to none; he cried, > "Bring me before the King, for I can read > The vision of his sleep"; who, when he heard > The sevenfold mysteries of the midnight dream, > Bowed reverent and said: "O Maharaj! > I hail this favoured House, whence shall arise > A wider-reaching splendour than the sun's! > Lo! all these seven fears are seven joys, > Whereof the first, where thou didst see a flag-- > Broad, glorious, gilt with Indra's badge--cast down > And carried out, did signify the end > Of old faiths and beginning of the new, > For there is change with gods not less than men, > And as the days pass kalpas pass at length. > The ten great elephants that shook the earth > The ten great gifts of wisdom signify, > In strength whereof the Prince shall quit his state > And shake the world with passage of the Truth. > The four flame-breathing horses of the car > Are those four fearless virtues which shall bring > Thy son from doubt and gloom to gladsome light; > The wheel that turned with nave of burning gold > Was that most precious Wheel of perfect Law > Which he shall turn in sight of all the world. > The mighty drum whereon the Prince did beat, > Till the sound filled all lands, doth signify > The thunder of the preaching of the Word > Which he shall preach; the tower that grew to heaven > The growing of the Gospel of this Buddh > Sets forth; and those rare jewels scattered thence > The untold treasures are of that good Law > To gods and men dear and desirable. > Such is the interpretation of the tower; > But for those six men weeping with shut mouths, > They are the six chief teachers whom thy son > Shall, with bright truth and speech unanswerable, > Convince of foolishness. O King! rejoice; > The fortune of my Lord the Prince is more > Than kingdoms, and his hermit-rags will be > Beyond fine cloths of gold. This was thy dream! > And in seven nights and days these things shall fall." > So spake the holy man, and lowly made > The eight prostrations, touching thrice the ground; > Then turned and passed; but when the King bade send > > A rich gift after him, the messengers > Brought word, "We came to where he entered in > At Chandra's temple, but within was none > Save a grey owl which fluttered from the shrine." > The gods come sometimes thus. > > But the sad King > Marvelled, and gave command that new delights > Be compassed to enthrall Siddartha's heart > Amid those dancers of his pleasure-house, > Also he set at all the brazen doors > A doubled guard. > > Yet who shall shut out Fate? > > For once again the spirit of the Prince > Was moved to see this world beyond his gates, > This life of man, so pleasant if its waves > Ran not to waste and woful finishing > In Time's dry sands. "I pray you let me view > Our city as it is," such was his prayer > To King Suddhodana. "Your Majesty > In tender heed hath warned the folk before > To put away ill things and common sights, > And make their faces glad to gladden me, > And all the causeways gay; yet have I learned > This is not daily life, and if I stand > Nearest, my father, to the realm and thee, > Fain would I know the people and the streets, > Their simple usual ways, and workday deeds, > And lives which those men live who are not kings. > Give me good leave, dear Lord, to pass unknown > Beyond my happy gardens; I shall come > The more contented to their peace again, > Or wiser, father, if not well content. > Therefore, I pray thee, let me go at will > Tomorrow, with my servants, through the streets." > And the King said, among his Ministers > "Belike this second flight may mend the first. > Note how the falcon starts at every sight > New from his hood, but what a quiet eye > Cometh of freedom; let my son see all, > And bid them bring me tidings of his mind." > > Thus on the morrow, when the noon was come, > The Prince and Channa passed beyond the gates, > Which opened to the signet of the King, > Yet knew not they who rolled the great doors back > It was the King's son in that merchant's robe, > And in the clerkly dress his charioteer. > Forth fared they by the common way afoot, > Mingling with all the Sakya citizens, > Seeing the glad and sad things of the town: > The painted streets alive with hum of noon, > The traders cross-legged 'mid their spice and grain, > The buyers with their money in the cloth, > The war of words to cheapen this or that, > The shout to clear the road, the huge stone wheels, > The strong slow oxen and their rustling loads, > The singing bearers with the palanquins, > The broad-necked hamals sweating in the sun, > The housewives bearing water from the well > With balanced chatties, and athwart their hips > The black-eyed babes; the fly-swarmed sweetmeat shops, > The weaver at his loom, the cotton-bow > Twangling, the millstones grinding meal, the dogs > Prowling for orts, the skilful armourer > With tong and hammer linking shirts of mail, > The blacksmith with a mattock and a spear > Reddening together in his coals, the school > Where round their Guru, in a grave half-moon, > The Sakya children sang the mantra through, > And learned the greater and the lesser gods; > The dyers stretching waistcloths in the sun > Wet from the vats--orange, and rose, and green; > The soldiers clanking past with swords and shields, > The camel-drivers rocking on the humps, > The Brahman proud, the martial Kshatriya, > The humble toiling Sudra; here a throng > Gathered to watch some chattering snake-tamer > Wind round his wrist the living jewellery > Of asp and nag, or charm the hooded death > To angry dance with drone of beaded gourd; > There a long line of drums and horns, which went, > With steeds gay painted and silk canopies, > To bring the young bride home; and here a wife > Stealing with cakes and garlands to the god > To pray her husband's safe return from trade, > Or beg a boy next birth; hard by the booths > Where the sweat potters beat the noisy brass > For lamps and lotas; thence, by temple walls > And gateways, to the river and the bridge > Under the city walls. > > These had they passed > When from the roadside moaned a mournful voice, > "Help, masters! lift me to my feet; oh, help! > Or I shall die before I reach my house!" > A stricken wretch it was, whose quivering frame, > Caught by some deadly plague, lay in the dust > Writhing, with fiery purple blotches specked; > The chill sweat beaded on his brow, his mouth > Was dragged awry with twichings of sore pain, > The wild eyes swam with inward agony. > Gasping, he clutched the grass to rise, and rose > Half-way, then sank, with quaking feeble limbs > And scream of terror, crying, "Ah, the pain! > Good people, help!" whereon Siddartha ran, > Lifted the woful man with tender hands, > With sweet looks laid the sick head on his knee, > And while his soft touch comforted the wretch, > Asked: "Brother, what is ill with thee? what harm > Hath fallen? wherefore canst thou not arise? > Why is it, Channa, that he pants and moans, > And gasps to speak and sighs so pitiful?" > Then spake the charioteer: "Great Prince! this man > Is smitten with some pest; his elements > Are all confounded; in his veins the blood, > Which ran a wholesome river, leaps and boils > A fiery flood; his heart, which kept good time, > Beats like an ill-played drum-skin, quick and slow; > His sinews slacken like a bow-string slipped; > The strength is gone from ham, and loin, and neck, > And all the grace and joy of manhood fled; > This is a sick man with the fit upon him. > See how be plucks and plucks to seize his grief, > And rolls his bloodshot orbs and grinds his teeth, > And draws his breath as if 'twere choking smoke. > Lo! now he would be dead, but shall not die > Until the plague hath had its work in him, > Killing the nerves which die before the life; > Then, when his strings have cracked with agony > And all his bones are empty of the sense > To ache, the plague will quit and light elsewhere. > Oh, sir! it is not good to hold him so! > The harm may pass, and strike thee, even thee." > But spake the Prince, still comforting the man, > "And are there others, are there many thus? > Or might it be to me as now with him?" > "Great Lord!" answered the charioteer, "this comes > In many forms to all men; griefs and wounds, > Sickness and tetters, palsies, leprosies, > Hot fevers, watery wastings, issues, blains > Befall all flesh and enter everywhere." > "Come such ills unobserved?" the Prince inquired. > And Channa said: "Like the sly snake they come > That stings unseen; like the striped murderer, > Who waits to spring from the Karunda bush, > Hiding beside the jungle path; or like > The lightning, striking these and sparing those, > As chance may send." > > "Then all men live in fear?" > "So live they, Prince!" > > "And none can say, `I sleep > Happy and whole tonight, and so shall wake'?" > "None say it." > > "And the end of many aches, > Which come unseen, and will come when they come, > Is this, a broken body and sad mind, > And so old age?" > > "Yea, if men last as long." > > "But if they cannot bear their agonies, > Or if they will not bear, and seek a term; > Or if they bear, and be, as this man is, > Too weak except for groans, and so still live, > And growing old, grow older, then what end?" > > "They die, Prince." > > "Die?" > > "Yea, at the last comes death, > In whatsoever way, whatever hour. > Some few grow old, most suffer and fall sick, > But all must die--behold, where comes the Dead!" > > Then did Siddartha raise his eyes, and see > Fast pacing towards the river brink a band > Of wailing people, foremost one who swung > An earthen bowl with lighted coals, behind > The kinsmen shorn, with mourning marks, ungirt, > Crying aloud, "O Rama, Rama, hear! > Call upon Rama, brothers"; next the bier, > Knit of four poles with bamboos interlaced, > Whereon lay, stark and stiff, feet foremost, lean, > Chapfallen, sightless, hollow-flanked, a-grin, > Sprinkled with red and yellow dust--the Dead, > Whom at the four-went ways they turned head first, > And crying "Rama, Rama!" carried on > To where a pile was reared beside the stream; > Thereon they laid him, building fuel up-- > Good sleep hath one that slumbers on that bed! > He shall not wake for cold albeit he lies > Naked to all the airs--for soon they set > The red flame to the corners four, which crept, > And licked, and flickered, finding out his flesh > And feeding on it with swift hissing tongues, > And crackle of parched skin, and snap of joint; > Till the fat smoke thinned and the ashes sank > Scarlet and grey, with here and there a bone > White midst the grey--the total of the man. > > Then spake the Prince, "Is this the end which comes > To all who live?" > > "This is the end that comes > To all," quoth Channa; "he upon the pyre-- > Whose remnants are so petty that the crows > Caw hungrily, then quit the fruitless feast-- > Ate, drank, laughed, loved, and lived, and liked > life well. > Then came--who knows?--some gust of junglewind, > A stumble on the path, a taint in the tank, > A snake's nip, half a span of angry steel, > A chill, a fishbone, or a falling tile, > And life was over and the man is dead. > No appetites, no pleasures, and no pains > Hath such; the kiss upon his lips is nought, > The fire-scorch nought; he smelleth not his flesh > A-roast, nor yet the sandal and the spice > They burn; the taste is emptied from his mouth, > The hearing of his ears is clogged, the sight > Is blinded in his eyes; those whom he loved > Wail desolate, for even that must go, > The body, which was lamp unto the life, > Or worms will have a horrid feast of it. > Here is the common destiny of flesh. > The high and low, the good and bad, must die, > And then, 't is taught, begin anew and live > Somewhere, somehow,--who knows?--and so again > The pangs, the parting, and the lighted pile-- > Such is man's round." > > But lo! Siddartha turned > Eyes gleaming with divine tears to the sky, > Eyes lit with heavenly pity to the earth; > From sky to earth he looked, from earth to sky, > As if his spirit sought in lonely flight > Some far-off vision, linking this and that, > Lost, past, but searchable, but seen, but known. > Then cried he, while his lifted countenance > Glowed with the burning passion of a love > Unspeakable, the ardour of a hope > Boundless, insatiate: "Oh! suffering world, > Oh! known and unknown of my common flesh, > Caught in this common net of death and woe, > And life which binds to both! I see, I feel > The vastness of the agony of earth, > The vainness of its joys, the mockery > Of all its best, the anguish of its worst; > Since pleasures end in pain, and youth in age, > And love in loss, and life in hateful death, > And death in unknown lives, which will but yoke > Men to their wheel again to whirl the round > Of false delights and woes that are not false. > Me too this lure hath cheated, so it seemed > Lovely to live, and life a sunlit stream > For ever flowing in a changeless peace; > Whereas the foolish ripple of the flood > Dances so lightly down by bloom and lawn > Only to pour its crystal quicklier > Into the foul salt sea. The veil is rent > Which blinded me! I am as all these men > Who cry upon their gods and are not heard > Or are not heeded--yet there must be aid! > For them and me and all there must be help! > Perchance the gods have need of help themselves > Being so feeble that when sad lips cry > They cannot save! I would not let one cry > Whom I could save! How can it be that Brahm > Would make a world and keep it miserable, > Since, if all-powerful, he leaves it so, > He is not good, and if not powerful, > He is not God?--Channa! lead home again! > It is enough I mine eyes have seen enough!" > > Which when the King heard, at the gates he set > A triple guard, and bade no man should pass > By day or night, issuing or entering in, > Until the days were numbered of that dream. > > Book The Fourth > > But when the days were numbered, then befell > The parting of our Lord--which was to be-- > Whereby came wailing in the Golden Home, > Woe to the King and sorrow o'er the land, > But for all flesh deliverance, and that Law > Which whoso hears, the same shall make him free. > > Softly the Indian night sinks on the plains > At full moon in the month of Chaitra Shud, > When mangoes redden and the asoka buds > Sweeten the breeze, and Rama's birthday comes, > And all the fields are glad and all the towns. > Softly that night fell over Vishramvan, > Fragrant with blooms and jewelled thick with stars, > And cool with mountain airs sighing adown > From snow-flats on Himala high-outspread; > For the moon swung above the eastern peaks, > Climbing the spangled vault, and lighting clear > Robini's ripples and the hills and plains, > And all the sleeping land, and near at hand > Silvering those roof-tops of the pleasure-house, > Where nothing stirred nor sign of watching was, > Save at the outer gates, whose warders cried > Mudra, the watchword, and the countersign > Angana, and the watch-drums beat a round; > Whereat the earth lay still, except for call > Of prowling jackals, and the ceaseless trill > Of crickets on the garden grounds. > > Within-- > Where the moon glittered through the laceworked stone, > Lighting the walls of pearl-shell and the floors > Paved with veined marble--softly fell her beams > On such rare company of Indian girls, > It seemed some chamber sweet in Paradise > Where Devis rested. All the chosen ones > Of Prince Siddartha's pleasure-home were there, > The brightest and most faithful of the Court, > Each form so lovely in the peace of sleep, > That you had said "This is the pearl of all!" > Save that beside her or beyond her lay > Fairer and fairer, till the pleasured gaze > Roamed o'er that feast of beauty as it roams > From gem to gem in some great goldsmith-work, > Caught by each colour till the next is seen. > With careless grace they lay, their soft brown limbs > Part hidden, part revealed; their glossy hair > Bound back with gold or flowers, or flowing loose > In black waves down the shapely nape and neck. > Lulled into pleasant dreams by happy toils, > They slept, no wearier than jewelled birds > Which sing and love all day, then under wing > Fold head till morn bids sing and love again. > Lamps of chased silver swinging from the roof > In silver chains, and fed with perfumed oils, > Made with the moonbeams tender lights and shades, > Whereby were seen the perfect lines of grace, > The bosom's placid heave, the soft stained palms > Drooping or clasped, the faces fair and dark, > The great arched brows, the parted lips, the teeth > Like pearls a merchant picks to make a string, > The satin-lidded eyes, with lashes dropped > Sweeping the delicate cheeks, the rounded wrists > The smooth small feet with bells and bangles decked, > Tinkling low music where some sleeper moved, > Breaking her smiling dream of some new dance > Praised by the Prince, some magic ring to find, > Some fairy love-gift. Here one lay full-length, > Her vina by her cheek, and in its strings > The little fingers still all interlaced > As when the last notes of her light song played > Those radiant eyes to sleep and sealed her own. > Another slumbered folding in her arms > A desert-antelope, its slender head > Buried with back-sloped horns between her breasts > Soft nestling; it was eating--when both drowsed-- > Red roses, and her loosening hand still held > A rose half-mumbled, while a rose-leaf curled > Between the deer's lips. Here two friends had dozed > Together, wearing mogra-buds, which bound > Their sister-sweetness in a starry chain, > Linking them limb to limb and heart to heart, > One pillowed on the blossoms, one on her. > Another, ere she slept, was stringing stones > To make a necklet--agate, onyx, sard, > Coral, and moonstone--round her wrist it gleamed > A coil of splendid colour, while she held, > Unthreaded yet, the bead to close it up > Green turkis, carved with golden gods and scripts. > Lulled by the cadence of the garden stream, > Thus lay they on the clustered carpets, each > A girlish rose with shut leaves, waiting dawn > To open and make daylight beautiful. > This was the antechamber of the Prince; > But at the purdah's fringe the sweetest slept-- > Gunga and Gotami--chief ministers > In that still house of love. > > The purdah hung, > Crimson and blue, with broidered threads of gold, > Across a portal carved in sandal-wood, > Whence by three steps the way was to the bower > Of inmost splendour, and the marriage-couch > Set on a dais soft with silver cloths, > Where the foot fell as though it trod on piles > Of neem-blooms. All the walls, were plates of pearl, > Cut shapely from the shells of Lanka's wave; > And o'er the alabaster roof there ran > Rich inlayings of lotus and of bird, > Wrought in skilled work of lazulite and jade, > Jacynth and jasper; woven round the dome, > And down the sides, and all about the frames > Wherein were set the fretted lattices, > Through which there breathed, with moonlight and > cool airs, > Scents from the shell-flowers and the jasmine sprays; > Not bringing thither grace or tenderness > Sweeter than shed from those fair presences > Within the place--the beauteous Sakya Prince, > And hers, the stately, bright Yasodhara. > > Half risen from her soft nest at his side, > The chuddah fallen to her waist, her brow > Laid in both palms, the lovely Princess leaned > With heaving bosom and fast falling tears. > Thrice with her lips she touched Siddartha's hand, > And at the third kiss moaned: "Awake, my Lord! > Give me the comfort of thy speech!" Then he-- > "What is with thee, O my life?" but still > She moaned anew before the words would come; > Then spake: "'Alas, my Prince! I sank to sleep > Most happy, for the babe I bear of thee > Quickened this eve, and at my heart there beat > That double pulse of life and joy and love > Whose happy music lulled me, but--aho!