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diff --git a/old/14360.txt b/old/14360.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b3998c7 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/14360.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5527 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Dawn and the Day, by Henry Thayer Niles + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Dawn and the Day + +Author: Henry Thayer Niles + +Release Date: December 15, 2004 [eBook #14360] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DAWN AND THE DAY*** + + +E-text prepared by Al Haines + + + +THE DAWN AND THE DAY + +Or, The Buddha and the Christ, Part I + +by + +HENRY T. NILES + +The Blade Printing & Paper Company +Toledo, Ohio + +1894 + + + + + + + +PREFACE. + +When Humboldt first ascended the Andes and saw the trees, shrubs and +flora he had long before studied on the Alps, he had only to look at +his barometer, or at the sea of mountains and hills below, the rocks +and soil around, and the sun above, to understand this seeming marvel +of creation; while those who knew less of the laws of order and +universal harmony might be lost in conjectures about pollen floating in +the upper air, or seeds carried by birds across seas, forgetting that +preservation is perpetual creation, and that it takes no more power to +clothe a mountain just risen from the sea in appropriate verdure than +to renew the beauty and the bloom of spring. + +Max Mueller, who looks through antiquity with the same clear vision +with which Humboldt examined the physical world, when he found the most +ancient Hindoos bowing in worship before Dyaus Pitar, the exact +equivalent of the Zeus Pater of the Greeks and the Jupiter of the +Romans, and of "Our Father who art in the heavens" in our own divinely +taught prayer, instead of indulging in wild speculations about the +chance belief of some ancient chief or patriarch, transmitted across +continents and seas and even across the great gulf that has always +divided the Aryan from the Semitic civilization and preserved through +ages of darkness and unbelief, saw in it the common yearning of the +human soul to find rest on a loving Father's almighty arm; yet when our +oriental missionaries and scholars found such fundamental truths of +their own religion as the common brotherhood of man, and that love is +the vital force of all religion, which consists not in blood-oblations +or in forms and creeds, but in shunning evil and doing good, and that +we must overcome evil by good and hatred by love, and that there is a +spiritual world and life after death embodied in the teachings of +Buddha--instead of finding in this great fact new proof of the common +Father's love for all His children, they immediately began to indulge +in conjectures as to how these truths might have been derived from the +early Christians who visited the East, while those who were disposed to +reject the claims of Christianity have exhausted research and +conjecture to find something looking as if Christianity itself might +have been derived from the Buddhist missionaries to Palestine and +Egypt, both overlooking the remarkable fact that it is only in +fundamental truths that the two religions agree, while in the dogmas, +legends, creeds and speculations which form the wall of separation +between them they are as wide asunder as the poles. + +How comes it on the one theory that the Nestorians, whose peculiar +creed had already separated them from the balance of the Christian +church, taught their Buddhist disciples no part of that creed to which +they have adhered with such tenacity through the ages? And on the +other theory, how comes it, if the Divine Master was, as some modern +writers claim, an Essene, that is, a Buddhist monk, that there is not +in all his teachings a trace of the speculations and legends which had +already buried the fundamental truths of Buddhism almost out of sight? + +How sad to hear a distinguished Christian scholar like Sir Monier +Williams cautioning his readers against giving a Christian meaning to +the Christian expressions he constantly met with in Buddhism, and yet +informing them that a learned and distinguished Japanese gentleman told +him it was a source of great delight to him to find so many of his most +cherished religious beliefs in the New Testament; and to see an earnest +Christian missionary like good Father Huc, when in the busy city of +Lha-ssa, on the approach of evening, at the sound of a bell the whole +population sunk on their knees in a concert of prayer, only finding in +it an attempt of Satan to counterfeit Christian worship; and on the +other hand to see ancient and modern learning ransacked to prove that +the brightest and clearest light that ever burst upon a sinful and +benighted world was but the reflected rays of another faith. + +And yet this same Sir Monier Williams says: "We shall not be far wrong +in attempting an outline of the Buddha's life if we begin by assuming +that intense individuality, fervid earnestness and severe simplicity, +combined with singular beauty of countenance, calm dignity of bearing, +and almost superhuman persuasiveness of speech, were conspicuous in the +great teacher." To believe that such a character was the product of a +false religion, or that he was given over to believe a lie, savors too +much of that worst agnosticism which would in effect deny the +universality of God's love and would limit His care to some favored +locality or age or race. + +How much more in harmony with the broad philosophy of such men as +Humboldt and Mueller, and with the character of a loving Father, to +believe that at all times and in all countries He has been watching +over all His children and giving them all the light they were capable +of receiving. + +This narrow view is especially out of place in treating of Buddhism and +Christianity, as Buddha himself predicted that his Dharma would last +but five hundred years, when he would be succeeded by