The Light of Asia

Four higher roadways be. Only those feet May tread them which have done with earthly things-- Right Purity, Right Thought, Right Loneliness, Right Rapture. Spread no wings

The fond King smiled: "Look! we have found a lure; take counsel now To fetch therewith our falcon from the clouds. Let messengers be sent to ask the maid In marriage for my son." But it was law With Sakyas, when any asked a maid Of noble house, fair and desirable, He must make good his skill in martial arts Against all suitors who should challenge it; Nor might this custom break itself for kings. Therefore her father spake: "Say to the King, The child is sought by princes far and near; If thy most gentle son can bend the bow, Sway sword, and back a horse better than they, Best would he be in all and best to us But how shall this be, with his cloistered ways?" Then the King's heart was sore, for now the Prince Begged sweet Yasodhara for wife--in vain, With Devadatta foremost at the bow, Ardjuna master of all fiery steeds, And Nanda chief in sword-play; but the Prince Laughed low and said, "These things, too, I have learned; Make proclamation that thy son will meet All comers at their chosen games. I think I shall not lose my love for such as these." So 't was given forth that on the seventh day The Prince Siddartha summoned whoso would To match with him in feats of manliness, The victor's crown to be Yasodhara.

"Speak low," Siddartha said, "and bring my horse, For now the hour is come when I should quit This golden prison where my heart lives caged To find the truth; which henceforth I will seek, For all men's sake, until the truth be found."

Ye that will tread the Middle Road, whose course Bright Reason traces and soft Quiet smoothes; Ye who will take the high Nirvana-way, List the Four Noble Truths.

"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!"

Lo! like fierce foes slain by some warrior, Ten sins along these Stages lie in dust, The Love of Self, False Faith, and Doubt are three, Two more, Hatred and Lust.

Before beginning, and without an end, As space eternal and as surety sure, Is fixed a Power divine which moves to good, Only its laws endure.

Ask of the sick, the mourners, ask of him Who tottereth on his staff, lone and forlorn, "Liketh thee life?"--these say the babe is wise That weepeth, being born.

"Yon cloud which floats in heaven," the Prince replied, "Wreathed like gold cloth around your Indra's throne, Rose thither from the tempest-driven sea; But it must fall again in tearful drops, Trickling through rough and painful water-ways By cleft and nullah and the muddy flood, To Gunga and the sea, wherefrom it sprang. Know'st thou, my brother, if it be not thus, After their many pains, with saints in bliss? Since that which rises falls, and that which buys Is spent; and if ye buy heaven with your blood In hell's hard market, when the bargain's through The toil begins again!"

Yet onward lies the Third Stage: purged and pure Hath grown the stately spirit here, hath risen To love all living things in perfect peace. His life at end, life's prison

"After me repeat Your numeration till we reach the Lakh, One, two, three, four, to ten, and then by tens To hundreds, thousands." After him the child Named digits, decads, centuries; nor paused, The round Lakh reached, but softly murmured on "Then comes the koti, nahut, ninnahut, Khamba, viskhamba, abab, attata, To kumuds, gundhikas, and utpalas, By pundarikas unto padumas, Which last is how you count the utmost grains Of Hastagiri ground to finest dust; But beyond that a numeration is, The Katha, used to count the stars of night; The Koti-Katha, for the ocean drops; Ingga, the calculus of circulars; Sarvanikchepa, by the which you deal With all the sands of Gunga, till we come To Antah-Kalpas, where the unit is The sands of ten crore Gungas. If one seeks More comprehensive scale, th' arithmic mounts By the Asankya, which is the tale Of all the drops that in ten thousand years Would fall on all the worlds by daily rain; Thence unto Maha Kalpas, by the which The Gods compute their future and their past."

By this the slayer's knife did stab himself; The unjust judge hath lost his own defender; The false tongue dooms its lie; the creeping thief And spoiler rob, to render.