-- > In slumber I beheld three sights of dread, > With thought whereof my heart is throbbing yet. > I saw a white bull with wide branching horns, > A lord of pastures, pacing through the streets, > Bearing upon his front a gem which shone > As if some star had dropped to glitter there, > Or like the kantha-stone the great Snake keeps > To make bright daylight underneath the earth. > Slow through the streets toward the gates he paced, > And none could stay him, though there came a voice > From Indra's temple, 'If ye stay him not, > The glory of the city goeth forth. > Yet none could stay him. Then I wept aloud, > And locked my arms about his neck, and strove, > And bade them bar the gates; but that ox-king > Bellowed, and, lightly tossing free his crest, > Broke from my clasp, and bursting through the bars, > Trampled the warders down and passed away. > The next strange dream was this: Four Presences > Splendid with shining eyes, so beautiful > They seemed the Regents of the Earth who dwell > On Mount Sumeru, lighting from the sky > With retinue of countless heavenly ones, > Swift swept unto our city, where I saw > The golden flag of Indra on the gate > Flutter and fall; and lo! there rose instead > A glorious banner, all the folds whereof > Rippled with flashing fire of rubies sewn > Thick on the silver threads, the rays wherefrom > Set forth new words and weighty sentences > Whose message made all living creatures glad; > And from the east the wind of sunrise blew > With tender waft, opening those jewelled scrolls > So that all flesh might read; and wondrous blooms > Plucked in what clime I know not-fell in showers, > Coloured as none are coloured in our groves." > > Then spake the Prince: "All this, my Lotus-flower! > Was good to see." > > "Ay, Lord," the Princess said, > "Save that it ended with a voice of fear > Crying, `The time is nigh! the time is nigh!' > Thereat the third dream came; for when I sought > Thy side, sweet Lord! ah, on our bed there lay > An unpressed pillow and an empty robe-- > Nothing of thee but those!---nothing of thee, > Who art my life and light, my king, my world! > And sleeping still I rose, and sleeping saw > Thy belt of pearls, tied here below my breasts, > Change to a stinging snake; my ankle-rings > Fall off, my golden bangles part and fall; > The jasmines in my hair wither to dust; > While this our bridal-couch sank to the ground, > And something rent the crimson purdah down; > Then far away I heard the white bull low, > And far away the embroidered banner flap, > And once again that cry, 'The time is come!' > But with that cry--which shakes my spirit still-- > I woke! O Prince! what may such visions mean > Except I die, or--worse than any death-- > Thou shouldst forsake me or be taken?" > > Sweet > As the last smile of sunset was the look > Siddartha bent upon his weeping wife. > "Comfort thee, dear!" he said, "if comfort lives > In changeless love; for though thy dreams may be > Shadows of things to come, and though the gods > Are shaken in their seats, and though the world > Stands nigh, perchance, to know some way of help, > Yet, whatsoever fall to thee and me, > Be sure I loved and love Yasodhara. > Thou knowest how I muse these many moons, > Seeking to save the sad earth I have seen; > And when the time comes, that which will be will. > But if my soul yearns sore for souls unknown, > And if I grieve for griefs which are not mine, > Judge how my high-winged thoughts must hover here > O'er all these lives that share and sweeten mine > So dear! and thine the dearest, gentlest, best, > And nearest. Ah, thou mother of my babe! > Whose body mixed with mine for this fair hope, > When most my spirit wanders, ranging round > The lands and seas--as full of ruth for men > As the far-flying dove is full of ruth > For her twin nestlings--ever it has come > Home with glad wing and passionate plumes to thee, > Who art the sweetness of my kind best seen, > The utmost of their good, the tenderest > Of all their tenderness, mine most of all. > Therefore, whatever after this betide, > Bethink thee of that lordly bull which lowed, > That jewelled banner in thy dreams which waved > Its folds departing, and of this be sure, > Always I loved and always love thee well, > And what I sought for all sought most for thee. > But thou, take comfort; and, if sorrow falls, > Take comfort still in deeming there may be > A way of peace on earth by woes of ours; > And have with this embrace what faithful love > Can think of thanks or frame for benison-- > Too little, seeing love's strong self is weak-- > Yet kiss me on the mouth, and drink these words > From heart to heart therewith, that thou mayst know-- > What others will not--that I loved thee most > Because I loved so well all living souls. > Now, Princess! rest, for I will rise and watch." > > Then in her tears she slept, but sleeping sighed-- > As if that vision passed again--"The time! > The time is come!" Whereat Siddartha turned, > And, lo! the moon shone by the Crab! the stars > In that same silver order long foretold > Stood ranged to say: "This is the night!--choose thou > The way of greatness or the way of good > To reign a King of kings, or wander lone, > Crownless and homeless, that the world be helped." > Moreover, with the whispers of the gloom > Came to his ears again that warning song, > As when the Devas spoke upon the wind: > And surely gods were round about the place > Watching our Lord, who watched the shining stars. > > "I will depart," he spake; "the hour is come! > Thy tender lips, dear sleeper, summon me > To that which saves the earth but sunders us; > And in the silence of yon sky I read > My fated message flashing. Unto this > Came I, and unto this all nights and days > Have led me; for I will not have that crown > Which may be mine: I lay aside those realms > Which wait the gleaming of my naked sword > My chariot shall not roll with bloody wheels > From victory to victory, till earth > Wears the red record of my name. I choose > To tread its paths with patient, stainless feet, > Making its dust my bed, its loneliest wastes > My dwelling, and its meanest things my mates: > Clad in no prouder garb than outcasts wear, > Fed with no meats save what the charitable > Give of their will, sheltered by no more pomp > Than the dim cave lends or the jungle-bush, > This will I do because the woful cry > Of life and all flesh living cometh up > Into my ears, and all my soul is full > Of pity for the sickness of this world; > Which I will heal, if healing may be found > By uttermost renouncing and strong strife. > For which of all the great and lesser gods > Have power or pity? Who hath seen them--who? > What have they wrought to help their worshippers? > How hath it steaded man to pray, and pay > Tithes of the corn and oil, to chant the charms, > To slay the shrieking sacrifice, to rear > The stately fane, to feed the priests, and call > On Vishnu, Shiva, Surya, who save > None--not the worthiest--from the griefs that teach > Those litanies of flattery and fear > Ascending day by day, like wasted smoke? > Hath any of my brothers 'scaped thereby > The aches of life, the stings of love and loss, > The fiery fever and the ague-shake, > The slow, dull sinking into withered age, > The horrible dark death--and what beyond > Waits--till the whirling wheel comes up again, > And new lives bring new sorrows to be borne, > New generations for the new desires > Which have their end in the old mockeries? > Hath any of my tender sisters found > Fruit of the fast or harvest of the hymn, > Or bought one pang the less at bearing-time > For white curds offered and trim tulsi-leaves? > Nay; it may be some of the gods are good > And evil some, but all in action weak; > Both pitiful and pitiless, and both > As men are--bound upon this wheel of change, > Knowing the former and the after lives. > For so our scriptures truly seem to teach, > That--once, and wheresoe'er, and whence begun-- > Life runs its rounds of living, climbing up > From mote, and gnat, and worm, reptile, and fish, > Bird and shagged beast, man, demon, Deva, God, > To clod and mote again; so are we kin > To all that is; and thus, if one might save > Man from his curse, the whole wide world should share > The lightened horror of this ignorance > Whose shadow is chill fear, and cruelty > Its bitter pastime. Yea, if one might save! > And means must be! There must be refuge!" > > "Men > Perished in winter-winds till one smote fire > From flint-stones coldly hiding what they held, > The red spark treasured from the kindling sun. > They gorged on flesh like wolves, till one sowed corn, > Which grew a weed, yet makes the life of man; > They mowed and babbled till some tongue struck speech, > And patient fingers framed the lettered sound. > What good gift have my brothers but it came > From search and strife and loving sacrifice? > If one, then, being great and fortunate, > Rich, dowered with health and ease, from birth designed > To rule--if he would rule--a King of kings; > If one, not tired with life's long day, but glad > I' the freshness of its morning, one not cloyed > With love's delicious feasts, but hungry still; > If one not worn and wrinkled, sadly sage, > But joyous in the glory and the grace > That mix with evils here, and free to choose > Earth's loveliest at his will: one even as I, > Who ache not, lack not, grieve not, save with griefs > Which are not mine, except as I am man;-- > If such a one, having so much to give, > Gave all, laying it down for love of men. > And thenceforth spent himself to search for truth, > Wringing the secret of deliverance forth, > Whether it lurk in hells or hide in heavens, > Or hover, unrevealed, nigh unto all: > Surely at last, far off, sometime, somewhere, > The veil would lift for his deep-searching eyes, > The road would open for his painful feet, > That should be won for which he lost the world, > And Death might find him conqueror of death. > This will I do, who have a realm to lose, > Because I love my realm, because my heart > Beats with each throb of all the hearts that ache, > Known and unknown, these that are mine and those > Which shall be mine, a thousand million more > Saved by this sacrifice I offer now. > Oh, summoning stars! Oh, mournful earth > For thee and thine I lay aside my youth, > My throne, my joys, my golden days, my nights, > My happy palace--and thine arms, sweet Queen! > Harder to put aside than all the rest! > Yet thee, too, I shall save, saving this earth; > And that which stirs within thy tender womb, > My child, the hidden blossom of our loves, > Whom if I wait to bless my mind will fail. > Wife! child! father! and people! ye must share > A little while the anguish of this hour > That light may break and all flesh learn the Law. > Now am I fixed, and now I will depart, > Never to come again till what I seek > Be found--if fervent search and strife avail." > > So with his brow he touched her feet, and bent > The farewell of fond eyes, unutterable, > Upon her sleeping face, still wet with tears; > And thrice around the bed in reverence, > As though it were an altar, softly stepped > With clasped hands laid upon his beating heart, > "For never," spake he, "lie I there again!" > And thrice he made to go, but thrice came back, > So strong her beauty was, so large his love > Then, o'er his head drawing his cloth, he turned > And raised the purdah's edge. > > There drooped, close-hushed, > In such sealed sleep as water-lilies know, > The lovely garden of his Indian girls; > Those twin dark-petalled lotus-buds of all-- > Gunga and Gotami--on either side, > And those, their silk-leaved sisterhood, beyond. > "Pleasant ye are to me, sweet friends!" he said, > "And dear to leave; yet if I leave ye not > What else will come to all of us save eld > Without assuage and death without avail? > Lo! as ye lie asleep so must ye lie > A-dead; and when the rose dies where are gone > Its scent and splendour? when the lamp is drained > Whither is fled the flame? Press heavy, Night! > Upon their down-dropped lids and seal their lips, > That no tear stay me and no faithful voice. > For all the brighter that these made my life, > The bitterer it is that they and I, > And all, should live as trees do--so much spring, > Such and such rains and frosts, such wintertimes, > And then dead leaves, with maybe spring again, > Or axe-stroke at the root. This will not I, > Whose life here was a god's!--this would not I, > Though all my days were godlike, while men moan > Under their darkness. Therefore farewell, friends! > While life is good to give, I give, and go > To seek deliverance and that unknown Light!" > > Then, lightly treading where those sleepers lay, > Into the night Siddartha passed: its eyes, > The watchful stars, looked love on him: its breath, > The wandering wind, kissed his robe's fluttered fringe; > The garden-blossoms, folded for the dawn, > Opened their velvet hearts to waft him scents > From pink and purple censers: o'er the land, > From Himalay unto the Indian Sea, > A tremor spread, as if earth's soul beneath > Stirred with an unknown hope; and holy books-- > Which tell the story of our Lord--say, too, > That rich celestial musics thrilled the air > From hosts on hosts of shining ones, who thronged > Eastward and westward, making bright the night > Northward and southward, making glad the ground. > Also those four dread Regents of the Earth, > Descending at the doorway, two by two,-- > With their bright legions of Invisibles > In arms of sapphire, silver, gold, and pearl-- > Watched with joined hands the Indian Prince, who stood, > His tearful eyes raised to the stars, and lips > Close-set with purpose of prodigious love. > > Then strode he forth into the gloom and cried, > "Channa, awake! and bring out Kantaka!" > > "What would my Lord?" the charioteer replied-- > Slow-rising from his place beside the gate > "To ride at night when all the ways are dark?" > > "Speak low," Siddartha said, "and bring my horse, > For now the hour is come when I should quit > This golden prison where my heart lives caged > To find the truth; which henceforth I will seek, > For all men's sake, until the truth be found." > > "Alas! dear Prince," answered the charioteer, > "Spake then for nought those wise and holy men > Who cast the stars and bade us wait the time > When King Suddhodana's great son should rule > Realms upon realms, and be a Lord of lords? > Wilt thou ride hence and let the rich world slip > Out of thy grasp, to hold a beggar's bowl? > Wilt thou go forth into the friendless waste > That hast this Paradise of pleasures here?" > > The Prince made answer: "Unto this I came, > And not for thrones: the kingdom that I crave > Is more than many realms, and all things pass > To change and death. Bring me forth Kantaka!" > > "Most honored," spake again the charioteer, > > "Bethink thee of their woe whose bliss thou art-- > How shalt thou help them, first undoing them?" > > Siddartha answered: "Friend, that love is false > Which clings to love for selfish sweets of love; > But I, who love these more than joys of mine-- > Yea, more than joy of theirs--depart to save > Them and all flesh, if utmost love avail. > Go, bring me Kantaka!" > > Then Channa said, > "Master, I go!" and forthwith, mournfully, > Unto the stall he passed, and from the rack > Took down the silver bit and bridle-chains, > Breast-cord and curb, and knitted fast the straps, > And linked the hooks, and led out Kantaka > Whom tethering to the ring, he combed and dressed, > Stroking the snowy coat to silken gloss; > Next on the steed he laid the numdah square, > Fitted the saddle-cloth across, and set > The saddle fair, drew tight the jewelled girths, > Buckled the breech-bands and the martingale, > And made fall both the stirrups of worked gold. > Then over all he cast a golden net, > With tassels of seed-pearl and silken strings, > And led the great horse to the palace door, > Where stood the Prince; but when he saw his Lord, > Right glad he waxed and joyously he neighed, > Spreading his scarlet nostrils; and the books > Write, "Surely all had heard Kantaka's neigh, > And that strong trampling of his iron heels, > Save that the Devas laid their unseen wings > Over their ears and kept the sleepers deaf." > > Fondly Siddartha drew the proud head down, > Patted the shining neck, and said, "Be still, > White Kantaka! be still, and bear me now > The farthest journey ever rider rode; > For this night take I horse to find the truth, > And where my quest will end yet know I not, > Save that it shall not end until I find. > Therefore tonight, good steed, be fierce and bold! > Let nothing stay thee, though a thousand blades > Deny the road! let neither wall nor moat > Forbid our flight! Look! if I touch thy flank > And cry, `On, Kantaka! I let whirlwinds lag > Behind thy course! Be fire and air, my horse! > To stead thy Lord, so shalt thou share with him > The greatness of this deed which helps the world; > For therefore ride I, not for men alone, > But for all things which, speechless, share our pain > And have no hope, nor wit to ask for hope. > Now, therefore, bear thy master valorously!" > > Then to the saddle lightly leaping, he > Touched the arched crest, and Kantaka sprang forth > With armed hoofs sparkling on the stones and ring > Of champing bit; but none did hear that sound, > For that the Suddha Devas, gathering near, > Plucked the red mohra-flowers and strewed them thick > Under his tread, while hands invisible > Muffled the ringing bit and bridle chains. > Moreover, it is written when they came > Upon the pavement near the inner gates, > The Yakshas of the air laid magic cloths > Under the stallion's feet, so that he went > Softly and still. > > But when they reached the gate > Of tripled brass--which hardly fivescore men > Served to unbar and open--lo! the doors > Rolled back all silently, though one might hear > In daytime two koss off the thunderous roar > Of those grim hinges and unwieldy plates. > > Also the middle and the outer gates > Unfolded each their monstrous portals thus > In silence as Siddartha and his steed > Drew near; while underneath their shadow lay. > Silent as dead men, all those chosen guards-- > The lance and sword let fall, the shields unbraced, > Captains and soldiers--for there came a wind, > Drowsier than blows o'er Malwa's fields of sleep > Before the Prince's path, which, being breathed, > Lulled every sense aswoon: and so he passed > Free from the palace. > > When the morning star > Stood half a spear's length from the eastern rim, > And o'er the earth the breath of morning sighed > Rippling Anoma's wave, the border-stream, > Then drew he rein, and leaped to earth and kissed > White Kantaka betwixt the ears, and spake > Full sweet to Channa: "This which thou hast done > Shall bring thee good and bring all creatures good. > Be sure I love thee always for thy love. > Lead back my horse and take my crest-pearl here, > My princely robes, which henceforth stead me not, > My jewelled sword-belt and my sword, and these > The long locks by its bright edge severed thus > From off my brows. Give the King all, and say > Siddartha prays forget him till he come > Ten times a prince, with royal wisdom won > From lonely searchings and the strife for light; > Where, if I conquer, lo! all earth is mine-- > Mine by chief service!