Matreya, that is, +Love incarnate, on which account the whole Buddhist world was on tiptoe +of expectation at the time of the coming of our Lord, so that the wise +men of the East were not only following their guiding-star but the +prediction of their own great prophet in seeking Bethlehem. + +Had the Christian missionaries to the East left behind them their +creeds, which have only served to divide Christians into hostile sects +and sometimes into hostile camps, and which so far as I can see, after +years of patient study, have no necessary connection with the simple, +living truths taught by our Saviour, and had taken only their New +Testaments and their earnest desire to do good, the history of missions +would have been widely different. + +How of the earth earthy seemed the walls that divided the delegates to +the world's great Congress of Religions, recently held in Chicago, and +how altogether divine + + The love which like an endless golden chain + Joined all in one. + +Whatever others may think, it is my firm belief that Buddhism and +Christianity, which we cannot doubt have influenced for good such vast +masses the human family, both descended from heaven clothed in robes of +celestial purity which have become sadly stained by their contact with +the selfishness of a sinful world, except for which belief the +following pages would never have been written, which are now sent forth +in the hope that they may do something to enable Buddhists and +Christians to see eye to eye and something to promote peace and +good-will among men. + +While following my own conceptions and even fancies in many things, I +believe the leading characters and incidents to be historical, and I +have given nothing as the teaching of the great master which was not to +my mind clearly authenticated. + +To those who have read so much about agnostic Buddhism, and about +Nirvana meaning annihilation, it may seem bold in me to present Buddha +as an undoubting believer in the fundamental truths of all religion, +and as not only a believer in a spiritual world but an actual visitor +to its sad and blissful scenes; but the only agnosticism I have been +able to trace to Buddha was a want of faith in the many ways invented +through the ages to escape the consequences of sin and to avoid the +necessity of personal purification, and the only annihilation he taught +and yearned for was the annihilation of self in the highest Christian +sense, and escape from that body of death from which the Apostle Paul +so earnestly sought deliverance. + +Doubtless agnosticism and almost every form of belief and unbelief +subsequently sprang up among the intensely acute and speculative +peoples of the East known under the general name of Buddhists, as they +did among the less acute and speculative peoples of the West known as +Christians; but the one is no more primitive Buddhism than the other is +primitive Christianity. + +While there are innumerable poetic legends--of which Spence Hardy's +"Manual of Buddhism" is a great storehouse, and many of which are given +by Arnold in his beautiful poem--strewn thick along the track of +Buddhist literature, constantly tempting one to leave the straight path +of the development of a great religion, I have carefully avoided what +did not commend itself to my mind as either historical or spiritual +truth. + +It was my original design to follow the wonderful career of Buddha +until his long life closed with visions of the golden city much as +described in Revelation, and then to follow that most wonderful career +of Buddhist missions, not only through India and Ceylon, but to +Palestine, Greece and Egypt, and over the table-lands of Asia and +through the Chinese Empire to Japan, and thence by the black stream to +Mexico and Central America, and then to follow the wise men of the East +until the Light of the world dawned on them on the plains of +Bethlehem--a task but half accomplished, which I shall yet complete if +life and strength are spared. + +A valued literary friend suggests that the social life described in the +following pages is too much like ours, but why should their daily life +and social customs be greatly different from ours? The Aryan +migrations to India and to Europe were in large masses, of course +taking their social customs, or as the Romans would say, their +household gods, with them. + +What wonder, then, that the home as Tacitus describes it in the "Wilds +of Germany" was substantially what Mueller finds from the very +structure of the Sanscrit and European languages it must have been in +Bactria, the common cradle of the Aryan race. There can scarcely be a +doubt that twenty-five hundred years ago the daily life and social +customs in the north of India, which had been under undisputed Aryan +control long enough for the Sanscrit language to spring up, come to +perfection and finally become obsolete, were more like ours than like +those of modern India after the, many--and especially the +Mohammedan--conquests and after centuries of oppression and alien rule. + +If a thousand English-speaking Aryans should now be placed on some +distant island, how much would their social customs and even amusements +differ from ours in a hundred years? Only so far as changed climate +and surrounding's compelled. + +I give as an introduction an outline of the golden, silver, brazen and +iron ages, as described by the ancient poets and believed in by all +antiquity, as it was in the very depths of the darkness of the iron age +that our great light appeared in Northern India. The very denseness of +the darkness of the age in which he came makes the clearness of the +light more wonderful, and accounts for the joy with which it was +received and the rapidity with which it spread. + +Not to enter into the niceties of chronological questions, the mission +of Buddha may be roughly said to have commenced about five hundred +years before the commencement of our era, and with incessant labors and +long and repeated journeys to have lasted