So all was comely and the houses trim Throughout Kapilavastu, while the Prince Came forth in painted car, which two steers drew, Snow-white, with swinging dewlaps and huge humps Wrinkled against the carved and lacquered yoke. Goodly it was to mark the people's joy Greeting their Prince; and glad. Siddartha waxed At sight of all those liege and friendly folk Bright-clad and laughing as if life were good. "Fair is the world," he said, "it likes me well! And light and kind these men that are not kings, And sweet my sisters here, who toil and tend; What have I done for these to make them thus? Why, if I love them, should those children know? I pray take up yon pretty Sakya boy Who flung us flowers, and let him ride with me. How good it is to reign in realms like this! How simple pleasure is, if these be pleased Because I come abroad! How many things I need not if such little households hold Enough to make our city full of smiles! Drive, Channa! through the gates, and let me see More of this gracious world I have not known."

So went those merchants to the Pleasure House, Full softly pacing through its golden ways With naked feet, amid the peering maids, Much wondering at the glories of the Court. Whom, when they came without the purdah's folds, A voice, tender and eager, filled and charmed With trembling music, saying: "Ye are come From far, fair Sirs! and ye have seen my Lord-- Yea, worshipped--for he is become a Buddh, World-honoured, holy, and delivers men, And journeyeth hither. Speak! for, if this be, Friends are ye of my House, welcome and dear."

Then Channa said, "Master, I go!" and forthwith, mournfully, Unto the stall he passed, and from the rack Took down the silver bit and bridle-chains, Breast-cord and curb, and knitted fast the straps, And linked the hooks, and led out Kantaka Whom tethering to the ring, he combed and dressed, Stroking the snowy coat to silken gloss; Next on the steed he laid the numdah square, Fitted the saddle-cloth across, and set The saddle fair, drew tight the jewelled girths, Buckled the breech-bands and the martingale, And made fall both the stirrups of worked gold. Then over all he cast a golden net, With tassels of seed-pearl and silken strings, And led the great horse to the palace door, Where stood the Prince; but when he saw his Lord, Right glad he waxed and joyously he neighed, Spreading his scarlet nostrils; and the books Write, "Surely all had heard Kantaka's neigh, And that strong trampling of his iron heels, Save that the Devas laid their unseen wings Over their ears and kept the sleepers deaf."

And, in that Garden--said they--there was held A high Assembly, where the Teacher spake Wisdom and power, winning all souls which heard, So that nine hundred took the yellow robe-- Such as the Master wears,--and spread his Law; And this the gatha was wherewith he closed:

But when the mild and just die, sweet airs breathe; The world grows richer, as if desert-stream Should sink away to sparkle up again Purer, with broader gleam.

Strong limbs may dare the rugged road which storms, Soaring and perilous, the mountain's breast; The weak must wind from slower ledge to ledge With many a place of rest.

Softly our Lord drew down the crimson fold, And, laying on the little head those hands Which help the world, he said: "Long be thy bliss! And lightly fall on him the load of life! For thou hast holpen me who am no God, But one thy Brother; heretofore a Prince And now a wanderer, seeking night and day These six hard years that light which somewhere shines To lighten all men's darkness, if they knew! And I shall find the light; yea, now it dawned Glorious and helpful, when my weak flesh failed Which this pure food, fair Sister, hath restored, Drawn manifold through lives to quicken life As life itself passes by many births To happier heights and purging off of sins. Yet dost thou truly find it sweet enough Only to live? Can life and love suffice?"

But, of the Rishis, first Kaundinya Owned the Four Truths and entered on the Paths; And after him Bhadraka, Asvajit, Bassav, Mahanama; also there Within the Deer-park, at the feet of Buddh, Yasad the Prince with nobles fifty-four Hearing the blessed word our Master spake Worshipped and followed; for there sprang up peace And knowledge of a new time come for men In all who heard, as spring the flowers and grass When water sparkles through a sandy plain.

Then spake our Lord: "Thou teachest them who teach, Wiser than wisdom in thy simple lore. Be thou content to know not, knowing thus Thy way of right and duty: grow, thou flower With thy sweet kind in peaceful shade--the light Of Truth's high noon is not for tender leaves Which must spread broad in other suns and lift In later lives a crowned head to the sky. Thou who hast worshipped me, I worship thee! Excellent heart! learned unknowingly, As the dove is which flieth home by love. In thee is seen why there is hope for man And where we hold the wheel of life at will. Peace go with thee, and comfort all thy days! As thou accomplishest, may I achieve! He whom thou thoughtest God bids thee wish this."