--tell him--mine by love! > Since there is hope for man only in man, > And none hath sought for this as I will seek, > Who cast away my world to save my world." > > Book the Fifth > > Round Rajagriha five fair hills arose, > Guarding King Bimbasara's sylvan town; > Baibhara, green with lemon-grass and palms; > Bipulla, at whose foot thin Sarsuti > Steals with warm ripple; shadowy Tapovan, > Whose steaming pools mirror black rocks, which ooze > Sovereign earth-butter from their rugged roofs; > South-east the vulture-peak Sailagiri; > And eastward Ratnagiri, hill of gems. > A winding track, paven with footworn slabs, > Leads thee by safflower fields and bamboo tufts > Under dark mangoes and the jujube-trees, > Past milk-white veins of rock and jasper crags, > Low cliff and flats of jungle-flowers, to where > The shoulder of that mountain, sloping west, > O'erhangs a cave with wild figs canopied. > Lo! thou who comest thither, bare thy feet > And bow thy head! for all this spacious earth > Hath not a spot more dear and hallowed. > Here Lord Buddha sate the scorching summers through, > The driving rains, the chilly dawns and eves; > Wearing for all men's sakes the yellow robe, > Eating in beggar's guise the scanty meal > Chance-gathered from the charitable; at night > Crouched on the grass, homeless, alone; while yelped > The sleepless jackals round his cave, or coughs > Of famished tiger from the thicket broke. > By day and night here dwelt the World-honoured, > Subduing that fair body born for bliss > With fast and frequent watch and search intense > Of silent meditation, so prolonged > That ofttimes while he mused--as motionless > As the fixed rock his seat--the squirrel leaped > Upon his knee, the timid quail led forth > Her brood between his feet, and blue doves pecked > The rice-grains from the bowl beside his hand. > > Thus would he muse from noontide--when the land > Shimmered with heat, and walls and temples danced > In the reeking air--till sunset, noting not > The blazing globe roll down, nor evening glide, > Purple and swift, across the softened fields; > Nor the still coming of the stars, nor throb > Of drum-skins in the busy town, nor screech > Of owl and night jar; wholly wrapt from self > In keen unraveling of the threads of thought > And steadfast pacing of life's labyrinths. > Thus would he sit till midnight hushed the world, > Save where the beasts of darkness in the brake > Crept and cried out, as fear and hatred cry, > As lust and avarice and anger creep > In the black jungles of man's ignorance. > Then slept he for what space the fleet moon asks > To swim a tenth part of her cloudy sea; > But rose ere the false-dawn, and stood again > Wistful on some dark platform of his hill, > Watching the sleeping earth with ardent eyes > And thoughts embracing all its living things, > While o'er the waving fields that murmur moved > Which is the kiss of Morn waking the lands, > And in the east that miracle of Day > Gathered and grew: at first a dusk so dim > Night seems still unaware of whispered dawn, > But soon--before the jungle-cock crows twice-- > A white verge clear, a widening, brightening white, > High as the herald-star, which fades in floods > Of silver, warming into pale gold, caught > By topmost clouds, and flaming on their rims > To fervent golden glow, flushed from the brink > With saffron, scarlet, crimson, amethyst; > Whereat the sky burns splendid to the blue, > And, robed in raiment of glad light, the > Song Of Life and Glory cometh! > > Then our Lord, > After the manner of a Rishi, hailed > The rising orb, and went--ablutions made-- > Down by the winding path unto the town; > And in the fashion of a Rishi passed > From street to street, with begging-bowl in hand, > Gathering the little pittance of his needs. > Soon was it filled, for all the townsmen cried, > "Take of our store, great sir!" and "Take of ours!" > Marking his godlike face and eyes enwrapt; > And mothers, when they saw our Lord go by, > Would bid their children fall to kiss his feet, > And lift his robe's hem to their brows, or run > To fill his jar, and fetch him milk and cakes. > And ofttimes as he paced, gentle and slow, > Radiant with heavenly pity, lost in care > For those he knew not, save as fellow lives, > The dark surprised eyes of some Indian maid > Would dwell in sudden love and worship deep > On that majestic form, as if she saw > Her dreams of tenderest thought made true, and grace > Fairer than mortal fire her breast. But he > Passed onward with the bowl and yellow robe, > By mild speech paying all those gifts of hearts, > Wending his way back to the solitudes > To sit upon his hill with holy men, > And hear and ask of wisdom and its roads. > > Midway on Ratnagiri's groves of calm, > Beyond the city, but below the caves, > Lodged such as hold the body foe to soul, > And flesh a beast which men must chain and tame > With bitter pains, till sense of pain is killed, > And tortured nerves vex torturer no more-- > Yogis and Brahmacharis, Bhikshus, all-- > A gaunt and mournful band, dwelling apart. > Some day and night had stood with lifted arms, > Till--drained of blood and withered by disease > Their slowly-wasting joints and stiffened limbs > Jutted from sapless shoulders like dead forks > from forest trunks. > Others had clenched their hands > So long and with so fierce a fortitude, > The claw-like nails grew through the festered palm. > Some walked on sandals spiked; some with sharp flints > Gashed breast and brow and thigh, scarred these > with fire, > Threaded their flesh with jungle thorns and spits, > Besmeared with mud and ashes, crouching foul > In rags of dead men wrapped about their loins. > Certain there were inhabited the spots > Where death pyres smouldered, cowering defiled > With corpses for their company, and kites > Screaming around them o'er the funeral-spoils; > Certain who cried five hundred times a day > The names of Shiva, wound with darting snakes > About their sun-tanned necks and hollow flanks, > One palsied foot drawn up against the ham. > So gathered they, a grievous company; > Crowns blistered by the blazing heat, eyes bleared, > Sinews and muscles shrivelled, visages > Haggard and wan as slain men's, five days dead; > Here crouched one in the dust who noon by noon > Meted a thousand grains of millet out, > Ate it with famished patience, seed by seed, > And so starved on; there one who bruised his pulse > With bitter leaves lest palate should be pleased; > And next, a miserable saint self-maimed, > Eyeless and tongueless, sexless, crippled, deaf; > The body by the mind being thus stripped > For glory of much suffering, and the bliss > Which they shall win--say holy books--whose woe > Shames gods that send us woe, and makes men gods > Stronger to suffer than hell is to harm. > > Whom sadly eyeing spake our Lord to one, > Chief of the woe-begones: "Much-suffering sir > These many moons I dwell upon the hill-- > Who am a seeker of the Truth--and see > My brothers here, and thee, so piteously > Self-anguished; wherefore add ye ills to life > Which is so evil?" > > Answer made the sage > "'T is written if a man shall mortify > His flesh, till pain be grown the life he lives > And death voluptuous rest, such woes shall purge > Sin's dross away, and the soul, purified, > Soar from the furnace of its sorrow, winged > For glorious spheres and splendour past all thought." > > "Yon cloud which floats in heaven," the Prince replied, > "Wreathed like gold cloth around your Indra's throne, > Rose thither from the tempest-driven sea; > But it must fall again in tearful drops, > Trickling through rough and painful water-ways > By cleft and nullah and the muddy flood, > To Gunga and the sea, wherefrom it sprang. > Know'st thou, my brother, if it be not thus, > After their many pains, with saints in bliss? > Since that which rises falls, and that which buys > Is spent; and if ye buy heaven with your blood > In hell's hard market, when the bargain's through > The toil begins again!" > > "It may begin," > The hermit moaned. "Alas! we know not this, > Nor surely anything; yet after night > Day comes, and after turmoil peace, and we > Hate this accursed flesh which clogs the soul > That fain would rise; so, for the sake of soul, > We stake brief agonies in game with Gods > To gain the larger joys." > > "Yet if they last > A myriad years," he said, "they fade at length, > Those joys; or if not, is there then some life > Below, above, beyond, so unlike life it will not change? > Speak! do your Gods endure > For ever, brothers?" > > "Nay," the Yogis said, > "Only great Brahm endures: the Gods but live." > > Then spake Lord Buddha: "Will ye, being wise, > As ye seem holy and strong-hearted ones, > Throw these sore dice, which are your groans and moans, > For gains which may be dreams, and must have end? > Will ye, for love of soul, so loathe your flesh, > So scourge and maim it, that it shall not serve > To bear the spirit on, searching for home, > But founder on the track before nightfall, > Like willing steed o'er-spurred? Will ye, sad sirs, > Dismantle and dismember this fair house, > Where we have come to dwell by painful pasts; > Whose windows give us light--the little light > Whereby we gaze abroad to know if dawn > Will break, and whither winds the better road?" > > Then cried they, "We have chosen this for road > And tread it, Rajaputra, till the close-- > Though all its stones were fire--in trust of death. > Speak, if thou know'st a way more excellent; > If not, peace go with thee!" > > Onward he passed, > Exceeding sorrowful, seeing how men > Fear so to die they are afraid to fear, > Lust so to live they dare not love their life, > But plague it with fierce penances, belike > To please the Gods who grudge pleasure to man; > Belike to balk hell by self-kindled hells; > Belike in holy madness, hoping soul > May break the better through their wasted flesh. > "Oh, flowerets of the field!" Siddartha said, > "Who turn your tender faces to the sun-- > Glad of the light, and grateful with sweet breath > Of fragrance and these robes of reverence donned > Silver and gold and purple--none of ye > Miss perfect living, none of ye despoil > Your happy beauty. O, ye palms, which rise > Eager to pierce the sky and drink the wind > Blown from Malaya and the cool blue seas, > What secret know ye that ye grow content, > From time of tender shoot to time of fruit, > Murmuring such sun-songs from your feathered crowns? > Ye, too, who dwell so merry in the trees-- > Quick-darting parrots, bee-birds, bulbuls, doves-- > None of ye hate your life, none of ye deem > To strain to better by foregoing needs! > But man, who slays ye--being lord--is wise, > And wisdom, nursed on blood, cometh thus forth > In self-tormentings!" > > While the Master spake > Blew down the mount the dust of pattering feet, > White goats and black sheep winding slow their way, > With many a lingering nibble at the tufts, > And wanderings from the path, where water gleamed > Or wild figs hung. But always as they strayed > The herdsman cried, or slung his sling, and kept > The silly crowd still moving to the plain. > A ewe with couplets in the flock there was. > Some hurt had lamed one lamb, which toiled behind > Bleeding, while in the front its fellow skipped, > And the vexed dam hither and thither ran, > Fearful to lose this little one or that; > Which when our Lord did mark, full tenderly > He took the limping lamb upon his neck, > Saying: "Poor woolly mother, be at peace! > Whither thou goest I will bear thy care; > 'T were all as good to ease one beast of grief > As sit and watch the sorrows of the world > In yonder caverns with the priests who pray." > > "But," spake he to the herdsmen, "wherefore, friends, > Drive ye the flocks adown under high noon, > Since 't is at evening that men fold their sheep?" > > And answer gave the peasants: "We are sent > To fetch a sacrifice of goats five score, > And five score sheep, the which our Lord the King > Slayeth this night in worship of his gods." > > Then said the Master, "I will also go." > So paced he patiently, bearing the lamb > Beside the herdsmen in the dust and sun, > The wistful ewe low-bleating at his feet. > > Whom, when they came unto the river-side, > A woman--dove-eyed, young, with tearful face > And lifted hands--saluted, bending low > "Lord! thou art he," she said, "who yesterday > Had pity on me in the fig-grove here, > Where I live lone and reared my child; but he > Straying amid the blossoms found a snake, > Which twined about his wrist, while he did laugh > And tease the quick forked tongue and opened mouth > Of that cold playmate. But, alas! ere long > He turned so pale and still, I could not think > Why he should cease to play, and let my breast > Fall from his lips. And one said, 'He is sick > Of poison'; and another, 'He will die.' > But I, who could not lose my precious boy, > Prayed of them physic, which might bring the light > Back to his eyes; it was so very small > That kiss-mark of the serpent, and I think > It could not hate him, gracious as he was, > Nor hurt him in his sport. And some one said, > 'There is a holy man upon the hill > Lo! now he passeth in the yellow robe > Ask of the Rishi if there be a cure > For that which ails thy son.' Whereon I came > Trembling to thee, whose brow is like a god's, > And wept and drew the face cloth from my babe, > Praying thee tell what simples might be good. > And thou, great sir, did'st spurn me not, but gaze > With gentle eyes and touch with patient hand; > Then draw the face cloth back, saying to me, > 'Yea, little sister, there is that might heal > Thee first, and him, if thou couldst fetch the thing; > For they who seek physicians bring to them > What is ordained. Therefore, I pray thee, find > Black mustard-seed, a tola; only mark > Thou take it not from any hand or house > Where father, mother, child, or slave hath died; > It shall be well if thou canst find such seed.' > Thus didst thou speak, my Lord!" > > The Master smiled > Exceeding tenderly. "Yea, I spake thus, > Dear Kisagotami! But didst thou find The seed?" > > "I went, Lord, clasping to my breast > The babe, grown colder, asking at each hut-- > Here in the jungle and towards the town-- > 'I pray you, give me mustard, of your grace, > A tola-black'; and each who had it gave, > For all the poor are piteous to the poor; > But when I asked, 'In my friend's household here > Hath any peradventure ever died > Husband or wife, or child, or slave?' they said: > 'O sister! what is this you ask? the dead > Are very many, and the living few!' > So with sad thanks I gave the mustard back, > And prayed of others; but the others said, > Here is the seed, but we have lost our slave.' > 'Here is the seed, but our good man is dead!' > 'Here is some seed, but he that sowed it died > Between the rain-time and the harvesting!' > Ah, sir! I could not find a single house > Where there was mustard-seed and none had died! > Therefore I left my child--who would not suck > Nor smile--beneath the wild vines by the stream, > To seek thy face and kiss thy feet, and pray > Where I might find this seed and find no death, > If now, indeed, my baby be not dead, > As I do fear, and as they said to me." > > "My sister! thou hast found," the Master said, > "Searching for what none finds--that bitter balm > I had to give thee. He thou lovest slept > Dead on thy bosom yesterday: today > Thou know'st the whole wide world weeps with thy woe > The grief which all hearts share grows less for one. > Lo! I would pour my blood if it could stay > Thy tears and win the secret of that curse > Which makes sweet love our anguish, and which drives > O'er flowers and pastures to the sacrifice > As these dumb beasts are driven--men their lords. > I seek that secret: bury thou thy child!" > > So entered they the city side by side, > The herdsmen and the Prince, what time the sun > Gilded slow Sona's distant stream, and threw > Long shadows down the street and through the gate > Where the King's men