forty-five years, when at +about the age of eighty he died, or, as the Buddhists more truthfully +and more beautifully say, entered Nirvana. + + HENRY T. NILES. + TOLEDO, January 1, 1894. + + * * * * * + +Since this work was in the hands of the printer I have read the recent +work of Bishop Copelston, of Columbo, Ceylon, and it was a source of no +small gratification to find him in all material points agreeing with +the result of my somewhat extensive investigations as given within, for +in Ceylon, if anywhere, we would expect accuracy. Here the great +Buddhist development first comes in contact with authentic history +during the third century B.C. in the reign of the great Asoka, the +discovery of whose rock inscriptions shed such a flood of light on +primitive Buddhism, while it still retained enough of its primitive +power, as we learn from those inscriptions themselves, to turn that +monarch from a course of cruel tyranny, and, as we learn from the +history of Ceylon, to induce his son and daughter to abandon royalty +and become the first missionaries to that beautiful island. + +H.T.N. + + + + + INTRODUCTION. + + The golden age--when men were brothers all, + The golden rule their law and God their king; + When no fierce beasts did through the forests roam, + Nor poisonous reptiles crawl upon the ground; + When trees bore only wholesome, luscious fruits, + And thornless roses breathed their sweet perfumes; + When sickness, sin and sorrow were unknown, + And tears but spoke of joy too deep for words; + When painless death but led to higher life, + A life that knows no end, in that bright world + Whence angels on the ladder Jacob saw, + Descending, talk with man as friend to friend-- + That age of purity and peace had passed, + But left a living memory behind, + Cherished and handed down from sire to son + Through all the scattered peoples of the earth, + A living prophecy of what this world, + This sad and sinful world, might yet become. + + The silver age--an age of faith, not sight-- + Came next, when reason ruled instead of love; + When men as through a glass but darkly saw + What to their fathers clearly stood revealed + In God's own light of love-illumined truth, + Of which the sun that rising paints the east, + And whose last rays with glory gild the west, + Is but an outbirth. Then were temples reared, + And priests 'mid clouds of incense sang His praise + Who out of densest darkness called the light, + And from His own unbounded fullness made + The heavens and earth and all that in them is. + Then landmarks were first set, lest men contend + For God's free gifts, that all in peace had shared. + Then laws were made to govern those whose sires + Were laws unto themselves. Then sickness came, + And grief and pain attended men from birth to death. + But still a silver light lined every cloud, + And hope was given to cheer and comfort men. + + The brazen age, brilliant but cold, succeeds. + This was an age of knowledge, art and war, + When the knights-errant of the ancient world, + Adventures seeking, roamed with brazen swords + Which by a wondrous art--then known, now lost-- + Were hard as flint, and edged to cut a hair + Or cleave in twain a warrior armor-clad + And armed with shields adorned by Vulcan's art, + Wonder of coming times and theme for bards.[1] + Then science searched through nature's heights and depths. + Heaven's canopy thick set with stars was mapped, + The constellations named, and all the laws searched out + That guide their motions, rolling sphere on sphere.[2] + Then men by reasonings piled up mountain high + Thought to scale heaven, and to dethrone heaven's king, + Whose imitators weak, with quips and quirks + And ridicule would now destroy all sacred things. + This age great Homer and old Hesiod sang, + And gods they made of hero, artist, bard. + + At length this twilight of the ages fades, + And starless night now sinks upon the world-- + An age of iron, cruel, dark and cold. + On Asia first this outer darkness fell, + Once seat of paradise, primordial peace, + Perennial harmony and perfect love. + A despot's will was then a nation's law; + An idol's car crushed out poor human lives, + And human blood polluted many shrines. + Then human speculation made of God + A shoreless ocean, distant, waveless, vast, + Of truth that sees not and unfeeling love, + Whence souls as drops were taken back to fall, + Absorbed and lost, when, countless ages passed, + They should complete their round as souls of men, + Of beasts, of birds and of all creeping things. + And, even worse, the cruel iron castes, + One caste too holy for another's touch, + Had every human aspiration crushed, + The common brotherhood of man destroyed, + And made all men but Pharisees or slaves. + And worst of all--and what could e'en be worse?-- + Woman, bone of man's bone, flesh of his flesh, + The equal partner of a double life, + Who in the world's best days stood by his side + To lighten every care, and heighten every joy, + And in the world's decline still clung to him, + She only true when all beside were false, + When all were cruel she alone still kind, + Light of his hearth and mistress of his home, + Sole spot where peace and joy could still be found-- + Woman herself cast down, despised was made + Slave to man's luxury and brutal lust. + Then war was rapine, havoc, needless blood, + Infants impaled before their mothers' eyes, + Women dishonored, mutilated, slain, + Parents but spared to see their children die. + Then peace was but a faithless, hollow truce, + With plots and counter-plots; the dagger's point + And poisoned cup instead of open war; + And life a savage, grim conspiracy + Of mutual murder, treachery and greed. + O dark and cruel age! O cruel creeds! + O cruel men! O crushed and bleeding hearts, + That from the very ground in anguish cry: + "Is there no light--no hope--no help--no God?" + + +[1]See Hesiod's description of the shield of Hercules, the St. George +of that ancient age of chivalry. + +[2]See the celebrated