It spreadeth forth for flight the eagle's wings What time she beareth home her prey; it sends The she-wolf to her cubs; for unloved things It findeth food and friends.

Furthermore, The King commanded that within those walls No mention should be made of death or age, Sorrow, or pain, or sickness. If one drooped In the lovely Court--her dark glance dim, her feet Faint in the dance--the guiltless criminal Passed forth an exile from that Paradise, Lest he should see and suffer at her woe. Bright-eyed intendants watched to execute Sentence on such as spake of the harsh world Without, where aches and plagues were, tears and fears, And wail of mourners, and grim fume of pyres. `T was treason if a thread of silver strayed In tress of singing-girl or nautch-dancer; And every dawn the dying rose was plucked, The dead leaves hid, all evil sights removed For said the King, "If he shall pass his youth Far from such things as move to wistfulness, And brooding on the empty eggs of thought, The shadow of this fate, too vast for man, May fade, belike, and I shall see him grow To that great stature of fair sovereignty When he shall rule all lands--if he will rule-- The King of kings and glory of his time."

Onward he passed, Exceeding sorrowful, seeing how men Fear so to die they are afraid to fear, Lust so to live they dare not love their life, But plague it with fierce penances, belike To please the Gods who grudge pleasure to man; Belike to balk hell by self-kindled hells; Belike in holy madness, hoping soul May break the better through their wasted flesh. "Oh, flowerets of the field!" Siddartha said, "Who turn your tender faces to the sun-- Glad of the light, and grateful with sweet breath Of fragrance and these robes of reverence donned Silver and gold and purple--none of ye Miss perfect living, none of ye despoil Your happy beauty. O, ye palms, which rise Eager to pierce the sky and drink the wind Blown from Malaya and the cool blue seas, What secret know ye that ye grow content, From time of tender shoot to time of fruit, Murmuring such sun-songs from your feathered crowns? Ye, too, who dwell so merry in the trees-- Quick-darting parrots, bee-birds, bulbuls, doves-- None of ye hate your life, none of ye deem To strain to better by foregoing needs! But man, who slays ye--being lord--is wise, And wisdom, nursed on blood, cometh thus forth In self-tormentings!"

"I will depart," he spake; "the hour is come! Thy tender lips, dear sleeper, summon me To that which saves the earth but sunders us; And in the silence of yon sky I read My fated message flashing. Unto this Came I, and unto this all nights and days Have led me; for I will not have that crown Which may be mine: I lay aside those realms Which wait the gleaming of my naked sword My chariot shall not roll with bloody wheels From victory to victory, till earth Wears the red record of my name. I choose To tread its paths with patient, stainless feet, Making its dust my bed, its loneliest wastes My dwelling, and its meanest things my mates: Clad in no prouder garb than outcasts wear, Fed with no meats save what the charitable Give of their will, sheltered by no more pomp Than the dim cave lends or the jungle-bush, This will I do because the woful cry Of life and all flesh living cometh up Into my ears, and all my soul is full Of pity for the sickness of this world; Which I will heal, if healing may be found By uttermost renouncing and strong strife. For which of all the great and lesser gods Have power or pity? Who hath seen them--who? What have they wrought to help their worshippers? How hath it steaded man to pray, and pay Tithes of the corn and oil, to chant the charms, To slay the shrieking sacrifice, to rear The stately fane, to feed the priests, and call On Vishnu, Shiva, Surya, who save None--not the worthiest--from the griefs that teach Those litanies of flattery and fear Ascending day by day, like wasted smoke? Hath any of my brothers 'scaped thereby The aches of life, the stings of love and loss, The fiery fever and the ague-shake, The slow, dull sinking into withered age, The horrible dark death--and what beyond Waits--till the whirling wheel comes up again, And new lives bring new sorrows to be borne, New generations for the new desires Which have their end in the old mockeries? Hath any of my tender sisters found Fruit of the fast or harvest of the hymn, Or bought one pang the less at bearing-time For white curds offered and trim tulsi-leaves? Nay; it may be some of the gods are good And evil some, but all in action weak; Both pitiful and pitiless, and both As men are--bound upon this wheel of change, Knowing the former and the after lives. For so our scriptures truly seem to teach, That--once, and wheresoe'er, and whence begun-- Life runs its rounds of living, climbing up From mote, and gnat, and worm, reptile, and fish, Bird and shagged beast, man, demon, Deva, God, To clod and mote again; so are we kin To all that is; and thus, if one might save Man from his curse, the whole wide world should share The lightened horror of this ignorance Whose shadow is chill fear, and cruelty Its bitter pastime. Yea, if one might save! And means must be! There must be refuge!"