kept watch. But when they saw > Our Lord bearing the lamb, the guards stood back, > The market-people drew their wains aside, > In the bazaar buyers and sellers stayed > The war of tongues to gaze on that mild face; > The smith, with lifted hammer in his hand, > Forgot to strike; the weaver left his web, > The scribe his scroll, the money-changer lost > His count of cowries; from the unwatched rice > Shiva's white bull fed free; the wasted milk > Ran o'er the lota while the milkers watched > The passage of our Lord moving so meek, > With yet so beautiful a majesty. > But most the women gathering in the doors > Asked: "Who is this that brings the sacrifice, > So graceful and peace-giving as he goes? > What is his caste? whence hath he eyes so sweet? > Can he be Sakra or the Devaraj?" > And others said, "It is the holy man > Who dwelleth with the Rishis on the hill." > But the Lord paced, in meditation lost, > Thinking, "Alas! for all my sheep which have > No shepherd; wandering in the night with none > To guide them; bleating blindly towards the knife > Of Death, as these dumb beasts which are their kin." > > Then some one told the King, "There cometh here > A holy hermit, bringing down the flock > Which thou didst bid to crown the sacrifice." > > The King stood in his hall of offering. > On either hand, the white-robed Brahmans ranged > Muttered their mantras, feeding still the fire > Which roared upon the midmost altar. There > From scented woods flickered bright tongues of flame, > Hissing and curling as they licked the gifts > Of ghee and spices and the soma juice, > The joy of Iudra. Round about the pile > A slow, thick, scarlet streamlet smoked and ran, > Sucked by the sand, but ever rolling down, > The blood of bleating victims. One such lay, > A spotted goat, long-horned, its head bound back > With munja grass; at its stretched throat the knife > Pressed by a priest, who murmured: "This, dread gods, > Of many yajnas cometh as the crown > From Bimbasara: take ye joy to see > The spirted blood, and pleasure in the scent > Of rich flesh roasting 'mid the fragrant flames; > Let the King's sins be laid upon this goat, > And let the fire consume them burning it, > For now I strike." > > But Buddha softly said, > "Let him not strike, great King!" and therewith loosed > The victim's bonds, none staying him, so great > His presence was. Then, craving leave, he spake > Of life, which all can take but none can give, > Life, which all creatures love and strive to keep, > Wonderful, dear and pleasant unto each, > Even to the meanest; yea, a boon to all > Where pity is, for pity makes the world > Soft to the weak and noble for the strong. > Unto the dumb lips of his flock he lent > Sad pleading words, showing how man, who prays > For mercy to the gods, is merciless, > Being as god to those; albeit all life > Is linked and kin, and what we slay have given > Meek tribute of the milk and wool, and set > Fast trust upon the hands which murder them. > Also he spake of what the holy books > Do surely teach, how that at death some sink > To bird and beast, and these rise up to man > In wanderings of the spark which grows purged flame. > So were the sacrifice new sin, if so > The fated passage of a soul be stayed. > Nor, spake he, shall one wash his spirit clean > By blood; nor gladden gods, being good, with blood; > Nor bribe them, being evil; nay, nor lay > Upon the brow of innocent bound beasts > One hair's weight of that answer all must give > For all things done amiss or wrongfully, > Alone, each for himself, reckoning with that > The fixed arithmic of the universe, > Which meteth good for good and ill for ill, > Measure for measure, unto deeds, words, thoughts; > Watchful, aware, implacable, unmoved; > Making all futures fruits of all the pasts. > Thus spake he, breathing words so piteous > With such high lordliness of ruth and right, > The priests drew back their garments o'er the hands > Crimsoned with slaughter, and the King came near, > Standing with clasped palms reverencing Buddh; > While still our Lord went on, teaching how fair > This earth were if all living things be linked > In friendliness, and common use of foods > Bloodless and pure; the golden grain, bright fruits, > Sweet herbs which grow for all, the waters wan, > Sufficient drinks and meats. Which when these heard, > The might of gentleness so conquered them, > The priests themselves scattered their altar-flames > And flung away the steel of sacrifice; > And through the land next day passed a decree > Proclaimed by criers, and in this wise graved > On rock and column: "Thus the King's will is: > There hath been slaughter for the sacrifice, > And slaying for the meat, but henceforth none > Shall spill the blood of life nor taste of flesh, > Seeing that knowledge grows, and life is one, > And mercy cometh to the merciful." > So ran the edict, and from those days forth > Sweet peace hath spread between all living kind, > Man and the beasts which serve him, and the birds, > On all those banks of Gunga where our Lord > Taught with his saintly pity and soft speech. > > For aye so piteous was the Master's heart > To all that breathe this breath of fleeting life, > Yoked in one fellowship of joys and pains, > That it is written in the holy books > How, in an ancient age--when Buddha wore > A Brahman's form, dwelling upon the rock > Named Munda, by the village of Dalidd-- > Drought withered all the land: the young rice died > Ere it could hide a quail; in forest glades > A fierce sun sucked the pools; grasses and herbs > Sickened, and all the woodland creatures fled > Scattering for sustenance. At such a time, > Between the hot walls of a nullah, stretched > On naked stones, our Lord spied, as he passed, > A starving tigress. Hunger in her orbs > Glared with green flame; her dry tongue lolled a span > Beyond the gasping jaws and shrivelled jowl; > Her painted hide hung wrinkled on her ribs, > As when between the rafters sinks a thatch > Rotten with rains; and at the poor lean dugs > Two cubs, whining with famine, tugged and sucked, > Mumbling those milkless teats which rendered nought, > While she, their gaunt dam, licked full motherly > The clamorous twins, yielding her flank to them > With moaning throat, and love stronger than want, > Softening the first of that wild cry wherewith > She laid her famished muzzle to the sand > And roared a savage thunder-peal of woe. > Seeing which bitter strait, and heeding nought > Save the immense compassion of a Buddh, > Our Lord bethought, "There is no other way > To help this murdress of the woods but one. > By sunset these will die, having no meat: > There is no living heart will pity her, > Bloody with ravin, lean for lack of blood. > Lo! if I feed her, who shall lose but I, > And how can love lose doing of its kind > Even to the uttermost?" So saying, Buddh > Silently laid aside sandals and staff, > His sacred thread, turban, and cloth, and came > Forth from behind the milk-bush on the sand, > Saying, "Ho! mother, here is meat for thee!" > Whereat the perishing beast yelped hoarse and shrill, > Sprang from her cubs, and, hurling to the earth > That willing victim, had her feast of him > With all the crooked daggers of her claws > Rending his flesh, and all her yellow fangs > Bathed in his blood: the great cat's burning breath > Mixed with the last sigh of such fearless love. > > Thus large the Master's heart was long ago, > Not only now, when with his gracious ruth > He bade cease cruel worship of the gods. > And much King Bimbasara prayed our Lord-- > Learning his royal birth and holy search-- > To tarry in that city, saying oft > "Thy princely state may not abide such fasts; > Thy hands were made for sceptres, not for alms. > Sojourn with me, who have no son to rule, > And teach my kingdom wisdom, till I die, > Lodged in my palace with a beauteous bride." > But ever spake Siddartha, of set mind > "These things I had, most noble King, and left, > Seeking the Truth; which still I seek, and shall; > Not to be stayed though Sakra's palace ope'd > Its doors of pearl and Devis wooed me in. > I go to build the Kingdom of the Law, journeying to > Gaya and the forest shades, > Where, as I think, the light will come to me; > For nowise here among the Rishis comes > That light, nor from the Shasters, nor from fasts > Borne till the body faints, starved by the soul. > Yet there is light to reach and truth to win; > And surely, O true Friend, if I attain > I will return and quit thy love." > > Thereat > Thrice round the Prince King Bimbasara paced, > Reverently bending to the Master's feet, > And bade him speed. So passed our Lord away > Towards Uravilva, not yet comforted, > And wan of face, and weak with six years' quest. > But they upon the hill and in the grove-- > Alara, Udra, and the ascetics five-- > Had stayed him, saying all was written clear > In holy Shasters, and that none might win > Higher than Sruti and than Smriti--nay, > Not the chief saints!--for how should mortal man > Be wiser than the Jnana-Kand, which tells > How Brahm is bodiless and actionless, > Passionless, calm, unqualified, unchanged, > Pure life, pure thought, pure joy? Or how should man > Its better than the Karmma-Kand, which shows > How he may strip passion and action off, > Break from the bond of self, and so, unsphered, > Be God, and melt into the vast divine, > Flying from false to true, from wars of sense > To peace eternal, where the silence lives? > > But the prince heard them, not yet comforted. > > Book The Sixth > > Thou who wouldst see where dawned the light at last, > North-westwards from the "Thousand Gardens" go > By Gunga's valley till thy steps be set > On the green hills where those twin streamlets spring > Nilajan and Mohana; follow them, > Winding beneath broad-leaved mahua-trees, > 'Mid thickets of the sansar and the bir, > Till on the plain the shining sisters meet > In Phalgu's bed, flowing by rocky banks > To Gaya and the red Barabar hills. > Hard by that river spreads a thorny waste, > Uruwelaya named in ancient days, > With sandhills broken; on its verge a wood > Waves sea-green plumes and tassels 'thwart the sky, > With undergrowth wherethrough a still flood steals, > Dappled with lotus-blossoms, blue and white, > And peopled with quick fish and tortoises. > Near it the village of Senani reared > Its roofs of grass, nestled amid the palms, > Peaceful with simple folk and pastoral toils. > > There in the sylvan solitudes once more > Lord Buddha lived, musing the woes of men, > The ways of fate, the doctrines of the books, > The lessons of the creatures of the brake, > The secrets of the silence whence all come, > The secrets of the gloom whereto all go, > The life which lies between, like that arch flung > From cloud to cloud across the sky, which hath > Mists for its masonry and vapoury piers, > Melting to void again which was so fair > With sapphire hues, garnet, and chrysoprase. > Moon after moon our Lord sate in the wood, > So meditating these that he forgot > Ofttimes the hour of food, rising from thoughts > Prolonged beyond the sunrise and the noon > To see his bowl unfilled, and eat perforce > Of wild fruit fallen from the boughs o'erhead, > Shaken to earth by chattering ape or plucked > By purple parokeet. Therefore his grace > Faded; his body, worn by stress of soul, > Lost day by day the marks, thirty and two, > Which testify the Buddha. Scarce that leaf, > Fluttering so dry and withered to his feet > From off the sal-branch, bore less likeliness > Of spring's soft greenery than he of him > Who was the princely flower of all his land. > > And once at such a time the o'erwrought Prince > Fell to the earth in deadly swoon, all spent, > Even as one slain, who hath no longer breath > Nor any stir of blood; so wan he was, > So motionless. But there came by that way > A shepherd-boy, who saw Siddartha lie > With lids fast-closed, and lines of nameless pain > Fixed on his lips--the fiery noonday sun > Beating upon his head--who, plucking boughs > From wild rose-apple trees, knitted them thick > Into a bower to shade the sacred face. > Also he poured upon the Master's lips > Drops of warm milk, pressed from his she-goat's bag, > Lest, being of low caste, he do wrong to one > So high and holy seeming. But the books > Tell how the jambu-branches, planted thus, > Shot with quick life in wealth of leaf and flower > And glowing fruitage interlaced and close, > So that the bower grew like a tent of silk > Pitched for a king at hunting, decked with studs > Of silver-work and bosses of red gold. > And the boy worshipped, deeming him some God; > But our Lord, gaining breath, arose and asked > Milk in the shepherd's lots. "Ah, my Lord, > I cannot give thee," quoth the lad; "thou seest > I am a Sudra, and my touch defiles!" > Then the World-honoured spake: "Pity and need > Make all flesh kin. There is no caste in blood, > Which runneth of one hue, nor caste in tears, > Which trickle salt with all; neither comes man > To birth with tilka-mark stamped on the brow, > Nor sacred thread on neck. Who doth right deeds > Is twice-born, and who doeth ill deeds vile. > Give me to drink, my brother; when I come > Unto my quest it shall be good for thee." > Thereat the peasant's heart was glad, and gave. > > And on another day there passed that road > A band of tinselled, girls, the nautch-dancers > Of Indra's temple in the town, with those > Who made their music--one that beat a drum > Set round with peacock-feathers, one that blew > The piping bansuli, and one that twitched > A three-string sitar. Lightly tripped they down > From ledge to ledge and through the chequered paths > To some gay festival, the silver bells > Chiming soft peals about the small brown feet, > Armlets and wrist-rings tattling answer shrill; > While he that bore the sitar thrummed and twanged > His threads of brass, and she beside him sang-- > > "Fair goes the dancing when the sitar's tuned; > Tune us the sitar neither low nor high, > And we will dance away the hearts of men. > > "The string o'erstretched breaks, and the music flies, > The string o'erslack is dumb, and music dies; > Tune us the sitar neither low nor high." > > "So sang the nautch-girl to the pipe and wires, > Fluttering like some vain, painted butterfly > From glade to glade along the forest path, > Nor dreamed her light words echoed on the ear > Of him, that holy man, who sate so rapt > Under the fig-tree by the path. But Buddh > Lifted his great brow as the wantons passed, > And spake: 'The foolish ofttimes teach the wise; > I strain too much this string of life, belike, > Meaning to make such music as shall save. > Mine eyes are dim now that they see the truth, > My strength is waned now that my need is most; > Would that I had such help as man must have, > For I shall die, whose life was all men's hope.'" > > Now, by that river dwelt a landholder > Pious and rich, master of many herds, > A goodly chief, the friend of all the poor; > And from his house the village drew its name-- > "Senani." Pleasant and in peace he lived, > Having for wife Sujata, loveliest > Of all the dark-eyed daughters of the plain; > Gentle and true, simple and kind was she, > Noble of mien, with gracious speech to all > And gladsome looks--a pearl of womanhood-- > Passing calm years of household happiness > Beside her lord in that still Indian home, > Save that no male child blessed their wedded love. > Wherefore with many prayers she had besought > Lukshmi, and many nights at full-moon gone > Round the great Lingam, nine times nine, with gifts > Of rice and jasmine wreaths and sandal oil, > Praying a boy; also Sujata vowed-- > If this should be--an offering of food > Unto the Wood-God, plenteous, delicate, > Set in a bowl of gold under his tree, > Such as the lips of Devs may taste and take. > And this had been: for there was born to her > A beauteous boy, now three months old, who lay > Between Sujata's breasts, while she did pace > With grateful footsteps to the Wood-God's shrine, > One arm clasping her crimson sari close > To wrap the babe, that jewel of her joys, > The other lifted high in comely curve > To steady on her head the bowl and dish > Which held the dainty victuals for the God. > > But Radha, sent before to sweep the ground > And tie the scarlet threads around the tree, > Came eager, crying, "Ah, dear Mistress! look! > There is the Wood-God sitting in his place, > Revealed, with folded hands upon his knees. > See how the light shines round about his brow! > How mild and great he seems, with heavenly eyes! > Good fortune is it thus to meet the gods." > > So,--thinking him divine,--Sujata drew > Tremblingly nigh, and kissed the earth and said, > With sweet face bent: "Would that the Holy One > Inhabiting his grove, Giver of good, > Merciful unto me his handmaiden, > Vouchsafing now his presence, might accept > These our poor gifts of snowy curds, fresh made, > With milk as white as new-carved ivory!" > > Therewith into the golden bowl she poured > The curds and milk, and on the hands of Buddh > Dropped attar from a crystal flask-distilled > Out of the hearts of roses; and he ate, > Speaking no word, while the glad mother stood > In reverence apart. But of that meal > So wondrous was the virtue that our Lord > Felt strength and life return as though the nights > Of watching and the days of fast had passed > In dream, as though the spirit with the flesh > Shared that fine meat and plumed its wings anew, > Like some delighted bird at sudden streams > Weary with flight o'er endless wastes of sand, > Which laves the desert dust from neck and crest-- > And more Sujata worshipped, seeing our Lord > Grow fairer and his countenance more bright: > "Art thou indeed the God?" she lowly asked, > "And hath my gift found favour?" > > But Buddh said, "What is it thou dost bring me?" > > "Holy one!" > Answered Sujata, "from our droves I took > Milk of a hundred mothers newly-calved, > And with that milk I fed fifty white cows, > And with their milk twenty-and-five, and then > With theirs twelve more, and yet again with theirs > The six noblest and best of all our herds, > That yield I boiled with sandal and fine spice > In silver lotas, adding rice, well grown > From chosen seed, set in new-broken ground, > So picked that every grain was like a pearl. > This did I of true heart, because I vowed, > Under thy tree, if I should bear a boy > I would make offering