zodiac of Denderah, given in Landseer's "Sabaean +Researches," and in Napoleon's "Egypt." + + + + + The Dawn and the Day + + or + + The Buddha and the Christ. + + + BOOK I. + + Northward from Ganges' stream and India's plains + An ancient city crowned a lofty hill, + Whose high embattled walls had often rolled + The surging, angry tide of battle back. + Walled on three sides, but on the north a cliff, + At once the city's quarry and its guard, + Cut out in galleries, with vaulted roofs[1] + Upborne upon cyclopean columns vast, + Chiseled with art, their capitals adorned + With lions, elephants, and bulls, life size, + Once dedicate to many monstrous gods + Before the Aryan race as victors came, + Then prisons, granaries and magazines, + Now only known to bandits and wild beasts. + This cliff, extending at each end, bends north, + And rises in two mountain-chains that end + In two vast snow-capped Himalayan peaks, + Between which runs a glittering glacial stream, + A mighty moving mass of crystal ice, + Crushing the rocks in its resistless course; + From which bursts forth a river that had made + Of all this valley one great highland lake, + Which on one side had burst its bounds and cut + In myriad years a channel through the rock, + So narrow that a goat might almost leap + From cliff to cliff--these cliffs so smooth and steep + The eagles scarce could build upon their sides; + This yawning chasm so deep one scarce could hear + The angry waters roaring far below. + + This stream, guided by art, now fed a lake + Above the city and behind this cliff, + Which, guided thence in channels through the rock, + Fed many fountains, sending crystal streams + Through every street and down the terraced hill, + And through the plain in little silver streams, + Spreading the richest verdure far and wide.[2] + Here was the seat of King Suddhodana, + His royal park, walled by eternal hills, + Where trees and shrubs and flowers all native grew; + For in its bounds all the four seasons met, + From ever-laughing, ever-blooming spring + To savage winter with eternal snows. + Here stately palms, the banyan's many trunks, + Darkening whole acres with its grateful shade, + And bamboo groves, with graceful waving plumes, + The champak, with its fragrant golden flowers, + Asokas, one bright blaze of brilliant bloom, + The mohra, yielding food and oil and wine, + The sacred sandal and the spreading oak, + The mountain-loving fir and spruce and pine, + And giant cedars, grandest of them all, + Planted in ages past, and thinned and pruned + With that high art that hides all trace of art,[3] + Were placed to please the eye and show their form + In groves, in clumps, in jungles and alone. + + Here all a forest seemed; there open groves, + With vine-clad trees, vines hanging from each limb, + A pendant chain of bloom, with shaded drives + And walks, with rustic seats, cool grots and dells, + With fountains playing and with babbling brooks, + And stately swans sailing on little lakes, + While peacocks, rainbow-tinted shrikes, pheasants, + Glittering like precious stones, parrots, and birds + Of all rich plumage, fly from tree to tree, + The whole scene vocal with sweet varied song; + And here a widespread lawn bedecked with flowers, + With clumps of brilliant roses grown to trees, + And fields with dahlias spread,[4] not stiff and prim + Like the starched ruffle of an ancient dame, + But growing in luxuriance rich and wild, + The colors of the evening and the rainbow joined, + White, scarlet, yellow, crimson, deep maroon, + Blending all colors in one dazzling blaze; + There orchards bend beneath their luscious loads; + Here vineyards climb the hills thick set with grapes; + There rolling pastures spread, where royal mares, + High bred, and colts too young for bit or spur, + Now quiet feed, then, as at trumpet's call, + With lion bounds, tails floating, neck outstretched,[5] + Nostrils distended, fleet as the flying wind + They skim the plain, and sweep in circles wide-- + Nature's Olympic, copied, ne'er excelled. + Here, deer with dappled fawn bound o'er the grass,[6] + And sacred herds, and sheep with skipping lambs; + There, great white elephants in quiet nooks; + While high on cliffs framed in with living green + Goats climb and seem to hang and feed in air-- + Sweet spot, with all to please and nothing to offend. + + Here on a hill the royal palace stood, + A gem of art; and near, another hill, + Its top crowned by an aged banyan tree, + Its sides clad in strange jyotismati grass,[7] + By day a sober brown, but in the night + Glowing as if the hill were all aflame-- + Twin wonders to the dwellers in the plain, + Their guides and landmarks day and night, + This glittering palace and this glowing hill. + Within, above the palace rose a tower, + Which memory knew but as the ancient tower, + Foursquare and high, an altar and a shrine + On its broad top, where burned perpetual fire, + Emblem of boundless and eternal love + And truth that knows no night, no cloud, no change, + Long since gone out, with that most ancient faith + In one great Father, source of life and light.