The ordered music of the marching orbs It makes in viewless canopy of sky; In deep abyss of earth it hides up gold, Sards, sapphires, lazuli.

Sweet As the last smile of sunset was the look Siddartha bent upon his weeping wife. "Comfort thee, dear!" he said, "if comfort lives In changeless love; for though thy dreams may be Shadows of things to come, and though the gods Are shaken in their seats, and though the world Stands nigh, perchance, to know some way of help, Yet, whatsoever fall to thee and me, Be sure I loved and love Yasodhara. Thou knowest how I muse these many moons, Seeking to save the sad earth I have seen; And when the time comes, that which will be will. But if my soul yearns sore for souls unknown, And if I grieve for griefs which are not mine, Judge how my high-winged thoughts must hover here O'er all these lives that share and sweeten mine So dear! and thine the dearest, gentlest, best, And nearest. Ah, thou mother of my babe! Whose body mixed with mine for this fair hope, When most my spirit wanders, ranging round The lands and seas--as full of ruth for men As the far-flying dove is full of ruth For her twin nestlings--ever it has come Home with glad wing and passionate plumes to thee, Who art the sweetness of my kind best seen, The utmost of their good, the tenderest Of all their tenderness, mine most of all. Therefore, whatever after this betide, Bethink thee of that lordly bull which lowed, That jewelled banner in thy dreams which waved Its folds departing, and of this be sure, Always I loved and always love thee well, And what I sought for all sought most for thee. But thou, take comfort; and, if sorrow falls, Take comfort still in deeming there may be A way of peace on earth by woes of ours; And have with this embrace what faithful love Can think of thanks or frame for benison-- Too little, seeing love's strong self is weak-- Yet kiss me on the mouth, and drink these words From heart to heart therewith, that thou mayst know-- What others will not--that I loved thee most Because I loved so well all living souls. Now, Princess! rest, for I will rise and watch."

These sixty--said they--did our Lord send forth, Made perfect in restraint and passion-free, To teach the Way; but the World-honoured turned South from the Deer-park and Isipatan To Yashti and King Bimbasara's realm, Where many days he taught; and after these King Bimbasara and his folk believed, Learning the law of love and ordered life. Also he gave the Master, of free gift-- Pouring forth water on the hands of Buddh-- The Bamboo-Garden, named Weluvana, Wherein are streams and caves and lovely glades; And the King set a stone there, carved with this:

I, Buddh, who wept with all my brothers' tears, Whose heart was broken by a whole world's woe, Laugh and am glad, for there is Liberty Ho! ye who suffer! know

Also it issues forth to help or hurt. When Death the bitter murderer doth smite, Red roams the unpurged fragment of him, driven On wings of plague and blight.

The King stood in his hall of offering. On either hand, the white-robed Brahmans ranged Muttered their mantras, feeding still the fire Which roared upon the midmost altar. There From scented woods flickered bright tongues of flame, Hissing and curling as they licked the gifts Of ghee and spices and the soma juice, The joy of Iudra. Round about the pile A slow, thick, scarlet streamlet smoked and ran, Sucked by the sand, but ever rolling down, The blood of bleating victims. One such lay, A spotted goat, long-horned, its head bound back With munja grass; at its stretched throat the knife Pressed by a priest, who murmured: "This, dread gods, Of many yajnas cometh as the crown From Bimbasara: take ye joy to see The spirted blood, and pleasure in the scent Of rich flesh roasting 'mid the fragrant flames; Let the King's sins be laid upon this goat, And let the fire consume them burning it, For now I strike."

