THE

LIGHT OF ASIA

OR THE GREAT RENUNCIATION (MAHABHINISHKRAMANA)

BEING

THE LIFE AND TEACHING

OF GAUTAMA

PRINCE OF INDIA AND FOUNDER OF BUDDHISM

(AS TOLD IN VERSE BY AN INDIAN BUDDHIST)

by

EDWIN ARNOLD

The Theosophy Company

Los Angeles, California

1998





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.

PREFACE.





IN the following Poem I have sought, by the medium of an imaginary Buddhist votary, to depict the life and character and indicate the philosophy of that noble hero and reformer, Prince Gautama of India, the founder of Buddhism.



A generation ago little or nothing was known in Europe of this great faith of Asia, which had nevertheless existed during twenty-four centuries, and at this day surpasses, in the number of its followers and the area of its prevalence, any other form of creed. Four hundred and seventy millions of our race live and die in the tenets of Gautama; and the spiritual dominions of this ancient teacher extend, at the present time, from Nepaul and Ceylon over the whole Eastern Peninsula to China, Japan, Thibet, Central Asia, Siberia, and even Swedish Lapland. India itself might fairly be included in this magnificent empire of belief, for though the profession of Buddhism has for the most part passed away from the land of its birth, the mark

viii

of Gautama’s sublime teaching is stamped ineffaceably upon modern Brahmanism, and the most characteristic habits and convictions of the Hindus are clearly due to the benign influence of Buddha’s precepts. More than a third of mankind, therefore, owe their moral and religious ideas to this illustrious prince, whose personality, though imperfectly revealed in the existing sources of information, cannot but appear the highest, gentlest, holiest, and most beneficent, with one exception, in the history of Thought. Discordant in frequent particulars, and sorely overlaid by corruptions, inventions, and misconceptions, the Buddhistical books yet agree in the one point of recording nothing — no single act or word—which mars the perfect purity and tenderness of this Indian teacher, who united the truest princely qualities with the intellect of a sage and the passionate devotion of a martyr. Even M. Barthélemy St. Hilaire, totally misjudging, as he does, many points of Buddhism, is well cited by Professor Max Muller as saying of Prince Siddârtha, “Sa vie n’a point de tache. Son constant héroisme égale sa conviction; et si la théorie qu’il préconise est fausse, les exemples personnels qu’il donne sont irréprochables. Il est le modèle achevé de toutes les vertus qu’il prêche; son abnégation, sa charité, son inaltérable douceur ne se démentent point un seul instant. . . . II prepare silencieusement

ix

sa doctrine par six années de retraite et de meditation; il la propage par Ia seule puissance de Ia parole et de Ia persuasion pendant plus d’un demi-siècle, et quand il meurt entre les bras de ses disciples, c’est avec Ia sérénité d’un sage qui a pratiqué le bien toute sa vie, et qui est assure d’avoir trouvé le vrai.” To Gautama has consequently been given this stupendous conquest of humanity; and — though he discountenanced ritual, and declared himself, even when on the threshold of Nirvana, to be only what all other men might become — the love and gratitude of Asia, disobeying his mandate, have given him fervent worship. Forests of flowers are daily laid upon his stainless shrines, and countless millions of lips daily repeat the formula, “I take refuge in Buddha!”



The Buddha of this poem — if, as need not be doubted, he really existed — was born on the borders of Nepaul, about 620 B.C., and died about 543 B.C. at Kusinagara in Oudh. In point of age, therefore, most other creeds are youthful compared with this venerable religion, which has in it the eternity of a universal hope, the immortality of a boundless love, an indestructible element of faith in final good, and the proudest assertion ever made of human freedom. The extravagances which disfigure the record and practice of Buddhism are to be referred to that inevitable degradation which priesthoods always

x

inflict upon great ideas committed to their charge. The power and sublimity of Gautama’s original doctrines should be estimated by their influence, not by their interpreters; nor by that innocent but lazy and ceremonious church which has arisen on the foundations of the Buddhistic Brotherhood or “Sangha.”