[8] + Still round this ancient tower, strange hopes and fears, + And memories handed down from sire to son, + Were clustered thick. An army, old men say, + Once camped against the city, when strange lights + Burst from this tower, blinding their dazzled eyes. + They fled amazed, nor dared to look behind. + The people bloody war and cruel bondage saw + On every side, and they at peace and free, + And thought a power to save dwelt in that tower. + And now strange prophecies and sayings old + Were everywhere rehearsed, that from this hill + Should come a king or savior of the world. + Even the poor dwellers in the distant plain + Looked up; they too had heard that hence should come + One quick to hear the poor and strong to save. + And who shall dare to chide their simple faith? + This humble reverence for the great unknown + Brings men near God, and opens unseen worlds, + Whence comes all life, and where all power doth dwell. + + Morning and evening on this tower the king, + Before the rising and the setting sun, + Blindly, but in his father's faith, bowed down. + Then he would rise and on his kingdom gaze. + East, west, hills beyond hills stretched far away, + Wooded, terraced, or bleak and bald and bare, + Till in dim distance all were leveled lost. + One rich and varied carpet spread far south, + Of fields, of groves, of busy cities wrought, + With mighty rivers seeming silver threads; + And to the north the Himalayan chain, + Peak beyond peak, a wall of crest and crag, + Ice bound, snow capped, backed by intensest blue, + Untrod, immense, that, like a crystal wall. + In myriad varied tints the glorious light + Of rising and of setting sun reflects; + His noble city lying at his feet, + And his broad park, tinged by the sun's slant rays + A thousand softly rich and varied shades. + + Still on this scene of grandeur, plenty, peace + And ever-varying beauty, he would gaze + With sadness. He had heard these prophecies, + And felt the unrest in that great world within, + Hid from our blinded eyes, yet ever near, + The very soul and life of this dead world, + Which seers and prophets open-eyed have seen, + On which the dying often raptured gaze, + And where they live when they are mourned as dead. + This world was now astir, foretelling day. + "A king shall come, they say, to rule the world, + If he will rule; but whence this mighty king? + My years decline apace, and yet no son + Of mine to rule or light my funeral pile." + + One night Queen Maya, sleeping by her lord, + Dreamed a strange dream; she dreamed she saw a star + Gliding from heaven and resting over her; + She dreamed she heard strange music, soft and sweet, + So distant "joy and peace" was all she heard. + In joy and peace she wakes, and waits to know + What this strange dream might mean, and whence it came. + + Drums, shells and trumpets sound for joy, not war; + The streets are swept and sprinkled with perfumes, + And myriad lamps shine from each house and tree, + And myriad flags flutter in every breeze, + And children crowned with flowers dance in the streets, + And all keep universal holiday + With shows and games, and laugh and dance and song, + For to the gentle queen a son is born, + To King Suddhodana the good an heir. + + But scarcely had these myriad lamps gone out, + The sounds of revelry had scarcely died, + When coming from the palace in hot haste, + One cried, "Maya, the gentle queen, is dead." + Then mirth was changed to sadness, joy to grief, + For all had learned to love the gentle queen-- + But at Siddartha's birth this was foretold. + + Among the strangers bringing gifts from far, + There came an ancient sage--whence, no one knew-- + Age-bowed, head like the snow, eyes filmed and white, + So deaf the thunder scarcely startled him, + Who met them, as they said, three journeys back, + And all his talk was of a new-born king, + Just born, to rule the world if he would rule. + He was so gentle, seemed so wondrous wise, + They followed him, he following, he said, + A light they could not see; and when encamped, + Morn, noon and night devoutly would he pray, + And then would talk for hours, as friend to friend, + With questionings about this new-born king, + Gazing intently at the tent's blank wall, + With nods and smiles, as if he saw and heard, + While they sit lost in wonder, as one sits + Who never saw a telephone, but hears + Unanswered questions, laughter at unheard jests, + And sees one bid a little box good-by. + And when they came before the king, they saw, + Laughing and cooing on its mother's knee, + Picture of innocence, a sweet young child; + He saw a mighty prophet, and bowed down + Eight times in reverence to the very ground, + And rising said, "Thrice happy house, all hail! + This child would rule the world, if he would rule, + But he, too good to rule, is born to save; + But Maya's work is done, the devas wait." + But when they sought for him, the sage was gone, + Whence come or whither gone none ever knew. + Then gentle Maya understood her dream. + The music nearer, clearer sounds; she sleeps. + But when the funeral pile was raised for her, + Of aloe, sandal, and all fragrant woods, + And decked with flowers and rich with rare perfumes, + And when the queen was gently laid thereon, + As in sweet sleep, and the pile set aflame, + The king cried out in anguish; when the sage + Again appeared, and gently said, "Weep not! + Seek not, O king, the living with the dead! + 'Tis but her cast-off garment, not herself, + That now dissolves in air. Thy loved one lives, + Become thy deva,[9] who was erst thy queen." + This said, he vanished, and was no more seen. + + Now other hands take up that mother's task. + Another breast nurses that sweet young child + With growing love; for who can nurse a child, + Feel its warm breath, and little dimpled hands, + Kiss its soft lips, look in its laughing eyes, + Hear its low-cooing love-notes soft and sweet, + And not feel something of that miracle, + A mother's love--so old yet ever new, + Stronger than death, bravest among the brave, + Gentle as brave, watchful both night and day, + That never changes, never tires nor sleeps. + Whence comes this wondrous and undying love? + Whence can it come, unless it comes from heaven, + Whose life is love--eternal, perfect love! + + From babe to boy, from boy to youth he grew, + But more in grace and knowledge than in years. + At play his joyous laugh rang loud and clear, + His foot was fleetest in all boyish games, + And strong his arm, and steady nerve and eye, + To whirl the quoit and send the arrow home; + Yet seeming oft to strive, he'd check his speed + And miss his mark to let a comrade win. + In fullness of young life he climbed the cliffs + Where human foot had never trod before. + He led the chase, but when soft-eyed gazelles + Or bounding deer, or any harmless thing, + Came in the range of his unerring dart, + He let them pass; for why, thought