"I went, Lord, clasping to my breast The babe, grown colder, asking at each hut-- Here in the jungle and towards the town-- 'I pray you, give me mustard, of your grace, A tola-black'; and each who had it gave, For all the poor are piteous to the poor; But when I asked, 'In my friend's household here Hath any peradventure ever died Husband or wife, or child, or slave?' they said: 'O sister! what is this you ask? the dead Are very many, and the living few!' So with sad thanks I gave the mustard back, And prayed of others; but the others said, Here is the seed, but we have lost our slave.' 'Here is the seed, but our good man is dead!' 'Here is some seed, but he that sowed it died Between the rain-time and the harvesting!' Ah, sir! I could not find a single house Where there was mustard-seed and none had died! Therefore I left my child--who would not suck Nor smile--beneath the wild vines by the stream, To seek thy face and kiss thy feet, and pray Where I might find this seed and find no death, If now, indeed, my baby be not dead, As I do fear, and as they said to me."

'Mongst the strangers came A grey-haired saint, Asita, one whose ears, Long closed to earthly things, caught heavenly sounds, And heard at prayer beneath his peepul-tree The Devas singing songs at Buddha's birth. Wondrous in lore he was by age and fasts; Him, drawing nigh, seeming so reverend, The King saluted, and Queen Maya made To lay her babe before such holy feet; But when he saw the Prince the old man cried "Ah, Queen, not so!" and thereupon he touched Eight times the dust, laid his waste visage there, Saying, "O Babe! I worship! Thou art He! I see the rosy light, the foot-sole marks, The soft curled tendril of the Swastika, The sacred primal signs thirty and two, The eighty lesser tokens. Thou art Buddh, And thou wilt preach the Law and save all flesh Who learn the Law, though I shall never hear, Dying too soon, who lately longed to die; Howbeit I have seen Thee. Know, O King! This is that Blossom on our human tree Which opens once in many myriad years-- But opened, fills the world with Wisdom's scent And Love's dropped honey; from thy royal root A Heavenly Lotus springs: Ah, happy House! Yet not all-happy, for a sword must pierce Thy bowels for this boy--whilst thou, sweet Queen! Dear to all gods and men for this great birth, Henceforth art grown too sacred for more woe, And life is woe, therefore in seven days Painless thou shalt attain the close of pain."

Then cried they, "We have chosen this for road And tread it, Rajaputra, till the close-- Though all its stones were fire--in trust of death. Speak, if thou know'st a way more excellent; If not, peace go with thee!"

And all thought good, But the King answered, "if we seek him wives, Love chooseth ofttimes with another eye; And if we bid range Beauty's garden round, To pluck what blossom pleases, he will smile And sweetly shun the joy he knows not of." Then said another, "Roams the barasingh Until the fated arrow flies; for him, As for less lordly spirits, some one charms, Some face will seem a Paradise, some form Fairer than pale Dawn when she wakes the world. This do, my King! Command a festival Where the realm's maids shall be competitors In youth and grace, and sports that Sakyas use. Let the Prince give the prizes to the fair, And, when the lovely victors pass his seat, There shall be those who mark if one or two Change the fixed sadness of his tender cheek; So we may choose for Love with Love's own eyes, And cheat his Highness into happiness." This thing seemed good; wherefore upon a day The criers bade the young and beautiful Pass to the palace, for 't was in command To hold a court of pleasure, and the Prince Would give the prizes, something rich for all, The richest for the fairest judged. So flocked Kapilavastu's maidens to the gate, Each with her dark hair newly smoothed and bound, Eyelashes lustred with the soorma-stick, Fresh-bathed and scented; all in shawls and cloths Of gayest; slender hands and feet new-stained With crimson, and the tilka-spots stamped bright. Fair show it was of all those Indian girls Slow-pacing past the throne with large black eyes Fixed on the ground, for when they saw the Prince More than the awe of Majesty made beat Their fluttering hearts, he sate so passionless, Gentle, but so beyond them. Each maid took With down-dropped lids her gift, afraid to gaze; And if the people hailed some lovelier one Beyond her rivals worthy royal smiles, She stood like a scared antelope to touch The gracious hand, then fled to join her mates Trembling at favour, so divine he seemed, So high and saint-like and above her world. Thus filed they, one bright maid after another, The city's flowers, and all this beauteous march Was ending and the prizes spent, when last Came young Yasodhara, and they that stood Nearest Siddartha saw the princely boy Start, as the radiant girl approached. A form Of heavenly mould; a gait like Parvati's; the Eyes like a hind's in love-time, face so fair Words cannot paint its spell; and she alone Gazed full-folding her palms across her breasts On the boy's gaze, her stately neck unbent. "Is there a gift for me?" she asked, and smiled. "The gifts are gone," the Prince replied, "yet take This for amends, dear sister, of whose grace Our happy city boasts;" therewith he loosed The emerald necklet from his throat, and clasped Its green beads round her dark and silk-soft waist; And their eyes mixed, and from the look sprang love.