I have put my poem into a Buddhist’s mouth, because, to appreciate the spirit of Asiatic thoughts, they should be regarded from the Oriental point of view; and neither the miracles which consecrate this record, nor the philosophy which it embodies, could have been otherwise so naturally reproduced. The doctrine of Transmigration, for instance — startling to modern minds — was established and thoroughly accepted by the Hindus of Buddha’s time; that period when Jerusalem was being taken by Nebuchadnezzar, when Nineveh was falling to the Medes, and Marseilles was founded by the Phocæns. The exposition here offered of so antique a system is of necessity incomplete, and — in obedience to the laws of poetic art — passes rapidly by many matters philosophically most important, as well as over the long ministry of Gautama. But my purpose has been obtained if any just conception be here conveyed of the lofty character of this noble prince, and of the general purport of his doctrines. As to these there has arisen prodigious controversy among the erudite,

xi

who will be aware that I have taken the imperfect Buddhistic citations much as they stand in Spence Hardy’s work, and have also modified more than one passage in the received narratives. The views, however, here indicated of “Nirvana,” “Dharma,” “Karma,” and the other chief features of Buddhism, are at least the fruits of considerable study, and also of a firm conviction that a third of mankind would never have been brought to believe in blank abstractions, or in Nothingness as the issue and crown of Being.



Finally, in reverence to the illustrious Promulgator of this “Light of Asia,” and in homage to the many eminent scholars who have devoted noble labors to his memory, for which both repose and ability are wanting to me, I beg that the shortcomings of my too-hurried study may be forgiven. It has been composed in the brief intervals of days without leisure, but is inspired by an abiding desire to aid in the better mutual knowledge of East and West. The time may come, I hope, when this book and my “Indian Song of Songs” will preserve the memory of one who loved India and the Indian peoples.

EDWIN ARNOLD, C.S.I.

LONDON, July, 1879.

THE LIGHT OF ASIA.





Book the First.





The Scripture of the Saviour of the World,

Lord Buddha — Prince Siddârtha styled on earth —

In Earth and Heavens and Hells Incomparable,

All-honored, Wisest, Best, most Pitiful;

The Teacher of Nirvana and the Law.



Thus came he to be born again for men.



Below the highest sphere four Regents sit

Who rule our world, and under them are zones

2.

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 Sâkyas,

Under the southward snows of Himalay,

Where pious people live and a just King.”



That night the wife of King Suddhôdana,

Maya the Queen, asleep beside her Lord,

Dreamed a strange dream; dreamed that a star from

heaven —



Splendid, six-rayed, in color rosy-pearl,

Whereof the token was an Elephant

Six-tusked and whiter than Vahuka’s milk —



3.

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 ‘twere 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,

4.

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 come — for all things knew —

The conscious tree bent down itsboughs to make

A bower about 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



5

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 Nâgas 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 Suddhôdana wist not of this;

6.

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-odors 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;



7.

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 sandal-wood;

Homage from tribute cities; so they called

Their Prince Savârthasiddh, “All-Prospering,”

Briefer, Siddârtha.

‘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,

8.

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



9.

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 Trâyastrinshas-Heaven,

Where countless Devas worship her and wait

Attendant on that radiant Motherhead.

But for the Babe they found a foster-nurse,

Princess Mahâprajâpati — 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.

10

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

“Gâyatri” named, which only High-born hear : —



Om, tatsaviturvarenyam

Bhargo devasya dhimahi

Dhiyo yo na prachodayát.



11.

“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, Nî,

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

12.

Named digits, decads, centuries; nor paused,

The round lakh reached, but softly murmured on

“Then comes the kôti, nahut, ninnahut,

Khamba, viskhamba, abab, attata,

To kumuds, gundhikas, and utpalas,

By pundarîkas unto padumas,

Which last is how you count the utmost grains

Of Hastagiri ground to finest dust;

But beyond that a numeration is,

The Kâtha, used to count the stars of night;

The Kôti-Kâtha, 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;



13.

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. Paramânus 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; Iikhyas 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

14.

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 yôjana; and, Master! if it please,

I shall recite how many sun-motes lie

From end to end within a yôjana.”