for my joy, and now > I have my son and all my life is bliss!" > > Softly our Lord drew down the crimson fold, > And, laying on the little head those hands > Which help the world, he said: "Long be thy bliss! > And lightly fall on him the load of life! > For thou hast holpen me who am no God, > But one thy Brother; heretofore a Prince > And now a wanderer, seeking night and day > These six hard years that light which somewhere shines > To lighten all men's darkness, if they knew! > And I shall find the light; yea, now it dawned > Glorious and helpful, when my weak flesh failed > Which this pure food, fair Sister, hath restored, > Drawn manifold through lives to quicken life > As life itself passes by many births > To happier heights and purging off of sins. > Yet dost thou truly find it sweet enough > Only to live? Can life and love suffice?" > > Answered Sujata: "Worshipful! my heart > Is little, and a little rain will fill > The lily's cup which hardly moists the field. > It is enough for me to feel life's sun > Shine in my lord's grace and my baby's smile, > Making the loving summer of our home. > Pleasant my days pass filled with household cares > From sunrise when I wake to praise the gods, > And give forth grain, and trim the tulsi-plant, > And set my handmaids to their tasks, till noon > When my lord lays his head upon my lap > Lulled by soft songs and wavings of the fan; > And so to supper-time at quiet eve, > When by his side I stand and serve the cakes. > Then the stars light their silver lamps for sleep, > After the temple and the talk with friends. > How should I not be happy, blest so much, > And bearing him this boy whose tiny hand > Shall lead his soul to Swerga, if it need? > For holy books teach when a man shall plant > Trees for the travelers' shade, and dig a well > For the folks' comfort, and beget a son, > It shall be good for such after their death; > And what the books say, that I humbly take, > Being not wiser than those great of old > Who spake with gods, and knew the hymns and charms, > And all the ways of virtue and of peace. > Also I think that good must come of good > And ill of evil--surely--unto all-- > In every place and time--seeing sweet fruit > Groweth from wholesome roots, and bitter things > From poison-stocks; yea, seeing, too, how spite > Breeds hate, and kindness friends, and patience peace > Even while we live; and when 't is willed we die > Shall there not be as good a `Then' as `Now'? > Haply much better! since one grain of rice > Shoots a green feather gemmed with fifty pearls, > And all the starry champak's white and gold > Lurks in those little, naked, grey spring-buds. > Ah, Sir! I know there might be woes to bear > Would lay fond Patience with her face in dust; > If this my babe pass first I think my heart > Would break--almost I hope my heart would break! > That I might clasp him dead and wait my lord > In whatsoever world holds faithful wives-- > Duteous, attending till his hour should come. > But if Death called Senani, I should mount > The pile and lay that dear head in my lap, > My daily way, rejoicing when the torch > Lit the quick flame and rolled the choking smoke. > For it is written if an Indian wife > Die so, her love shall give her husband's soul > For every hair upon her head a crore > Of years in Swerga. Therefore fear I not. > And therefore, Holy Sir! my life is glad, > Nowise forgetting yet those other lives > Painful and poor, wicked and miserable, > Whereon the gods grant pity! but for me, > What good I see humbly I seek to do, > And live obedient to the law, in trust > That what will come, and must come, shall come well." > > Then spake our Lord: "Thou teachest them who teach, > Wiser than wisdom in thy simple lore. > Be thou content to know not, knowing thus > Thy way of right and duty: grow, thou flower > With thy sweet kind in peaceful shade--the light > Of Truth's high noon is not for tender leaves > Which must spread broad in other suns and lift > In later lives a crowned head to the sky. > Thou who hast worshipped me, I worship thee! > Excellent heart! learned unknowingly, > As the dove is which flieth home by love. > In thee is seen why there is hope for man > And where we hold the wheel of life at will. > Peace go with thee, and comfort all thy days! > As thou accomplishest, may I achieve! > He whom thou thoughtest God bids thee wish this." > > "May'st thou achieve," she said, with earnest eyes > Bent on her babe, who reached its tender hands > To Buddh--knowing, belike, as children know, > More than we deem, and reverencing our Lord; > But he arose--made strong with that pure meat-- > And bent his footsteps where a great Tree grew, > The Bodhi-tree (thenceforward in all years > Never to fade, and ever to be kept > In homage of the world), beneath whose leaves > It was ordained that Truth should come to Buddh > Which now the Master knew; wherefore he went > With measured pace, steadfast, majestical, > Unto the Tree of Wisdom. Oh, ye Worlds! > Rejoice! our Lord wended unto the Tree! > > Whom--as he passed into its ample shade, > Cloistered with columned dropping stems, and roofed > With vaults of glistening green--the conscious earth > Worshipped with waving grass and sudden flush > Of flowers about his feet. The forest-boughs > Bent down to shade him; from the river sighed > Cool wafts of wind laden with lotus-scents > Breathed by the water-gods. Large wondering eyes > Of woodland creatures--panther, boar, and deer-- > At peace that eve, gazed on his face benign > From cave and thicket. From its cold cleft wound > The mottled deadly snake, dancing its hood > In honour of our Lord; bright butterflies > Fluttered their vans, azure and green and gold, > To be his fan-bearers; the fierce kite dropped > Its prey and screamed; the striped palm-squirrel raced > From stem to stem to see; the weaver-bird > Chirped from her swinging nest; the lizard ran; > The koil sang her hymn; the doves flocked round; > Even the creeping things were 'ware and glad. > Voices of earth and air joined in one song, > Which unto ears that hear said: "Lord and Friend! > Lover and Saviour! Thou who hast subdued > Angers and prides, desires and fears and doubts, > Thou that for each and all hast given thyself, > Pass to the Tree! The sad world blesseth thee > Who art the Buddh that shall assuage her woes. > Pass, Hailed and Honoured! strive thy last for us, > King and high Conqueror! thine hour is come; > This is the Night the ages waited for!" > > Then fell the night even as our Master sate > Under that Tree. But he who is the Prince > Of Darkness, Mara--knowing this was Buddh > Who should deliver men, and now the hour > When he should find the Truth and save the worlds-- > Gave unto all his evil powers command. > Wherefore there trooped from every deepest pit > The fiends who war with Wisdom and the Light, > Arati, Trishna, Raga, and their crew > Of passions, horrors, ignorances, lusts. > The brood of gloom and dread; all hating Buddh, > Seeking to shake his mind; nor knoweth one, > Not even the wisest, how those fiends of Hell > Battled that night to keep the Truth from Buddh: > Sometimes with terrors of the tempest, blasts > Of demon-armies clouding all the wind, > With thunder, and with blinding lightning flung > In jagged javelins of purple wrath > From splitting skies; sometimes with wiles and words > Fair-sounding, 'mid hushed leaves and softened airs > From shapes of witching beauty; wanton songs, > Whispers of love; sometimes with royal allures > Of proffered rule; sometimes with mocking doubts, > Making truth vain. But whether these befell > Without and visible, or whether Buddh > Strove with fell spirits in his inmost heart, > Judge ye:--I write what ancient books have writ. > > The ten chief Sins came--Mara's mighty ones, > Angels of evil--Attavada first, > The Sin of Self, who in the Universe > As in a mirror sees her fond face shown, > And crying "I" would have the world say "I," > And all things perish so if she endure. > "If thou be'st Buddh," she said, "let others grope > Lightless; it is enough that thou art Thou > Changelessly; rise and take the bliss of gods > Who change not, heed not, strive not." > But Buddh spake, > "The right in thee is base, the wrong a curse; > Cheat such as love themselves." Then came wan Doubt, > He that denies--the mocking Sin--and this > Hissed in the Master's ear: "All things are shows, > And vain the knowledge of their vanity; > Thou dost but chase the shadow of thyself; > Rise and go hence, there is no better way > Than patient scorn, nor any help for man, > Nor any staying of his whirling wheel." > But quoth our Lord, "Thou hast no part with me, > False Visikitcha, subtlest of man's foes." > And third came she who gives dark creeds their power, > Silabbat-paramasa, sorceress, > Draped fair in many lands as lowly Faith, > But ever juggling souls with rites and prayers; > The keeper of those keys which lock up Hells > And open Heavens. "Wilt thou dare," she said, > "Put by our sacred books, dethrone our gods, > Unpeople all the temples, shaking down > That law which feeds the priests and props the realms?" > But Buddha answered, "What thou bidd'st me keep > Is form which passes, but the free Truth stands; > Get thee unto thy darkness." Next there drew > Gallantly nigh a braver Tempter, he, > Kama, the King of passions, who hath sway > Over the gods themselves, lord of all loves, > Ruler of Pleasure's realm. Laughing he came > Unto the Tree, bearing his bow of gold > Wreathed with red blooms, and arrows of desire > Pointed with five-tongued delicate flame which stings > The heart it smites sharper than poisoned barb. > And round him came into that lonely place > Bands of bright shapes with heavenly eyes and lips > Singing in lovely words the praise of Love > To music of invisible sweet chords, > So witching, that it seemed the night stood still > To hear them, and the listening stars and moon, > Paused in their orbits while these hymned to Buddh > Of lost delights, and how a mortal man > Findeth nought dearer in the three wide worlds > Than are the yielded loving fragrant breasts > Of Beauty and the rosy breast-blossoms, > Love's rubies; nay, and toucheth nought more high > Than is that dulcet harmony of form > Seen in the lines and charms of loveliness > Unspeakable, yet speaking, soul to soul, > Owned by the bounding blood, worshipped by will > Which leaps to seize it, knowing this is best, > This the true heaven where mortals are like gods, > Makers and Masters, this the gift of gifts > Ever renewed and worth a thousand woes. > For who hath grieved when soft arms shut him safe, > And all life melted to a happy sigh, > And all the world was given in one warm kiss? > So sang, they with soft float of beckoning hands, > Eyes lighted with love-flames, alluring smiles; > In dainty dance their supple sides and limbs > Revealing and concealing like burst buds > Which tell their colour, but hide yet their hearts. > Never so matchless grace delighted eye > As troop by troop these midnight-dancers swept > Nearer the Tree, each daintier than the last, > Murmuring, "O great Siddartha! I am thine, > Taste of my mouth and see if youth is sweet!" > Also, when nothing moved our Master's mind, > Lo! Kama waved his magic bow, and lo! > The band of dancers opened, and a shape > Fairest and stateliest of the throng came forth > Wearing the guise of sweet Yasodhara. > Tender the passion of those dark eyes seemed > Brimming with tears; yearning those outspread arms > Opened towards him; musical that moan > Wherewith the beauteous shadow named his name, > Sighing: "My Prince! I die for lack of thee! > What heaven hast thou found like that we knew > By bright Rohini in the Pleasure-house, > Where all these weary years I weep for thee? > Return, Siddartha! ah, return! But touch > My lips again, but let me to thy breast > Once, and these fruitless dreams will end! Ah, look! > Am I not she thou lovedst?" But Buddh said: > "For that sweet sake of her thou playest thus > Fair and false Shadow, is thy playing vain; > I curse thee not who wear'st a form so dear, > Yet as thou art, so are all earthly shows. > Melt to thy void again!" Thereat a cry > Thrilled through the grove, and all that comely rout > Faded with flickering wafts of flame, and trail > Of vaporous ropes. > > Next under darkening skies > And noise of rising storm came fiercer Sins > The rearmost of the Ten, Patigha--Hate-- > With serpents coiled about her waist, which suck > Poisonous milk from both her hanging dugs, > And with her curses mix their angry hiss. > Little wrought she upon that Holy One > Who with his calm eyes dumbed her bitter lips > And made her black snakes writhe to hide their fangs. > Then followed Ruparaga--Lust of days-- > That sensual Sin which out of greed for life > Forgets to live; and next him Lust of Fame, > Nobler Aruparaga, she whose spell > Beguiles the wise, mother of daring deeds, > Battles and toils. And haughty Mano came, > The Fiend of Pride; and smooth Self-Righteousness. > Uddhachcha; and--with many a hideous band > Of vile and formless things, which crept and flapped > Toad-like and bat-like--Ignorance, the Dam > Of Fear and Wrong, Avidya, hideous hag, > Whose footsteps left the midnight darker, while > The rooted mountains shook, the wild winds howled, > The broken clouds shed from their caverns streams > Of levin-lighted rain; stars shot from heaven, > The solid earth shuddered as if one laid > Flame to her gaping wounds; the torn black air > Was full of whistling wings, of screams and yells, > Of evil faces peering, of vast fronts > Terrible and majestic, Lords of Hell > Who from a thousand Limbos led their troops > To tempt the Master. > > But Buddh heeded not, > Sitting serene, with perfect virtue walled > As is a stronghold by its gates and ramps; > Also the Sacred Tree--the Bodhi-tree-- > Amid that tumult stirred not, but each leaf > Glistened as still as when on moonlit eves > No zephyr spills the glittering gems of dew; > For all this clamour raged outside the shade > Spread by those cloistered stems. > > In the third watch, > The earth being still, the hellish legions fled, > A soft air breathing from the sinking moon, > Our Lord attained samma-sambuddh; he saw > By light which shines beyond our mortal ken > The line of all his lives in all the worlds, > Far back and farther back and farthest yet, > Five hundred lives and fifty. Even as one, > At rest upon a mountain-summit, marks > His path wind up by precipice and crag > Past thick-set woods shrunk to a patch; through bogs > Glittering false-green; down hollows where he toiled > Breathless; on dizzy ridges where his feet > Had well-nigh slipped; beyond the sunny lawns, > The cataract and the cavern and the pool, > Backward to those dim flats wherefrom he sprang > To reach the blue--thus Buddha did behold > Life's upward steps long-linked, from levels low > Where breath is base, to higher slopes and higher > Whereon the ten great Virtues wait to lead > The climber skyward. Also, Buddha saw > How new life reaps what the old life did sow; > How where its march breaks off its march begins; > Holding the gain and answering for the loss; > And how in each life good begets more good, > Evil fresh evil; Death but casting up > Debit or credit, whereupon th' account > In merits or demerits stamps itself > By sure arithmic--where no tittle drops-- > Certain and just, on some new-springing life; > Wherein are packed and scored past thoughts and deeds, > Strivings and triumphs, memories and marks > Of lives foregone: > > And in the middle watch, > Our Lord attained Abhidjna--insight vast > Ranging beyond this sphere to spheres unnamed, > System on system, countless worlds and suns > Moving in splendid measures, band by band > Linked in division, one yet separate, > The silver islands of a sapphire sea > Shoreless, unfathomed, undiminished, stirred > With waves which roll in restless tides of change. > He saw those Lords of Light who hold their worlds > By bonds invisible, how they themselves > Circle obedient round mightier orbs > Which serve profounder splendours, star to star > Flashing the ceaseless radiance of life > From centres ever shifting unto cirques > Knowing no uttermost. These he beheld > With unsealed vision, and of all those worlds, > Cycle on epicycle, all their tale > Of Kalpas, Mahakalpas--terms of time > Which no man grasps, yea, though he knew to count > The drops in Gunga from her springs to the sea, > Measureless unto speech--whereby these wax > And wane; whereby each of this heavenly host > Fulfils its shining life and darkling dies. > Sakwal by Sakwal, depths and heights be passed > Transported through the blue infinitudes, > Marking--behind all modes, above all spheres, > Beyond the burning impulse of each orb-- > That fixed decree at silent work which wills > Evolve the dark to light, the dead to life, > To fulness void, to form the yet unformed, > Good unto better, better unto best, > By wordless edict; having none to bid, > None to forbid; for this is past all gods > Immutable, unspeakable, supreme, > A Power which builds, unbuilds, and builds again, > Ruling all things accordant to the rule > Of virtue, which is beauty, truth, and use. > So that all things do well which serve the Power, > And ill which hinder; nay, the worm does well > Obedient to its kind; the hawk does well > Which carries bleeding quarries to its young; > The dewdrop and the star shine sisterly, > Globing together in the common work; > And man, who lives to die, dies to live well > So if he guide his ways by blamelessness > And earnest will to hinder not but help > All things both great and small which suffer life. > These did our Lord see in the middle watch. > > But when the fourth watch came the secret came > Of Sorrow, which with evil mars the law, > As damp and dross hold back the goldsmith's fire. > Then was the Dukha-satya opened him > First of the "Noble Truths"; how Sorrow is > Shadow to life, moving where life doth move; > Not to be laid aside until one lays > Living aside, with all its changing states, > Birth, growth, decay, love, hatred, pleasure, pain, > Being and doing. How that none strips off > These sad delights and pleasant griefs who lacks > Knowledge to know them snares; but he who knows > Avidya--Delusion--sets those snares, > Loves life no longer but ensues escape. > The eyes of such a one are wide; he sees > Delusion breeds Sankhara, Tendency > Perverse: Tendency Energy--Vidnnan-- > Whereby comes Namarupa, local form > And name and bodiment, bringing the man > With senses naked to the sensible, > A helpless mirror of all shows which pass > Across his heart; and so Vendana grows-- > "Sense-life "--false in its gladness, fell in sadness, > But sad or glad, the Mother of Desire, > Trishna, that thirst which makes the living drink > Deeper and deeper of the false salt waves > Whereon they float--pleasures, ambitions, wealth, > Praise, fame, or domination, conquest, love; > Rich meats and robes, and fair abodes, and pride > Of ancient lines, and lust of days, and strife > To live, and sins that flow from strife, some sweet, > Some bitter. Thus Life's thirst quenches itself > With draughts which double thirst; but who is wise > Tears from his soul this Trishna, feeds his sense > No longer on false shows, fills his firm mind > To seek not, strive not, wrong not; bearing meek > All ills which flow from foregone wrongfulness, > And so constraining passions that they die > Famished; till all the sum of ended life-- > The Karma--all that total of a soul > Which is the things it did, the thoughts it had, > The "Self" it wove--with woof of viewless time, > Crossed on the warp invisible of acts-- > The outcome of him on the Universe, > Grows pure and sinless; either never more > Needing to find a body and a place, > Or so informing what fresh frame it takes > In new existence that the new toils prove > Lighter and lighter not to be at all, > Thus "finishing the Path"; free from Earth's cheats; > Released from all the skandhas of the flesh; > Broken from ties--from Upandanas--saved > From whirling on the wheel; aroused and sane > As is a man wakened from hateful dreams; > Until--greater than Kings, than Gods more glad!