he, should men + In wantonness make war on innocence? + + One day the Prince Siddartha saw the grooms + Gathered about a stallion, snowy white, + Descended from that great Nisaean stock + His fathers brought from Iran's distant plain, + Named Kantaka. Some held him fast with chains + Till one could mount. He, like a lion snared, + Frantic with rage and fear, did fiercely bound. + They cut his tender mouth with bloody bit, + Beating his foaming sides until the Prince, + Sterner than was his wont, bade them desist, + While he spoke soothingly, patted his head + And stroked his neck, and dropped those galling chains, + When Kantaka's fierce flaming eyes grew mild, + He quiet stood, by gentleness subdued-- + Such mighty power hath gentleness and love-- + And from that day no horse so strong and fleet, + So kind and true, easy to check and guide, + As Kantaka, Siddartha's noble steed. + + To playmates he was gentle as a girl; + Yet should the strong presume upon their strength + To overbear or wrong those weaker than themselves, + His sturdy arm and steady eye checked them, + And he would gently say, "Brother, not so; + Our strength was given to aid and not oppress." + For in an ancient book he found a truth-- + A book no longer read, a truth forgot, + Entombed in iron castes, and buried deep + In speculations and in subtle creeds-- + That men, high, low, rich, poor, are brothers all,[10] + Which, pondered much in his heart's fruitful soil, + Had taken root as a great living truth + That to a mighty doctrine soon would grow, + A mighty tree to heal the nations with its leaves-- + Like some small grain of wheat, appearing dead, + In mummy-case three thousand years ago[11] + Securely wrapped and sunk in Egypt's tombs, + Themselves buried beneath the desert sands, + Which now brought forth, and planted in fresh soil, + And watered by the dews and rains of heaven, + Shoots up and yields a hundred-fold of grain, + Until in golden harvests now it waves + On myriad acres, many thousand miles + From where the single ancient seed had grown. + + Thus he grew up with all that heart could wish + Or power command; his very life itself, + So fresh and young, sound body with sound mind, + The living fountain of perpetual joy. + Yet he would often sit and sadly think + Sad thoughts and deep, and far beyond his years; + How sorrow filled the world; how things were shared-- + One born to waste, another born to want; + One for life's cream, others to drain its dregs; + One born a master, others abject slaves. + And when he asked his masters to explain, + When all were brothers, how such things could be, + They gave him speculations, fables old, + How Brahm first Brahmans made to think for all, + And then Kshatriyas, warriors from their birth, + Then Sudras, to draw water and hew wood. + "But why should one for others think, when all + Must answer for themselves? Why brothers fight? + And why one born another's slave, when all + Might serve and help each other?" he would ask. + But they could only answer: "Never doubt, + For so the holy Brahmans always taught." + Still he must think, and as he thought he sighed, + Not for his petty griefs that last an hour, + But for the bitter sorrows of the world + That crush all men, and last from age to age. + + The good old king saw this--saw that the prince, + The apple of his eye, dearer than life, + Stately in form, supple and strong in limb, + Quick to learn every art of peace and war, + Displaying and excelling every grace + And attribute of his most royal line, + Whom all would follow whereso'er he led, + So fit to rule the world if he would rule, + Thought less of ruling than of saving men. + He saw the glory of his ancient house + Suspended on an if--if he will rule + The empire of the world, and power to crush + Those cruel, bloody kings who curse mankind, + And power to make a universal peace; + If not this high career, with glory crowned, + Then seeking truth through folly's devious ways; + By self-inflicted torture seeking bliss, + And by self-murder seeking higher life; + On one foot standing till the other pine, + Arms stretched aloft, fingers grown bloodless claws, + Or else, impaled on spikes, with festering sores + Covered from head to foot, the body wastes + With constant anguish and with slow decay.[12] + "Can this be wisdom? Can such a life be good + That shuns all duties lying in our path-- + Useless to others, filled with grief and pain? + Not so my father's god teaches to live. + Rising each morning most exact in time, + He bathes the earth and sky with rosy light + And fills all nature with new life and joy; + The cock's shrill clarion calls us to awake + And breathe this life and hear the bursts of song + That fill each grove, inhale the rich perfume + Of opening flowers, and work while day shall last. + Then rising higher, he warms each dank, cold spot, + Dispels the sickening vapors, clothes the fields + With waving grain, the trees with golden fruit, + The vines with grapes; and when 'tis time for rest, + Sinks in the west, and with new glory gilds + The mountain-tops, the clouds and western sky, + And calls all nature to refreshing sleep. + If he be God, the useful are like God; + If not, God made the sun, who made all men + And by his great example teaches them + The diligent are wise, the useful good." + + Sorely perplexed he called his counselors, + Grown gray in serving their beloved king, + And said: "Friends of my youth, manhood and age, + So wise in counsel and so brave in war, + Who never failed in danger or distress, + Oppressed with fear, I come to you for aid. + You know the prophecies, that from my house + Shall come a king, or savior of the world. + You saw strange signs precede Siddartha's birth, + And saw the ancient sage whom no one knew + Fall down before the prince, and hail my house. + You heard him tell the queen she soon would die, + And saw her sink in death as in sweet sleep; + You laid her gently on her funeral pile, + And heard my cry of anguish, when