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 Gûrû. 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,



15.

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 laboring 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 Himâla’s breast.

16.

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 Siddârtha 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

17.

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 Siddârtha, “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;

‘Twas no man’s in the clouds, but fall’n ‘tis 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,

18.

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 savior 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 honor, 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,

19.



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 land 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

20.

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 swart 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,



21.

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 laboring kine,

Their dewlaps blistered with the bitter yoke,

The rage to live which makes all living strife —

The Prince Siddârtha sighed. “Is 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.”

22.

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



23.

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 Siddârtha strayed at will,

Some new delight provided every hour;

And happy hours he knew, for life was rich,



25.

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 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?”

26.

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



27.

Where the realm’s maids shall be competitors

In youth and grace, and sports that Sâkyas 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 ‘twas 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.

28.

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 favor, 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 Yasôdhara, and they that stood

Nearest Siddârtha saw the princely boy

Start, as the radiant girl approached. A form

Of heavenly mould; a gait like Parvati’s;



29.

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 Sâkya 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 springs, where Nandadevi stands,

Sate umpire while they raced beneath the firs

30.

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 jungle-cock,

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 Yasôdhara;

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 Siddârtha heedless, till there passed

Great Suprabuddha’s child, Yasôdhara;



31.

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 Sâkyas, 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?”

32.

Then the King’s heart was sore, for now the Prince

Begged sweet Yasôdhara 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 ‘twas given forth that on the seventh day

The Prince Siddârtha summoned whoso would

To match with him in feats of manliness,

The victor’s crown to be Yasôdhara.



Therefore, upon the seventh day, there went

The Sâkya lords and town and country round

Unto the maidân; and the maid went too

Amid her kinsfolk, carried as a bride,

With music, and with litters gayly dight,

And gold-horned oxen, flower-caparisoned.



33.

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 Siddârtha 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 Yasôdhara,

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 Siddârtha bade them set his drum

Ten gows from off the line, until it seemed

34.

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 Yasôdhara

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 Sâkya lords to use?”

And one said, “There is Sinhahânu’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



35.

Like bison-horns; and twice Siddrtha 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 Sinhahânu’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;

36.

But two such stems together grew, and both

Siddârtha’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 maidân, 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



37.

Had crossed him. Three times each young Sákya

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 Siddârtha meddle with this Bhût,

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,

38.

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 Siddârtha mounted, then

Went soberly to touch of knee and rein

Before all eyes, so that the people said,

“Strive no more, for Siddârtha 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 hast won.”

Then at a word the lovely Indian girl

Rose from her place above the throng, and took

A crown of môgra-flowers and lightly drew

The veil of black and gold across her brow,



39.

Proud pacing past the youths, until she came

To where Siddârtha 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-honored answered, “Unto me

This was unknown, albeit it seemed half known;

For while the wheel of birth and death turns round,

40.

Past things and thoughts, and buried lives come back.

I now remember, myriad rains ago,

What time I roamed Himâla’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 Yasôdhara

Wore for me; hot the strife waxed 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



41.

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 Sâkyas 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;

42.

Be good to her, who hath her life in thee.”

Wherewith they brought home sweet Yasôdhara,

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 sâl,

Thick set with pale sky-colored 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. Northwards soared

The stainless ramps of huge Himâla’s wall,

Ranged in white ranks against the blue — untrod,



43.

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;

44.

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

Sandal-wood, 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 splendors of their trains, sedately watched



45.

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 flow’rs, Yasôdhara

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.

46.

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 splendor 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



47.

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 Yasôdhara; and thus

Siddrtha lived forgetting.

48.

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.

‘Twas 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



49.

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 yôjana.

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 Yasôdhara,

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 terror-struck;

For at such times the pity in his look

Was awful, and his visage like a god’s.



51.

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 Siddârtha 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;

La! as the wind is so is mortal life,

A man, 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.

52.

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 ljfe 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, 0 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.

53.



Thereafter it befell he sate at eve

Amid his beauteous Court, holding the hand

Of sweet Yasôdhara, 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, Yasôdhara, 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 succor 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,

54.