Whom, when they came unto the river-side, A woman--dove-eyed, young, with tearful face And lifted hands--saluted, bending low "Lord! thou art he," she said, "who yesterday Had pity on me in the fig-grove here, Where I live lone and reared my child; but he Straying amid the blossoms found a snake, Which twined about his wrist, while he did laugh And tease the quick forked tongue and opened mouth Of that cold playmate. But, alas! ere long He turned so pale and still, I could not think Why he should cease to play, and let my breast Fall from his lips. And one said, 'He is sick Of poison'; and another, 'He will die.' But I, who could not lose my precious boy, Prayed of them physic, which might bring the light Back to his eyes; it was so very small That kiss-mark of the serpent, and I think It could not hate him, gracious as he was, Nor hurt him in his sport. And some one said, 'There is a holy man upon the hill Lo! now he passeth in the yellow robe Ask of the Rishi if there be a cure For that which ails thy son.' Whereon I came Trembling to thee, whose brow is like a god's, And wept and drew the face cloth from my babe, Praying thee tell what simples might be good. And thou, great sir, did'st spurn me not, but gaze With gentle eyes and touch with patient hand; Then draw the face cloth back, saying to me, 'Yea, little sister, there is that might heal Thee first, and him, if thou couldst fetch the thing; For they who seek physicians bring to them What is ordained. Therefore, I pray thee, find Black mustard-seed, a tola; only mark Thou take it not from any hand or house Where father, mother, child, or slave hath died; It shall be well if thou canst find such seed.' Thus didst thou speak, my Lord!"

But lo! Siddartha turned Eyes gleaming with divine tears to the sky, Eyes lit with heavenly pity to the earth; From sky to earth he looked, from earth to sky, As if his spirit sought in lonely flight Some far-off vision, linking this and that, Lost, past, but searchable, but seen, but known. Then cried he, while his lifted countenance Glowed with the burning passion of a love Unspeakable, the ardour of a hope Boundless, insatiate: "Oh! suffering world, Oh! known and unknown of my common flesh, Caught in this common net of death and woe, And life which binds to both! I see, I feel The vastness of the agony of earth, The vainness of its joys, the mockery Of all its best, the anguish of its worst; Since pleasures end in pain, and youth in age, And love in loss, and life in hateful death, And death in unknown lives, which will but yoke Men to their wheel again to whirl the round Of false delights and woes that are not false. Me too this lure hath cheated, so it seemed Lovely to live, and life a sunlit stream For ever flowing in a changeless peace; Whereas the foolish ripple of the flood Dances so lightly down by bloom and lawn Only to pour its crystal quicklier Into the foul salt sea. The veil is rent Which blinded me! I am as all these men Who cry upon their gods and are not heard Or are not heeded--yet there must be aid! For them and me and all there must be help! Perchance the gods have need of help themselves Being so feeble that when sad lips cry They cannot save! I would not let one cry Whom I could save! How can it be that Brahm Would make a world and keep it miserable, Since, if all-powerful, he leaves it so, He is not good, and if not powerful, He is not God?--Channa! lead home again! It is enough I mine eyes have seen enough!"

Manifold tracks lead to yon sister-peaks Around whose snows the gilded clouds are curled By steep or gentle slopes the climber comes Where breaks that other world.