-- > The aching craze to live ends, and life glides-- > Lifeless--to nameless quiet, nameless joy, > Blessed NIRVANA--sinless, stirless rest > That change which never changes! > > Lo! the Dawn > Sprang with Buddh's Victory! lo! in the East > Flamed the first fires of beauteous day, poured forth > Through fleeting folds of Night's black drapery. > High in the widening blue the herald-star > Faded to paler silver as there shot > Brighter and brighter bars of rosy gleam > Across the grey. Far off the shadowy hills > Saw the great Sun, before the world was 'ware, > And donned their crowns of crimson; flower by flower > Felt the warm breath of Morn and 'gan unfold > Their tender lids. Over the spangled grass > Swept the swift footsteps of the lovely Light, > Turning the tears of Night to joyous gems, > Decking the earth with radiance, 'broidering > The sinking storm-clouds with a golden fringe; > Gilding the feathers of the palms, which waved > Glad salutation; darting beams of gold > Into the glades; touching with magic wand > The stream to rippled ruby; in the brake > Finding the mild eyes of the antelopes > And saying, "It is day"; in nested sleep > Touching the small heads under many a wing > And whispering, "Children, praise the light of day!" > Whereat there piped anthems of all the birds! > The koil's fluted song, the bulbul's hymn, > The "morning, morning" of the painted thrush, > The twitter of the sunbirds starting forth > To find the honey ere the bees be out, > The grey crow's caw, the parrot's scream, the strokes > Of the green hammersmith, the myna's chirp, > The never finished love-talk of the doves > Yea! and so holy was the influence > Of that high Dawn which came with victory > That, far and near, in homes of men there spread > An unknown peace. The slayer hid his knife; > The robber laid his plunder back; the shroff > Counted full tale of coins; all evil hearts > Grew gentle, kind hearts gentler, as the balm > Of that divinest Daybreak lightened Earth. > Kings at fierce war called truce; the sick men leaped > Laughing from beds of pain; the dying smiled > As though they knew that happy Morn was sprung > From fountains farther than the utmost East; > And o'er the heart of sad Yasodhara, > Sitting forlorn at Prince Siddartha's bed, > Came sudden bliss, as if love should not fail > Nor such vast sorrow miss to end in joy. > So glad the World was--though it wist not why-- > That over desolate wastes went swooning songs > Of mirth, the voice of bodiless Prets and Bhuts > Foreseeing Buddh; and Devas in the air Cried, > "It is finished, finished!" and the priests > Stood with the wondering people in the streets > Watching those golden splendours flood the sky > And saying, "There hath happed some mighty thing." > Also in Ran and jungle grew that day > Friendship amongst the creatures: spotted deer > Browsed fearless where the tigress fed her cubs, > And cheetahs lapped the pool beside the bucks; > Under the eagle's rock the brown hares scoured > While his fierce beak but preened an idle wing; > The snake sunned all his jewels in the beam > With deadly fangs in sheath; the shrike let pass > The nestling finch; the emerald halcyons > Sate dreaming while the fishes played beneath, > Nor hawked the merops, though the butterflies-- > Crimson and blue and amber-flitted thick > Around his perch; the Spirit of our Lord > Lay potent upon man and bird and beast, > Even while he mused under that Bodhi-tree, > Glorified with the Conquest gained for all > And lightened by a Light greater than Day's. > > Then he arose--radiant, rejoicing, strong-- > Beneath the Tree, and lifting high his voice > Spake this, in hearing of all Times and Worlds: > > Anekajatisangsarang > Sandhawissang anibhisang > Gahakarakangawesanto > Dukkhajatipunappunang. > > Gahakarakadithosi; > Punagehang nakahasi; > Sabhatephasukhabhagga, > Gahakutangwisang Khitang; > Wisangkharagatang chittang, > Janhanangknayamajhaga. > > Many a House of Life > Held me--Seeking Ever Him Wrought > These Prisons of the Senses, Sorrow-Fraught; > Sore was My Ceaseless Strife! > > But Now, > Thou Builder of this Tabernacle--Thou! > I Know Thee! Never Shalt Thou Build Again > These Walls of Pain, > > Nor Raise the Roof-Tree of Deceits, Nor Lay > Fresh Rafters on the Clay: > Broken Thy House is, and the Ridge-Pole Split! > Delusion Fashioned it! > Safe Pass I Thence--Deliverance to Obtain. > > Book The Seventh > > Sorrowful dwelt the King Suddhodana > All those long years among the Sakya Lords > Lacking the speech and presence of his Son; > Sorrowful sate the sweet Yasodhara > All those long years, knowing no joy of life, > Widowed of him her living Liege and Prince. > And ever, on the news of some recluse > Seen far away by pasturing camel-men > Or traders threading devious paths for gain, > Messengers from the King had gone and come > Bringing account of many a holy sage > Lonely and lost to home; but nought of him > The crown of white Kapilavastu's line, > The glory of her monarch and his hope, > The heart's content of sweet Yasodhara, > Far-wandered now, forgetful, changed, or dead. > > But on a day in the Wasanta-time, > When silver sprays swing on the mango-trees > And all the earth is clad with garb of spring, > The Princess sate by that bright garden-stream > Whose gliding glass, bordered with lotus-cups, > Mirrored so often in the bliss gone by > Their clinging hands and meeting lips. Her lids > Were wan with tears, her tender cheeks had thinned; > Her lips' delicious curves were drawn with grief > The lustrous glory of her hair was hid-- > Close-bound as widows use; no ornament > She wore, nor any jewel clasped the cloth-- > Coarse, and of mourning-white--crossed on her breast. > Slow moved and painfully those small fine feet > Which had the roe's gait and the rose-leaf's fall > In old years at the loving voice of him. > Her eyes, those lamps of love,--which were as if > Sunlight should shine from out the deepest dark, > Illumining Night's peace with Daytime's glow-- > Unlighted now, and roving aimlessly, > Scarce marked the clustering signs of coming Spring > So the silk lashes drooped over their orbs. > In one hand was a girdle thick with pearls, > Siddartha's--treasured since that night he fled. > (Ah, bitter Night! mother of weeping days! > When was fond Love so pitiless to love > Save that this scorned to limit love by life?) > The other led her little son, a boy > Divinely fair, the pledge Siddartha left-- > Named Rahula--now seven years old, who tripped > Gladsome beside his mother, light of heart > To see the spring-blooms burgeon o'er the world. > > So while they lingered by the lotus-pools > And, lightly laughing, Rahula flung rice > To feed the blue and purple fish, and she > With sad eyes watched the swiftly-flying cranes, > Sighing, "O creatures of the wandering wing, > If ye shall light where my dear Lord is hid, > Say that Yasodhara lives nigh to death > For one word of his mouth, one touch of him."-- > So, as they played and sighed, mother and child, > Came some among the damsels of the Court > Saying: "Great Princess! there have entered in > At the south gate merchants of Hastinpur > Tripusha called and Bhalluk, men of worth, > Long traveled from the loud sea's edge, who bring > Marvellous lovely webs pictured with gold, > Waved blades of gilded steel, wrought bowls in brass, > Cut ivories, spice, simples, and unknown birds > Treasures of far-off peoples; but they bring > That which doth beggar these, for He is seen! > Thy Lord,--our Lord,--the hope of all the land > Siddartha! they have seen him face to face > Yea, and have worshipped him with knees and brows, > And offered offerings; for he is become > All which was shown, a teacher of the wise, > World-honoured, holy, wonderful; a Buddh > Who doth deliver men and save all flesh > By sweetest speech and pity vast as Heaven > And, lo! he journeyeth hither, these do say." > > Then--while the glad blood bounded in her veins > As Gunga leaps when first the mountain snows > Melt at her springs--uprose Yasodhara > And clapped her palms, and laughed, with brimming tears > Beading her lashes. "Oh! call quick," she cried, > "These merchants to my purdah, for mine ears > Thirst like parched throats to drink their blessed news. > Go bring them in,--but if their tale be true, > Say I will fill their girdles with much gold, > With gems that kings shall envy; come ye too, > My girls, for ye shall have guerdon of this > If there be gifts to speak my grateful heart." > > So went those merchants to the Pleasure House, > Full softly pacing through its golden ways > With naked feet, amid the peering maids, > Much wondering at the glories of the Court. > Whom, when they came without the purdah's folds, > A voice, tender and eager, filled and charmed > With trembling music, saying: "Ye are come > From far, fair Sirs! and ye have seen my Lord-- > Yea, worshipped--for he is become a Buddh, > World-honoured, holy, and delivers men, > And journeyeth hither. Speak! for, if this be, > Friends are ye of my House, welcome and dear." > > Then answer made Tripusha: "We have seen > That sacred Master, Princess! we have bowed > Before his feet; for who was lost a Prince > Is found a greater than the King of kings. > Under the Bodhi-tree by Phalgu's bank > That which shall save the world hath late been wrought > By him--the Friend of all, the Prince of all-- > Thine most, High Lady! from whose tears men win > The comfort of this Word the Master speaks. > Lo! he is well, as one beyond all ills, > Uplifted as a god from earthly woes, > Shining with risen Truth, golden and clear. > Moreover as he entereth town by town, > Preaching those noble ways which lead to peace, > The hearts of men follow his path as leaves > Troop to wind or sheep draw after one > Who knows the pastures. We ourselves have heard > By Gaya in the green Tchirnika grove > Those wondrous lips and done them reverence. > He cometh hither ere the first rains fall." > > Thus spake he, and Yasodhara, for joy, > Scarce mastered breath to answer: "Be it well > Now and at all times with ye, worthy friends, > Who bring good tidings; but of this great thing > Wist ye how it befell?" > > Then Bhalluk told > Such as the people of the valleys knew > Of that dread night of conflict, when the air > Darkened with fiendish shadows, and the earth > Quaked, and the waters swelled with Mara's wrath. > Also how gloriously that morning broke > Radiant with rising hopes for man, and how > The Lord was found rejoicing 'neath his Tree. > But many days the burden of release-- > To be escaped beyond all storms of doubt, > Safe on Truth's shore--lay, spake he, on that heart > A golden load; for how shall men--Buddh mused-- > Who love their sins and cleave to cheats of sense, > And drink of error from a thousand springs-- > Having no mind to see, nor strength to break > The fleshly snare which binds them--how should such > Receive the Twelve Nidanas and the Law > Redeeming all, yet strange to profit by, > As the caged bird oft shuns its open door? > So had we missed the helpful victory > If, in this earth without a refuge, Buddh > Winning the way had deemed it all too hard > For mortal feet, and passed, none following him. > Yet pondered the compassion of our Lord, > But in that hour there rang a voice as sharp > As cry of travail, so as if the earth > Moaned in birth-throe "Nasyami aham bhu > Nasyati loka! Surely I Am Lost, > I And My Creatures:" then a pause, and next > A pleading sigh borne on the western wind, > "Sruyatam dharma, Bhagwat!" Oh, Supreme > Let Thy Great Law Be Uttered! Whereupon > The Master cast his vision forth on flesh, > Saw who should hear and who must wait to hear, > As the keen Sun gilding the lotus-lakes > Seeth which buds will open to his beams > And which are not yet risen from their roots; > Then spake, divinely smiling, "Yea, I preach! > Whoso will listen let him learn the Law." > > Afterwards passed he, said they, by the hills > Unto Benares, where he taught the Five, > Showing how birth and death should be destroyed, > And how man hath no fate except past deeds, > No Hell but what he makes, no Heaven too high > For those to reach whose passions sleep subdued. > This was the fifteenth day of Vaishya > Mid-afternoon and that night was full moon. > > But, of the Rishis, first Kaundinya > Owned the Four Truths and entered on the Paths; > And after him Bhadraka, Asvajit, Bassav, Mahanama; > also there > Within the Deer-park, at the feet of Buddh, > Yasad the Prince with nobles fifty-four > Hearing the blessed word our Master spake > Worshipped and followed; for there sprang up peace > And knowledge of a new time come for men > In all who heard, as spring the flowers and grass > When water sparkles through a sandy plain. > > These sixty--said they--did our Lord send forth, > Made perfect in restraint and passion-free, > To teach the Way; but the World-honoured turned > South from the Deer-park and Isipatan > To Yashti and King Bimbasara's realm, > Where many days he taught; and after these > King Bimbasara and his folk believed, > Learning the law of love and ordered life. > Also he gave the Master, of free gift-- > Pouring forth water on the hands of Buddh-- > The Bamboo-Garden, named Weluvana, > Wherein are streams and caves and lovely glades; > And the King set a stone there, carved with this: > > "Ye dharma hetuppabhawa > Yesan hetun Tathagato; > Aha yesan cha yo nirodho > Ewan wadi Maha samano. > > "What life's course and cause sustain > These Tathagato made plain; > What delivers from life's woe > That our Lord hath made us know." > > And, in that Garden--said they--there was held > A high Assembly, where the Teacher spake > Wisdom and power, winning all souls which heard, > So that nine hundred took the yellow robe-- > Such as the Master wears,--and spread his Law; > And this the gatha was wherewith he closed: > > Sabba papassa akaranan; > Kusalassa upasampada; > Sa chitta pariyodapanan; > Etan Budhanusasanan. > > "Evil swells the debts to pay, > Good delivers and acquits; > Shun evil, follow good; hold sway > Over thyself. This is the Way." > > Whom, when they ended, speaking so of him, > With gifts, and thanks which made the jewels dull, > The Princess recompensed. "But by what road > Wendeth my Lord?" she asked: the merchants said, > "Yojans threescore stretch from the city-walls > To Rajagriha, whence the easy path > Passeth by Sona hither and the hills. > Our oxen, treading eight slow koss a day, > Came in one moon." > > Then the King hearing word, > Sent nobles of the Court--well-mounted lords-- > Nine separate messengers, each embassy > Bidden to say: "The King Suddhodana-- > Nearer the pyre by seven long years of lack, > Wherethrough he hath not ceased to seek for thee-- > Prays of his son to come unto his own, > The Throne and people of this longing Realm, > Lest he shall die and see thy face no more." > Also nine horsemen sent Yasodhara > Bidden to say, "The Princess of thy House-- > Rahula's mother--craves to see thy face > As the night-blowing moon-flower's swelling heart > Pines for the moon, as pale asoka-buds > Wait for a woman's foot: if thou hast found > More than was lost, she prays her part in this, > Rahula's part, but most of all thyself." > So sped the Sakya Lords, but it befell > That each one, with the message in his mouth, > Entered the Bamboo-Garden in that hour > When Buddha taught his Law; and--hearing--each > Forgot to speak, lost thought of King and quest, > Of the sad Princess even; only gazed > Eye-rapt upon the Master; only hung > Heart-caught upon the speech, compassionate, > Commanding, perfect, pure, enlightening all, > Poured from those sacred lips. Look! like a bee > Winged for the hive, who sees the mogras spread > And scents their utter sweetness on the air, > If he be honey-filled, it matters not; > If night be nigh, or rain, he will not heed; > Needs must he light on those delicious blooms > And drain their nectar; so these messengers > One with another, hearing Buddha's words, > Let go the purpose of their speed, and mixed, > Heedless of all, amid the Master's train. > Wherefore the King bade that Udayi go-- > Chiefest in all the Court, and faithfullest, > Siddartha's playmate in the happier days-- > Who, as he drew anear the garden, plucked > Blown tufts of tree-wool from the grove and sealed > The entrance of his hearing; thus he came > Safe through the lofty peril of the place > And told the message of the King, and hers. > > Then meekly bowed his head and spake our Lord > Before the people: "Surely I shall go! > It is my duty as