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!



55.

The temples, and the gardens, and the groves,

And then the fields, and afterwards fresh fields,

With nullahs, maidâns, jungle, koss on koss;

And next King Bimbasâra’s realm, and then

The vast flat world, with crores on crores of folk.”

“Good,” said Siddârtha, “let the word be sent

That Channa yoke my chariot — at noon

To-morrow 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

56.

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 to-day

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 Suddhôdana commands.”



So all was comely and the houses trim



57.

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 Siddârtha 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 Sâkya 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!

58.

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, “Fai! 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, sun-tanned,

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



59.

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.

“A1ms!” moaned he, “give, good people! for I die

To-morrow 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 Siddârtha 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 ‘to-morrow 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

60.

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 Yasôdhara

Live fourscore years, is this old age for her,

Jâlîni, little Hasta, Gautami,

And Gunga, and the others?” “Yea, great Sir!”

The charioteer replied. Then spake the Prince:

61.

“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 Siddârtha, 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

Yasôdhara 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, Yasôdhara

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 yon peak, which fade to grey

62

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 Suddhôdana dreamed troublous dreams.

The first fear of his vision was a flag

Broad, glorious, glistening with a golden sun,

The mark of India; 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.



63.

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 Siddârtha 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

64.

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 Maharâj



65.

I hail this favored House, whence shall arise

A wider-reaching splendor 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,



66.

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



67.

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 Siddârtha’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 Suddhôdana. “Your Majesty

In tender heed hath warned the folk before

68.

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

To-morrow, 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.”



69.

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 Sâkya 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,

70.

The weaver at his loom, the cotton-bow

Twanging, the millstones grinding meal, the dogs

Prowling for orts, the skilful armorer

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 Sâkya children sang the mantras 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,

71.



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 swart 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 twitchings of sore pain,

The wild eyes swam with inward agony.

Gasping, he clutched the grass to rise, and rose

72.

Half-way, then sank, with quaking feeble limbs

And scream of terror, crying, “Ah, the pain !

Good people, help !” whereon Siddârtha 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.



73.

See how he 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.

74.

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 to-night, 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,



75.

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 Siddârtha 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,

76.

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 ffickered, 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 —



77.

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 jungle-wind,

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,

78.

And then, ‘tis 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! Siddârtha 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 ardor 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



79.

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

80.

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! 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 asôka 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

82.

From snow-flats on Himâla high-outspread;

For the moon swung above the eastern peaks,

Climbing the spangled vault, and lighting clear

Rohini’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 lace-worked 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



83.

Where Devîs rested. All the chosen ones

Of Prince Siddârtha’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 color 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,

84.

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



85.

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, weaving môgra-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 color, 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 oh 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 —

86.

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 splendor, 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;

87.

Not bringing thither grace or tenderness

Sweeter than shed from those fair presences

Within the place — the beauteous Sâkya Prince,

And hers, the stately, bright Yasôdhara.



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 Siddârtha’s hand,

And at the third kiss moaned, “Awake, my Lord!

Give me the comfort of thy speech !“ Then he —

“What is it 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,

88.

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 towards 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



89.

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,

Colored as none are colored 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

90.

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?”



91.

Sweet

As the last smile of sunset was the look

Siddârtha 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 Yasôdhara.

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,

92.

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 dream 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 —



93.

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 Sicldârtha 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.

94.

“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



95.

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,

96.

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



97.

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



98.



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

99.



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! I come! 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.”

100.

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;

That twin dark-petalled lotus-buds of all —

Gunga and Gotarni — 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



101.

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 splendor? 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 winter-times,

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,

102.

Into the night Siddârtha 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,



103.

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,” Siddrtha 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 Suddhôdana’s great son should rule

104.

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 my Lord thy father’s grief!

Bethink thee of their woe whose bliss thou art —

How shalt thou help them, first undoing them?”



Siddârtha 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



105.

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,

106.

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 Siddârtha 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 to-night, 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!’ let whirlwinds lag

Behind thy course! Be fire and air, my horse!



107.

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.

108.

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 portal