the sage + Again appeared and bade me not to weep + For her as dead who lived and loved me still. + We saw the prince grow up to man's estate, + So strong and full of manliness and grace, + And wise beyond his teachers and his years, + And thought in him the prophecies fulfilled, + And that with glory he would rule the world + And bless all men with universal peace. + But now dark shadows fall athwart our hopes. + Often in sleep the prince will start and cry + As if in pain, 'O world, sad world, I come!' + But roused, he'll sometimes sit the livelong day, + Forgetting teachers, sports and even food, + As if with dreadful visions overwhelmed, + Or buried in great thoughts profound and deep. + But yet to see our people, riding forth, + To their acclaims he answers with such grace + And gentle stateliness, my heart would swell + As I would hear the people to each other say; + 'Who ever saw such grace and grandeur joined?' + Yet while he answers gladness with like joy, + His eyes seem searching for the sick and old, + The poor, and maimed, and blind--all forms of grief, + And oft he'd say, tears streaming from his eyes,[13] + 'Let us return; my heart can bear no more.' + One day we saw beneath a peepul-tree + An aged Brahman, wasted with long fasts, + Loathsome with self-inflicted ghastly wounds, + A rigid skeleton, standing erect, + One hand stretched out, the other stretched aloft, + His long white beard grown filthy by neglect. + Whereat the prince with shuddering horror shook, + And cried, 'O world! must I be such for thee?' + And once he led the chase of a wild boar + In the great forest near the glacier's foot; + On Kantaka so fleet he soon outstripped + The rest, and in the distance disappeared. + But when at night they reached the rendezvous, + Siddartha was not there; and through the night + They searched, fearing to find their much loved prince + A mangled corpse under some towering cliff, + But searched in vain, and searched again next day, + Till in despair they thought to bring me word + The prince was lost, when Kantaka was seen + Loose-reined and free, and near Siddartha sat + Under a giant cedar's spreading shade. + Absorbed in thought, in contemplation lost, + Unconscious that a day and night had passed. + I cannot reason with such earnestness-- + I dare not chide such deep and tender love, + But much I fear his reason's overthrow + Or that he may become like that recluse + He shuddered at, and not a mighty king + With power to crush the wrong and aid the right. + How can we turn his mind from such sad thoughts + To life's full joys, the duties of a king, + And his great destiny so long foretold?" + + The oldest and the wisest answered him: + "Most noble king, your thoughts have long been mine. + Oft have I seen him lost in musings sad, + And overwhelmed with this absorbing love. + I know no cure for such corroding thoughts + But thoughts less sad, for such absorbing love + But stronger love." + "But how awake such thoughts?" + The king replied. "How kindle such a love? + His loves seem but as phosphorescent flames + That skim the surface, leaving him heart-whole-- + All but this deep and all-embracing love + That folds within its arms a suffering world." + + "Yes, noble king, so roams the antlered deer, + Adding each year a branch to his great horns, + Until the unseen archer lays him low. + So lives our prince; but he may see the day + Two laughing eyes shall pierce his inmost soul, + And make his whole frame quiver with new fire. + The next full moon he reaches man's estate. + We all remember fifty years ago + When you became a man, the sports and games, + The contests of fair women and brave men, + In beauty, arts and arms, that filled three days + With joy and gladness, music, dance and song. + Let us with double splendor now repeat + That festival, with prizes that shall draw + From all your kingdom and the neighbor states + Their fairest women and their bravest men. + If any chance shall bring his destined mate, + You then shall see love dart from eye to eye, + As darts the lightning's flash from cloud to cloud." + And this seemed good, and so was ordered done. + + The king to all his kingdom couriers sent, + And to the neighbor states, inviting all + To a great festival and royal games + The next full moon, day of Siddartha's birth, + And offering varied prizes, rich and rare, + To all in feats of strength and speed and skill, + And prizes doubly rich and doubly rare + To all such maidens fair as should compete + In youth and beauty, whencesoe'er they came, + The prince to be the judge and give the prize. + + Now all was joy and bustle in the streets, + And joy and stir in palace and in park, + The prince himself joining the joyful throng, + Forgetting now the sorrows of the world. + Devising and directing new delights + Until the park became a fairy scene. + + Behind the palace lay a maidan wide + For exercise in arms and manly sports, + Its sides bordered by gently rising hills, + Where at their ease the city's myriads sat + Under the shade of high-pruned spreading trees, + Fanned by cool breezes from the snow-capped peaks; + While north, and next the lake, a stately dome + Stood out, on slender, graceful columns raised, + With seats, rank above rank, in order placed, + The throne above, and near the throne were bowers + Of slender lattice-work, with trailing vines, + Thick set with flowers of every varied tint, + Breathing perfumes, where beauty's champions + Might sit, unseen of all yet seeing all. + + At length Siddartha's natal day arrives + With joy to rich and poor, to old and young--- + Not joy that wealth can buy or power command, + But real joy, that springs from real love, + Love to the good old king and noble prince. + + When dawning day tinges with rosy light + The snow-capped peaks of Himalaya's chain, + The people are astir. In social groups, + The old and young, companions, neighbors, friends, + Baskets well filled, they choose each vantage-ground, + Until each hill a sea of faces shows, + A