Lo! the Dawn Sprang with Buddh's Victory! lo! in the East Flamed the first fires of beauteous day, poured forth Through fleeting folds of Night's black drapery. High in the widening blue the herald-star Faded to paler silver as there shot Brighter and brighter bars of rosy gleam Across the grey. Far off the shadowy hills Saw the great Sun, before the world was 'ware, And donned their crowns of crimson; flower by flower Felt the warm breath of Morn and 'gan unfold Their tender lids. Over the spangled grass Swept the swift footsteps of the lovely Light, Turning the tears of Night to joyous gems, Decking the earth with radiance, 'broidering The sinking storm-clouds with a golden fringe; Gilding the feathers of the palms, which waved Glad salutation; darting beams of gold Into the glades; touching with magic wand The stream to rippled ruby; in the brake Finding the mild eyes of the antelopes And saying, "It is day"; in nested sleep Touching the small heads under many a wing And whispering, "Children, praise the light of day!" Whereat there piped anthems of all the birds! The koil's fluted song, the bulbul's hymn, The "morning, morning" of the painted thrush, The twitter of the sunbirds starting forth To find the honey ere the bees be out, The grey crow's caw, the parrot's scream, the strokes Of the green hammersmith, the myna's chirp, The never finished love-talk of the doves Yea! and so holy was the influence Of that high Dawn which came with victory That, far and near, in homes of men there spread An unknown peace. The slayer hid his knife; The robber laid his plunder back; the shroff Counted full tale of coins; all evil hearts Grew gentle, kind hearts gentler, as the balm Of that divinest Daybreak lightened Earth. Kings at fierce war called truce; the sick men leaped Laughing from beds of pain; the dying smiled As though they knew that happy Morn was sprung From fountains farther than the utmost East; And o'er the heart of sad Yasodhara, Sitting forlorn at Prince Siddartha's bed, Came sudden bliss, as if love should not fail Nor such vast sorrow miss to end in joy. So glad the World was--though it wist not why-- That over desolate wastes went swooning songs Of mirth, the voice of bodiless Prets and Bhuts Foreseeing Buddh; and Devas in the air Cried, "It is finished, finished!" and the priests Stood with the wondering people in the streets Watching those golden splendours flood the sky And saying, "There hath happed some mighty thing." Also in Ran and jungle grew that day Friendship amongst the creatures: spotted deer Browsed fearless where the tigress fed her cubs, And cheetahs lapped the pool beside the bucks; Under the eagle's rock the brown hares scoured While his fierce beak but preened an idle wing; The snake sunned all his jewels in the beam With deadly fangs in sheath; the shrike let pass The nestling finch; the emerald halcyons Sate dreaming while the fishes played beneath, Nor hawked the merops, though the butterflies-- Crimson and blue and amber-flitted thick Around his perch; the Spirit of our Lord Lay potent upon man and bird and beast, Even while he mused under that Bodhi-tree, Glorified with the Conquest gained for all And lightened by a Light greater than Day's.

But Radha, sent before to sweep the ground And tie the scarlet threads around the tree, Came eager, crying, "Ah, dear Mistress! look! There is the Wood-God sitting in his place, Revealed, with folded hands upon his knees. See how the light shines round about his brow! How mild and great he seems, with heavenly eyes! Good fortune is it thus to meet the gods."

Then one replied, "The city first, fair Prince! The temples, and the gardens, and the groves, And then the fields, and afterwards fresh fields, With nullahs, maidans, jungle, koss on koss; And next King Bimbasara's realm, and then The vast flat world, with crores on crores of folk." "Good," said Siddartha, "let the word be sent That Channa yoke my chariot--at noon Tomorrow I shall ride and see beyond."

Ever and ever bringing secrets forth, It sitteth in the green of forest-glades Nursing strange seedlings at the cedar's root, Devising leaves, blooms, blades.

But Buddh said, "What is it thou dost bring me?"