it was my will; > Let no man miss to render reverence > To those who lend him life, whereby come means > To live and die no more, but safe attain > Blissful Nirvana, if ye keep the Law, > Purging past wrongs and adding nought thereto, > Complete in love and lovely charities. > Let the King know and let the Princess hear > I take the way forthwith." This told, the folk > Of white Kapilavastu and its fields > Made ready for the entrance of their Prince. > At the south gate a bright pavilion rose > With flower-wreathed pillars and the walls of silk > Wrought on their red and green with woven gold. > Also the roads were laid with scented boughs > Of neem and mango, and full mussuks shed > Sandal and jasmine on the dust, and flags > Fluttered; and on the day when he should come > It was ordained how many elephants-- > With silver howdahs and their tusks gold-tipped-- > Should wait beyond the ford, and where the drums > Should boom "Siddartha cometh!" where the lords > Should light and worship, and the dancing-girls > Where they should strew their flowers with dance and song > So that the steed he rode might tramp knee-deep > In rose and balsam, and the ways be fair; > While the town rang with music and high joy. > This was ordained and all men's ears were pricked > Dawn after dawn to catch the first drum's beat > Announcing, "Now he cometh!" > But it fell Eager to be before--Yasodhara > Rode in her litter to the city-walls > Where soared the bright pavilion. All around > A beauteous garden smiled--Nigrodha named-- > Shaded with bel-trees and the green-plumed dates, > New-trimmed and gay with winding walks and banks > Of fruits and flowers; for the southern road > Skirted its lawns, on this hand leaf and bloom, > On that the suburb-huts where base-borns dwelt > Outside the gates, a patient folk and poor, > Whose touch for Kshatriya and priest of Brahm > Were sore defilement. Yet those, too, were quick > With expectation, rising ere the dawn > To peer along the road, to climb the trees > At far-off trumpet of some elephant, > Or stir of temple-drum; and when none came, > Busied with lowly chores to please the Prince; > Sweeping their door-stones, setting forth their flags, > Stringing the fruited fig-leaves into chains, > New furbishing the Lingam, decking new > Yesterday's faded arc of boughs, but aye > Questioning wayfarers if any noise > Be on the road of great Siddartha. These > The Princess marked with lovely languid eyes, > Watching, as they, the southward plain and bent > Like them to listen if the passers gave > News of the path. So fell it she beheld > One slow approaching with his head close shorn, > A yellow cloth over his shoulder cast, > Girt as the hermits are, and in his hand > An earthen bowl, shaped melonwise, the which > Meekly at each hut-door he held a space, > Taking the granted dole with gentle thanks > And all as gently passing where none gave. > Two followed him wearing the yellow robe, > But he who bore the bowl so lordly seemed, > So reverend, and with such a passage moved, > With so commanding presence filled the air, > With such sweet eyes of holiness smote all, > That as they reached him alms the givers gazed > Awestruck upon his face, and some bent down > In worship, and some ran to fetch fresh gifts, > Grieved to be poor; till slowly, group by group, > Children and men and women drew behind > Into his steps, whispering with covered lips, > "Who is he? who? when looked a Rishi thus?" > But as he came with quiet footfall on > Nigh the pavilion, lo! the silken door > Lifted, and, all unveiled, Yasodhara > Stood in his path crying, "Siddartha! Lord!" > With wide eyes streaming and with close-clasped hands, > Then sobbing fell upon his feet, and lay. > > Afterwards, when this weeping lady passed > Into the Noble Paths, and one had prayed > Answer from Buddha wherefore-being vowed > Quit of all mortal passion and the touch, > Flower-soft and conquering, of a woman's hands-- > He suffered such embrace, the Master said > "The greater beareth with the lesser love > So it may raise it unto easier heights. > Take heed that no man, being 'soaped from bonds, > Vexeth bound souls with boasts of liberty. > Free are ye rather that your freedom spread > By patient winning and sweet wisdom's skill. > Three eras of long toil bring Bodhisats-- > Who will be guides and help this darkling world-- > Unto deliverance, and the first is named > Of deep 'Resolve,' the second of 'Attempt,' > The third of 'Nomination.' Lo! I lived > In era of Resolve, desiring good, > Searching for wisdom, but mine eyes were sealed. > Count the grey seeds on yonder castor-clump-- > So many rains it is since I was Ram, > A merchant of the coast which looketh south > To Lanka and the hiding-place of pearls. > Also in that far time Yasodhara > Dwelt with me in our village by the sea, > Tender as now, and Lukshmi was her name. > And I remember how I journeyed thence > Seeking our gain, for poor the household was > And lowly. Not the less with wistful tears > She prayed me that I should not part, nor tempt > Perils by land and water. 'How could love > Leave what it loved?' she wailed; yet, venturing, I > Passed to the Straits, and after storm and toil > And deadly strife with creatures of the deep, > And woes beneath the midnight and the noon, > Searching the wave I won therefrom a pearl > Moonlike and glorious, such as kings might buy > Emptying their treasury. Then came I glad > Unto mine hills, but over all that land > Famine spread sore; ill was I stead to live > In journey home, and hardly reached my door-- > Aching for food--with that white wealth of the sea > Tied in my girdle. Yet no food was there; > And on the threshold she for whom I toiled-- > More than myself--lay with her speechless lips > Nigh unto death for one small gift of grain. > Then cried I, 'If there be who hath of grain, > Here is a kingdom's ransom for one life > Give Lukshmi bread and take my moonlight pearl.' > Whereat one brought the last of all his hoard, > Millet--three seers--and clutched the beauteous thing. > But Lukshmi lived and sighed with gathered life, > 'Lo! thou didst love indeed!' I spent my pearl > Well in that life to comfort heart and mind > Else quite uncomforted; but these pure pearls, > My last large gain, won from a deeper wave-- > The Twelve Nidanas and the Law of Good-- > Cannot be spent, nor dimmed, and most fulfil > Their perfect beauty being freeliest given. > For like as is to Meru yonder hill > Heaped by the little ants, and like as dew > Dropped in the footmark of a bounding roe > Unto the shoreless seas, so was that gift > Unto my present giving; and so love-- > Vaster in being free from toils of sense-- > Was wisest stooping to the weaker heart; > And so the feet of sweet Yasodhara > Passed into peace and bliss, being softly led." > > But when the King heard how Siddartha came > Shorn, with the mendicant's sad-coloured cloth, > And stretching out a bowl to gather orts > From base-borns' leavings, wrathful sorrow drove > Love from his heart. Thrice on the ground he spat, > Plucked at his silvered beard, and strode straight forth > Lackeyed by trembling lords. Frowning he clomb > Upon his war-horse, drove the spurs, and dashed, > Angered, through wondering streets and lanes of folk. > Scarce finding breath to say, "The King! bow down!" > Ere the loud cavalcade had clattered by: > Which--at the turning by the Temple-wall > Where the south gate was seen--encountered full > A mighty crowd; to every edge of it > Poured fast more people, till the roads were lost, > Blotted by that huge company which thronged > And grew, close following him whose look serene > Met the old King's. Nor lived the father's wrath > Longer than while the gentle eyes of Buddh > Lingered in worship on his troubled brows, > Then downcast sank, with his true knee, to earth > In proud humility. So dear it seemed > To see the Prince, to know him whole, to mark > That glory greater than of earthly state > Crowning his head, that majesty which brought > All men, so awed and silent, in his steps. > Nathless the King broke forth: "Ends it in this, > That great Siddartha steals into his realm, > Wrapped in a clout, shorn, sandalled, craving food > Of low-borns, he whose life was as a god's, > My son! heir of this spacious power, and heir > Of Kings who did but clap their palms to have > What earth could give or eager service bring? > Thou should'st have come apparelled in thy rank, > With shining spears and tramp of horse and foot. > Lo! all my soldiers camped upon the road, > And all my city waited at the gates; > Where hast thou sojourned through these evil years > Whilst thy crowned father mourned? and she, too, there > Lived as the widows use, foregoing joys; > Never once hearing sound of song or string, > Nor wearing once the festal robe, till now > When in her cloth of gold she welcomes home > A beggar spouse in yellow remnants clad. > Son! why is this?" > > "My father!" came reply, > "It is the custom of my race." > > "Thy race," > Answered the King "counteth a hundred thrones > From Maha Sammat, but no deed like this." > > "Not of a mortal line," the Master said, > "I spake, but of descent invisible, > The Buddhas who have been and who shall be: > Of these am I, and what they did I do, > And this which now befalls so fell before, > That at his gate a King in warrior-mail > Should meet his son, a Prince in hermit-weeds; > And that, by love and self-control, being more > Than mightiest Kings in all their puissance, > The appointed Helper of the Worlds should bow-- > As now do I--and with all lowly love > Proffer, where it is owed for tender debts, > The first-fruits of the treasure he hath brought; > Which now I proffer." > > Then the King amazed > Inquired "What treasure?" and the Teacher took > Meekly the royal palm, and while they paced > Through worshipping streets--the Princess and the King > On either side--he told the things which make > For peace and pureness, those Four noble Truths > Which hold all wisdom as shores shut the seas, > Those Eight right Rules whereby who will may walk-- > Monarch or slave--upon the perfect Path > That hath its Stages Four and Precepts Eight, > Whereby whoso will live--mighty or mean > Wise or unlearned, man, woman, young or old > Shall soon or late break from the wheels of life, > Attaining blest Nirvana. So they came > Into the Palace-porch, Suddhodana > With brows unknit drinking the mighty words, > And in his own hand carrying Buddha's bowl, > Whilst a new light brightened the lovely eyes > Of sweet Yasodhara and sunned her tears; > And that night entered they the Way of Peace. > > Book The Eighth > > A broad mead spreads by swift Kohana's bank > At Nagara; five days shall bring a man > In ox-wain thither from Benares' shrines > Eastward and northward journeying. The horns > Of white Himala look upon the place, > Which all the year is glad with blooms and girt > By groves made green from that bright streamlet's wave. > Soft are its slopes and cool its fragrant shades, > And holy all the spirit of the spot > Unto this time: the breath of eve comes hushed > Over the tangled thickets, and high heaps > Of carved red stones cloven by root and stem > Of creeping fig, and clad with waving veil > Of leaf and grass. The still snake glistens forth > From crumbled work of lac and cedar-beams > To coil his folds there on deep-graven slabs; > The lizard dwells and darts o'er painted floors > Where kings have paced; the grey fox litters safe > Under the broken thrones; only the peaks, > And stream, and sloping lawns, and gentle air > Abide unchanged. All else, like all fair shows > Of life, are fled--for this is where it stood, > The city of Suddhodana, the hill > Whereon, upon an eve of gold and blue > At sinking sun Lord Buddha set himself > To teach the Law in hearing of his own. > > Lo! ye shall read it in the Sacred Books > How, being met in that glad pleasaunce-place-- > A garden in old days with hanging walks, > Fountains, and tanks, and rose-banked terraces > Girdled by gay pavilions and the sweep > Of stately palace-fronts--the Master sate > Eminent, worshipped, all the earnest throng > Catching the opening of his lips to learn > That wisdom which hath made our Asia mild; > Whereto four hundred crores of living souls > Witness this day. Upon the King's right hand > He sate, and round were ranged the Sakya Lords > Ananda, Devadatta--all the Court. > Behind stood Seriyut and Mugallan, chiefs > Of the calm brethren in the yellow garb, > A goodly company. Between his knees > Rahula smiled with wondering childish eyes > Bent on the awful face, while at his feet > Sate sweet Yasodhara, her heartaches gone, > Foreseeing that fair love which doth not feed > On fleeting sense, that life which knows no age, > That blessed last of deaths when Death is dead, > His victory and hers. Wherefore she laid > Her hand upon his hands, folding around > Her silver shoulder-cloth his yellow robe, > Nearest in all the world to him whose words > The Three Worlds waited for. I cannot tell > A small part of the splendid lore which broke > From Buddha's lips: I am a late-come scribe > Who love the Master and his love of men, > And tell this legend, knowing he was wise, > But have not wit to speak beyond the books; > And time hath blurred their script and ancient sense, > Which once was new and mighty, moving all. > A little of that large discourse I know > Which Buddha spake on the soft Indian eve. > Also I know it writ that they who heard > Were more--lakhs more--crores more--than could be seen, > For all the Devas and the Dead thronged there, > Till Heaven was emptied to the seventh zone > And uttermost dark Hells opened their bars; > Also the daylight lingered past its time > In rose-leaf radiance on the watching peaks, > So that it seemed night listened in the glens, > And noon upon the mountains; yea! they write, > The evening stood between them like some maid > Celestial, love-struck, rapt; the smooth-rolled clouds > Her braided hair; the studded stars the pearls > And diamonds of her coronal; the moon > Her forehead jewel, and the deepening dark > Her woven garments. 'T was her close-held breath > Which came in scented sighs across the lawns > While our Lord taught, and, while he taught, who heard-- > Though he were stranger in the land, or slave, > High caste or low, come of the Aryan blood, > Or Mlech or Jungle-dweller--seemed to hear > What tongue his fellows talked. Nay, outside those > Who crowded by the river, great and small, > The birds and beasts and creeping things--'t is writ-- > Had sense of Buddha's vast embracing love > And took the promise of his piteous speech; > So that their lives--prisoned in shape of ape, > Tiger, or deer, shagged bear, jackal, or wolf, > Foul-feeding kite, pearled dove, or peacock gemmed, > Squat toad, or speckled serpent, lizard, bat, > Yea, or of fish fanning the river waves-- > Touched meekly at the skirts of brotherhood > With man who hath less innocence than these; > And in mute gladness knew their bondage broke > Whilst Buddha spake these things before the King: > > Om, Amitaya! measure not with words > Th' Immeasurable; nor sink the string of thought > Into the Fathomless. Who asks doth err, > Who answers, errs. Say nought! > > The Books teach Darkness was, at first of all, > And Brahm, sole meditating in that Night; > Look not for Brahm and the Beginning there! > Nor him, nor any light > > Shall any gazer see with mortal eyes, > Or any searcher know by mortal mind, > Veil after veil will lift--but there must be > Veil upon veil behind. > > Stars sweep and question not. This is enough > That life and death and joy and woe abide; > And cause and sequence, and the course of time, > And Being's ceaseless tide, > > Which, ever-changing, runs, linked like a river > By ripples following ripples, fast or slow-- > The same yet not the same--from far-off fountain > To where its waters flow > > Into the seas. These, steaming to the Sun, > Give the lost wavelets back in cloudy fleece > To trickle down the hills, and glide again; > Having no pause or peace. > > This is enough to know, the phantasms are; > The Heavens, Earths, Worlds, and changes changing them > A mighty whirling wheel of strife and stress > Which none can stay or stem. > > Pray not! the Darkness will not brighten! > Ask Nought from the Silence, for it cannot speak! > Vex not your mournful minds with pious pains! > Ah! Brothers, Sisters! seek > > Nought from the helpless gods by gift and hymn, > Nor bribe with blood, nor feed with fruit and cakes; > Within yourselves deliverance must be sought; > Each man his prison makes. > > Each hath such lordship as the loftiest ones; > Nay, for with Powers above, around, below, > As with all flesh and whatsoever lives, > Act maketh joy and woe. > > What hath been bringeth what shall be, and is, > Worse--better--last for first and first for last; > The Angels in the Heavens of Gladness reap > Fruits of a holy past. > > The devils in the underworlds wear out > Deeds that were wicked in an age gone by. > Nothing endures: fair virtues waste with time, > Foul sins grow purged thereby. > > Who toiled a slave may come anew a Prince > For gentle worthiness and merit won; > Who ruled a King may wander earth in rags > For things done and undone. > > Higher than Indra's ye may lift your lot, > And sink it lower than the worm or gnat; > The end of many myriad lives is this, > The end of myriads that. > > Only, while turns this wheel invisible, > No pause, no peace, no staying-place can be; > Who mounts will fall, who falls may mount; the spokes > Go round unceasingly! > > If ye lay bound upon the wheel of change, > And no way were of breaking from the chain, > The Heart of boundless Being is a curse, > The Soul of Things fell Pain. > > Ye are not bound! the Soul of Things is sweet, > The Heart of Being is celestial rest; > Stronger than woe is will: that which was Good > Doth pass to Better--Best. > > I, Buddh, who wept with all my brothers' tears, > Whose heart was broken by a whole world's woe, > Laugh and am glad, for there is Liberty > Ho! ye who suffer! know > > Ye suffer from yourselves. None else compels > None other holds you that ye live and die, > And whirl upon the wheel, and hug and kiss > Its spokes of agony, > > Its tire of tears, its nave of nothingness. > Behold, I show you Truth! Lower than hell, > Higher than heaven, outside the utmost