Lo! ye shall read it in the Sacred Books How, being met in that glad pleasaunce-place-- A garden in old days with hanging walks, Fountains, and tanks, and rose-banked terraces Girdled by gay pavilions and the sweep Of stately palace-fronts--the Master sate Eminent, worshipped, all the earnest throng Catching the opening of his lips to learn That wisdom which hath made our Asia mild; Whereto four hundred crores of living souls Witness this day. Upon the King's right hand He sate, and round were ranged the Sakya Lords Ananda, Devadatta--all the Court. Behind stood Seriyut and Mugallan, chiefs Of the calm brethren in the yellow garb, A goodly company. Between his knees Rahula smiled with wondering childish eyes Bent on the awful face, while at his feet Sate sweet Yasodhara, her heartaches gone, Foreseeing that fair love which doth not feed On fleeting sense, that life which knows no age, That blessed last of deaths when Death is dead, His victory and hers. Wherefore she laid Her hand upon his hands, folding around Her silver shoulder-cloth his yellow robe, Nearest in all the world to him whose words The Three Worlds waited for. I cannot tell A small part of the splendid lore which broke From Buddha's lips: I am a late-come scribe Who love the Master and his love of men, And tell this legend, knowing he was wise, But have not wit to speak beyond the books; And time hath blurred their script and ancient sense, Which once was new and mighty, moving all. A little of that large discourse I know Which Buddha spake on the soft Indian eve. Also I know it writ that they who heard Were more--lakhs more--crores more--than could be seen, For all the Devas and the Dead thronged there, Till Heaven was emptied to the seventh zone And uttermost dark Hells opened their bars; Also the daylight lingered past its time In rose-leaf radiance on the watching peaks, So that it seemed night listened in the glens, And noon upon the mountains; yea! they write, The evening stood between them like some maid Celestial, love-struck, rapt; the smooth-rolled clouds Her braided hair; the studded stars the pearls And diamonds of her coronal; the moon Her forehead jewel, and the deepening dark Her woven garments. 'T was her close-held breath Which came in scented sighs across the lawns While our Lord taught, and, while he taught, who heard-- Though he were stranger in the land, or slave, High caste or low, come of the Aryan blood, Or Mlech or Jungle-dweller--seemed to hear What tongue his fellows talked. Nay, outside those Who crowded by the river, great and small, The birds and beasts and creeping things--'t is writ-- Had sense of Buddha's vast embracing love And took the promise of his piteous speech; So that their lives--prisoned in shape of ape, Tiger, or deer, shagged bear, jackal, or wolf, Foul-feeding kite, pearled dove, or peacock gemmed, Squat toad, or speckled serpent, lizard, bat, Yea, or of fish fanning the river waves-- Touched meekly at the skirts of brotherhood With man who hath less innocence than these; And in mute gladness knew their bondage broke Whilst Buddha spake these things before the King:

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.

This is the doctrine of the KARMA. Learn! Only when all the dross of sin is quit, Only when life dies like a white flame spent Death dies along with it.

In which calm home of happy life and love Ligged our Lord Buddha, knowing not of woe, Nor want, nor pain, nor plague, nor age, nor death, Save as when sleepers roam dim seas in dreams, And land awearied on the shores of day, Bringing strange merchandise from that black voyage. Thus ofttimes when he lay with gentle head Lulled on the dark breasts of Yasodhara, Her fond hands fanning slow his sleeping lids, He would start up and cry, "My world! Oh, world! I hear! I know! I come!" And she would ask, "What ails my Lord?" with large eyes terrorstruck; For at such times the pity in his look Was awful, and his visage like a god's. Then would he smile again to stay her tears, And bid the vinas sound; but once they set A stringed gourd on the sill, there where the wind Could linger o'er its notes and play at will-- Wild music makes the wind on silver strings-- And those who lay around heard only that; But Prince Siddartha heard the Devas play, And to his ears they sang such words as these:--

Nought from the helpless gods by gift and hymn, Nor bribe with blood, nor feed with fruit and cakes; Within yourselves deliverance must be sought; Each man his prison makes.

Whom, when they ended, speaking so of him, With gifts, and thanks which made the jewels dull, The Princess recompensed. "But by what road Wendeth my Lord?" she asked: the merchants said, "Yojans threescore stretch from the city-walls To Rajagriha, whence the easy path Passeth by Sona hither and the hills. Our oxen, treading eight slow koss a day, Came in one moon."

Never shall yearnings torture him, nor sins Stain him, nor ache of earthly joys and woes Invade his safe eternal peace; nor deaths And lives recur. He goes