stars, > Farther than Brahm doth dwell, > > Before beginning, and without an end, > As space eternal and as surety sure, > Is fixed a Power divine which moves to good, > Only its laws endure. > > This is its touch upon the blossomed rose, > The fashion of its hand shaped lotus-leaves; > In dark soil and the silence of the seeds > The robe of Spring it weaves; > > That is its painting on the glorious clouds, > And these its emeralds on the peacock's train; > It hath its stations in the stars; > Its slaves in lightning, wind, and rain. > > Out of the dark it wrought the heart of man, > Out of dull shells the pheasant's pencilled neck; > Ever at toil, it brings to loveliness > All ancient wrath and wreck. > > The grey eggs in the golden sun-bird's nest > Its treasures are, the bees' six-sided cell > Its honey-pot; the ant wots of its ways, > The white doves know them well. > > It spreadeth forth for flight the eagle's wings > What time she beareth home her prey; it sends > The she-wolf to her cubs; for unloved things > It findeth food and friends. > > It is not marred nor stayed in any use, > All liketh it; the sweet white milk it brings > To mothers' breasts; it brings the white drops, too, > Wherewith the young snake stings. > > The ordered music of the marching orbs > It makes in viewless canopy of sky; > In deep abyss of earth it hides up gold, > Sards, sapphires, lazuli. > > Ever and ever bringing secrets forth, > It sitteth in the green of forest-glades > Nursing strange seedlings at the cedar's root, > Devising leaves, blooms, blades. > > It slayeth and it saveth, nowise moved > Except unto the working out of doom; > Its threads are Love and Life; and Death and Pain > The shuttles of its loom. > > It maketh and unmaketh, mending all; > What it hath wrought is better than hath been; > Slow grows the splendid pattern that it plans > Its wistful hands between. > > This is its work upon the things ye see, > The unseen things are more; men's hearts and minds, > The thoughts of peoples and their ways and wills, > Those, too, the great Law binds. > > Unseen it helpeth ye with faithful hands, > Unheard it speaketh stronger than the storm. > Pity and Love are man's because long stress > Moulded blind mass to form. > > It will not be contemned of any one; > Who thwarts it loses, and who serves it gains; > The hidden good it pays with peace and bliss, > The hidden ill with pains. > > It seeth everywhere and marketh all > Do right--it recompenseth! do one wrong-- > The equal retribution must be made, > Though DHARMA tarry long. > > It knows not wrath nor pardon; utter-true > Its measures mete, its faultless balance weighs; > Times are as nought, tomorrow it will judge, > Or after many days. > > By this the slayer's knife did stab himself; > The unjust judge hath lost his own defender; > The false tongue dooms its lie; the creeping thief > And spoiler rob, to render. > > Such is the Law which moves to righteousness, > Which none at last can turn aside or stay; > The heart of it is Love, the end of it > Is Peace and Consummation sweet. Obey! > > The Books say well, my Brothers! each man's life > The outcome of his former living is; > The bygone wrongs bring forth sorrows and woes > The bygone right breeds bliss. > > That which ye sow ye reap. See yonder fields > The sesamum was sesamum, the corn > Was corn. The Silence and the Darkness knew! > So is a man's fate born. > > He cometh, reaper of the things he sowed, > Sesamum, corn, so much cast in past birth; > And so much weed and poison-stuff, which mar > Him and the aching earth. > > If he shall labour rightly, rooting these, > And planting wholesome seedlings where they grew, > Fruitful and fair and clean the ground shall be, > And rich the harvest due. > > If he who liveth, learning whence woe springs, > Endureth patiently, striving to pay > His utmost debt for ancient evils done > In Love and Truth alway; > > If making none to lack, he throughly purge > The lie and lust of self forth from his blood; > Suffering all meekly, rendering for offence > Nothing but grace and good; > > If he shall day by day dwell merciful, > Holy and just and kind and true; and rend > Desire from where it clings with bleeding roots, > Till love of life have end: > > He--dying--leaveth as the sum of him > A life-count closed, whose ills are dead and quit, > Whose good is quick and mighty, far and near, > So that fruits follow it. > > No need hath such to live as ye name life; > That which began in him when he began > Is finished: he hath wrought the purpose through > Of what did make him Man. > > Never shall yearnings torture him, nor sins > Stain him, nor ache of earthly joys and woes > Invade his safe eternal peace; nor deaths > And lives recur. He goes > > Unto NIRVANA! He is one with life > Yet lives not. He is blest, ceasing to be. > OM, MANI PADME, OM! the Dewdrop slips > Into the shining sea! > > This is the doctrine of the KARMA. Learn! > Only when all the dross of sin is quit, > Only when life dies like a white flame spent > Death dies along with it. > > Say not "I am," "I was," or "I shall be," > Think not ye pass from house to house of flesh > Like travelers who remember and forget, > Ill-lodged or well-lodged. Fresh > > Issues upon the Universe that sum > Which is the lattermost of lives. > It makes Its habitation as the worm spins silk > And dwells therein. It takes > > Function and substance as the snake's egg hatched > Takes scale and fang; as feathered reedseeds fly > O'er rock and loam and sand, until they find > Their marsh and multiply. > > Also it issues forth to help or hurt. > When Death the bitter murderer doth smite, > Red roams the unpurged fragment of him, driven > On wings of plague and blight. > > But when the mild and just die, sweet airs breathe; > The world grows richer, as if desert-stream > Should sink away to sparkle up again > Purer, with broader gleam. > > So merit won winneth the happier age > Which by demerit halteth short of end; > Yet must this Law of Love reign King of all > Before the Kalpas end. > > What lets?--Brothers? the Darkness lets! which breeds > Ignorance, mazed whereby ye take these shows > For true, and thirst to have, and, having, cling > To lusts which work you woes. > > Ye that will tread the Middle Road, whose course > Bright Reason traces and soft > Quiet smoothes; Ye who will take the high Nirvana-way, > List the Four Noble Truths. > > The First Truth is of Sorrow. Be not mocked! > Life which ye prize is long-drawn agony: > Only its pains abide; its pleasures are > As birds which light and fly, > > Ache of the birth, ache of the helpless days, > Ache of hot youth and ache of manhood's prime; > Ache of the chill grey years and choking death, > These fill your piteous time. > > Sweet is fond Love, but funeral-flames must kiss > The breasts which pillow and the lips which cling; > Gallant is warlike Might, but vultures pick > The joints of chief and King. > > Beauteous is Earth, but all its forest-broods > Plot mutual slaughter, hungering to live; > Of sapphire are the skies, but when men cry > Famished, no drops they give. > > Ask of the sick, the mourners, ask of him > Who tottereth on his staff, lone and forlorn, > "Liketh thee life?"--these say the babe is wise > That weepeth, being born. > > The Second Truth is Sorrow's Cause. What grief > Springs of itself and springs not of Desire? > Senses and things perceived mingle and light > Passion's quick spark of fire: > > So flameth Trishna, lust and thirst of things. > Eager ye cleave to shadows, dote on dreams. > A false Self in the midst ye plant, and make > A world around which seems; > > Blind to the height beyond, deaf to the sound > Of sweet airs breathed from far past Indra's sky; > Dumb to the summons of the true life kept > For him who false puts by. > > So grow the strifes and lusts which make earth's war, > So grieve poor cheated hearts and flow salt tears; > So wag the passions, envies, angers, hates; > So years chase blood-stained years > > With wild red feet. So, where the grain should grow, > Spreads the biran-weed with its evil root > And poisonous blossoms; hardly good seeds find > Soil where to fall and shoot; > > And drugged with poisonous drink the soul departs, > And fierce with thirst to drink Karma returns; > Sense-struck again the sodden self begins, > And new deceits it earns > > The Third is Sorrow's Ceasing. This is peace-- > To conquer love of self and lust of life, > To tear deep-rooted passion from the breast, > To still the inward strife; > > For love, to clasp Eternal Beauty close; > For glory, to be lord of self; for pleasure, > To live beyond the gods; for countless wealth, > To lay up lasting treasure > > Of perfect service rendered, duties done > In charity, soft speech, and stainless days > These riches shall not fade away in life, > Nor any death dispraise. > > Then Sorrow ends, for Life and Death have ceased; > How should lamps flicker when their oil is spent? > The old sad count is clear, the new is clean; > Thus hath a man content. > > The Fourth Truth is The Way. It openeth wide, > Plain for all feet to tread, easy and near, > The Noble Eightfold Path; it goeth straight > To peace and refuge. Hear! > > Manifold tracks lead to yon sister-peaks > Around whose snows the gilded clouds are curled > By steep or gentle slopes the climber comes > Where breaks that other world. > > Strong limbs may dare the rugged road which storms, > Soaring and perilous, the mountain's breast; > The weak must wind from slower ledge to ledge > With many a place of rest. > > So is the Eightfold Path which brings to peace; > By lower or by upper heights it goes. > The firm soul hastes, the feeble tarries. All > Will reach the sunlit snows. > > The First good Level is Right Doctrine. > Walk In fear of Dharma, shunning all offence; > In heed of Karma, which doth make man's fate; > In lordship over sense. > > The Second is Right Purpose. Have good-will > To all that lives, letting unkindness die > And greed and wrath; so that your lives be made > Like soft airs passing by. > > The Third is Right Discourse. Govern the lips > As they were palace-doors, the King within; > Tranquil and fair and courteous be all words > Which from that presence win. > > The Fourth is Right Behavior. Let each act > Assoil a fault or help a merit grow; > Like threads of silver seen through crystal beads > Let love through good deeds show. > > Four higher roadways be. Only those feet > May tread them which have done with earthly things-- > Right Purity, Right Thought, Right Loneliness, > Right Rapture. Spread no wings > > For sunward flight, thou soul with unplumed vans > Sweet is the lower air and safe, and known > The homely levels: only strong ones leave > The nest each makes his own. > > Dear is the love, I know, of Wife and Child; > Pleasant the friends and pastimes of your years; > Fruitful of good Life's gentle charities; > False, though firm-set, its fears. > > Live--ye who must--such lives as live on these; > Make golden stair-ways of your weakness; rise > By daily sojourn with those phantasies > To lovelier verities. > > So shall ye pass to clearer heights and find > Easier ascents and lighter loads of sins, > And larger will to burst the bonds of sense, > Entering the Path. Who wins > > To such commencement hath the First Stage touched; > He knows the Noble Truths, the Eightfold Road; > By few or many steps such shall attain > NIRVANA's blest abode. > > Who standeth at the Second Stage, made free > From doubts, delusions, and the inward strife, > Lord of all lusts, quit of the priests and books, > Shall live but one more life. > > Yet onward lies the Third Stage: purged and pure > Hath grown the stately spirit here, hath risen > To love all living things in perfect peace. > His life at end, life's prison > > Is broken. Nay, there are who surely pass > Living and visible to utmost goal > By Fourth Stage of the Holy ones--the Buddhs-- > And they of stainless soul. > > Lo! like fierce foes slain by some warrior, > Ten sins along these Stages lie in dust, > The Love of Self, False Faith, and Doubt are three, > Two more, Hatred and Lust. > > Who of these Five is conqueror hath trod > Three stages out of Four: yet there abide > The Love of Life on earth, Desire for Heaven, > Self-Praise, Error, and Pride. > > As one who stands on yonder snowy horn > Having nought o'er him but the boundless blue, > So, these sins being slain, the man is come > NIRVANA's verge unto. > > Him the Gods envy from their lower seats; > Him the Three Worlds in ruin should not shake; > All life is lived for him, all deaths are dead; > Karma will no more make > > New houses. Seeking nothing, he gains all; > Foregoing self, the Universe grows "I": > If any teach NIRVANA is to cease, > Say unto such they lie. > > If any teach NIRVANA is to live, > Say unto such they err; not knowing this, > Nor what light shines beyond their broken lamps, > Nor lifeless, timeless bliss. > > Enter the Path! There is no grief like Hate! > No pains like passions, no deceit like sense! > Enter the Path! far hath he gone whose foot > Treads down one fond offence. > > Enter the Path! There spring the healing streams > Quenching all thirst! there bloom th' immortal flowers > Carpeting all the way with joy! there throng, > Swiftest and sweetest hours! > > More is the treasure of the Law than gems; > Sweeter than comb its sweetness; its delights > Delightful past compare. Thereby to live > Hear the Five Rules aright:-- > > Kill not--for Pity's sake--and lest ye slay > The meanest thing upon its upward way. > > Give freely and receive, but take from none > By greed, or force, or fraud, what is his own. > > Bear not false witness, slander not, nor lie; > Truth is the speech of inward purity. > > Shun drugs and drinks which work the wit abuse; > Clear minds, clean bodies, need no soma juice. > > Touch not thy neighbour's wife, neither commit > Sins of the flesh unlawful and unfit. > > These words the Master spake of duties due > To father, mother, children, fellows, friends; > Teaching how such as may not swiftly break > The clinging chains of sense--whose feet are weak > To tread the higher road--should order so > This life of flesh that all their hither days > Pass blameless in discharge of charities > And first true footfalls in the Eightfold Path; > Living pure, reverent, patient, pitiful, > Loving all things which live even as themselves; > Because what falls for ill is fruit of ill > Wrought in the past, and what falls well of good; > And that by howsomuch the householder > Purgeth himself of self and helps the world, > By so much happier comes he to next stage, > In so much bettered being. This he spake, > As also long before, when our Lord walked > By Rajagriha in the Bamboo-Grove > For on a dawn he walked there and beheld > The householder Singala, newly bathed, > Bowing himself with bare head to the earth, > To Heaven, and all four quarters; while he threw > Rice, red and white, from both hands. "Wherefore thus > Bowest thou, Brother?" said the Lord; and he, > "It is the way, Great Sir! our fathers taught > At every dawn, before the toil begins, > To hold off evil from the sky above > And earth beneath, and all the winds which blow." > Then the World-honoured spake: "Scatter not rice, > But offer loving thoughts and acts to all. > To parents as the East where rises light; > To teachers as the South whence rich gifts come; > To wife and children as the West where gleam > Colours of love and calm, and all days end; > To friends and kinsmen and all men as North; > To humblest living things beneath, to Saints > And Angels and the blessed Dead above > So shall all evil be shut off, and so > The six main quarters will be safely kept." > > But to his own, them of the yellow robe > They who, as wakened eagles, soar with scorn > From life's low vale, and wing towards the Sun > To these he taught the Ten Observances > The Dasa-Sil, and how a mendicant > Must know the Three Doors and the Triple Thoughts; > The Sixfold States of Mind; the Fivefold Powers; > The Eight High Gates of Purity; the Modes > Of Understanding; Iddhi; Upeksha; > The Five Great Meditations, which are food > Sweeter than Amrit for the holy soul; > The Jhana's and the Three Chief Refuges. > Also he taught his own how they should dwell; > How live, free from the snares of love and wealth; > What eat and drink and carry--three plain cloths, > Yellow, of stitched stuff, worn with shoulder bare > A girdle, almsbowl, strainer. Thus he laid > The great foundations of our Sangha well, > That noble Order of the Yellow Robe > Which to this day standeth to help the World. > > So all that night he spake, teaching the Law > And on no eyes fell sleep--for they who heard > Rejoiced with tireless joy. Also the King, > When this was finished, rose upon his throne > And with bared feet bowed low before his Son > Kissing his hem; and said, "Take me, O Son! > Lowest and least of all thy Company." > And sweet Yasodhara, all happy now,-- > Cried "Give to Rahula--thou Blessed One! > The Treasure of the Kingdom of thy Word > For his inheritance." Thus passed these Three > Into the Path. > ------------ > > Here endeth what I write > Who love the Master for his love of us, > A little knowing, little have I told > Touching the Teacher and the Ways of Peace. > Forty-five rains thereafter showed he those > In many lands and many tongues and gave > Our Asia light, that still is beautiful, > Conquering the world with spirit of strong grace > All which is written in the holy Books, > And where he passed and what proud Emperors > Carved his sweet words upon the rocks and caves: > And how--in fulness of the times--it fell > The Buddha died, the great Tathagato, > Even as a man 'mongst men, fulfilling all > And how a thousand thousand crores since then > Have trod the Path which leads whither he went > Unto NIRVANA where the Silence lives. > > Ah! Blessed Lord! Oh, High Deliverer! > Forgive this feeble script, which doth thee wrong. > Measuring with little wit thy lofty love. > Ah! Lover! Brother! Guide! Lamp of the law! > I take my refuge in they name and thee! > I take my refuge in they order! OM! > The dew is on the lotus!--Rise, Great Sun! > And lift my leaf and mix me with the wave. > Om Mani Padme Hum, the sunrise comes! > The Dewdrop Slips Into The Shining Sea! > > The End > > — *The Light of Asia (Public Domain (Project Gutenberg))*