sea of sparkling joy and rippling mirth. + + At trumpet-sound all eyes are eager turned + Up toward the palace gates, now open wide, + From whence a gay procession issues forth, + A chorus of musicians coming first, + And next the prince mounted on Kantaka; + Then all the high-born, youth in rich attire, + Mounted on prancing steeds with trappings gay; + And then the good old king, in royal state, + On his huge elephant, white as the snow, + Surrounded by his aged counselors, + Some on their chargers, some in litters borne, + Their long white beards floating in every breeze; + And next, competitors for every prize: + Twelve archers, who could pierce the lofty swans + Sailing from feeding-grounds by distant seas + To summer nests by Thibet's marshy lakes, + Or hit the whirring pheasant as it flies-- + For in this peaceful reign they did not make + Men targets for their art, and armor-joints + The marks through which to pierce and kill; + Then wrestlers, boxers, those who hurl the quoit, + And runners fleet, both lithe and light of limb; + And then twelve mighty spearmen, who could pierce + The fleeing boar or deer or fleet gazelle; + Then chariots, three horses yoked to each, + The charioteers in Persian tunics clad, + Arms bare, legs bare--all were athletes in power, + In form and race each an Apollo seemed; + Yoked to the first were three Nisaean steeds,[14] + Each snowy white, proud stepping, rangy, tall, + Chests broad, legs clean and strong, necks arched and high, + With foreheads broad, and eyes large, full and mild, + A race that oft Olympic prizes won, + And whose descendants far from Iran's plains + Bore armored knights in battle's deadly shock + On many bloody European fields; + Then three of ancient Babylonian stock,[15] + Blood bay and glossy as rich Tyrian silk-- + Such horses Israel's sacred prophets saw + Bearing their conquerors in triumph home, + A race for ages kept distinct and pure, + Fabled from Alexander's charger sprung; + Then three from distant desert Tartar steppes, + Ewe-necked, ill-favored creatures, lank and gaunt, + That made the people laugh as they passed by-- + Who ceased to laugh when they had run the race-- + Such horses bore the mighty Mongol hosts[16] + That with the cyclone's speed swept o'er the earth; + Then three, one gray, one bay, one glossy black, + Descended from four horses long since brought + By love-sick chief from Araby the blest, + Seeking with such rare gifts an Indian bride, + Whose slender, graceful forms, compact and light, + Combined endurance, beauty, strength and speed-- + A wondrous breed, whose famed descendants bore + The Moslem hosts that swept from off the earth + Thy mighty power, corrupt, declining Rome, + And with each other now alone contend + In speed, whose sons cast out, abused and starved, + Alone can save from raging whirlwind flames[17] + That all-devouring sweep our western plains; + Then stately elephants came next in line, + With measured step and gently swaying gait, + Covered with cloth of gold richly inwrought, + Each bearing in a howdah gaily decked + A fair competitor for beauty's prize, + With merry comrades and some sober friend; + The vina, bansuli, sitar and harp + Filling the air with sweetest melody, + While rippling laughter from each howdah rang, + And sweetest odors, as from op'ning flowers, + Breathed from their rich apparel as they passed. + + And thus they circle round the maidan wide, + And as they pass along the people shout, + "Long live the king! long live our noble prince!" + To all which glad acclaims the prince responds + With heartfelt courtesy and royal grace. + + When they had nearly reached the palace gate + On their return, the king drew to the right + With his attendants, while the prince with his + Drew to the left, reviewing all the line + That passed again down to the judges' seat, + Under the king's pavilion near the lake. + The prince eagerly watched them as they passed, + Noting their brawny limbs and polished arms, + The pose and skill of every charioteer, + The parts and varied breed of every horse, + Aiding his comrades with his deeper skill. + But when the queens of beauty passed him by, + He was all smiles and gallantry and grace, + Until the last, Yasodhara, came near, + Whose laugh was clearest of the merry crowd, + Whose golden hair imprisoned sunlight seemed, + Whose cheek, blending the lily with the rose, + Spoke of more northern skies and Aryan blood, + Whose rich, not gaudy, robes exquisite taste + Had made to suit her so they seemed a part + Of her sweet self; whose manner, simple, free, + Not bold or shy, whose features--no one saw + Her features, for her soul covered her face + As with a veil of ever-moving life. + When she came near, and her bright eyes met his, + He seemed to start; his gallantry was gone, + And like an awkward boy he sat and gazed; + And her laugh too was hushed, and she passed on, + Passed out of sight but never out of mind, + The king and all his counselors saw this. + "Good king, our deer is struck," Asita said, + "If this love cure him not, nothing can cure." + + +[1]Lieutenant-General Briggs, in his lectures on the aboriginal races +of India, says the Hindoos themselves refer the excavation of caves and +temples to the period of the aboriginal kings. + +[2]The art of irrigation, once practiced on such a mighty scale, now +seems practically a lost art but just now being revived on our western +plains. + +[3]"And, that which all faire workes doth most aggrace, The art, which +all that wrought, appeared in no place." + +--Faerie Queene, B. 2, Canto 12. + +[4]See Miss Gordon Cumming's descriptions of the fields of wild dahlias +in Northern India. + +[5]By far the finest display of the mettle and blood of high-bred +horses I have ever seen has been in the pasture-field, and this +description is drawn from life. + +[6]Once, coming upon a little prairie in the midst of a great forest, I +saw a herd of startled deer bound over the grass, a scene never to be +forgotten. + +[7]See Miss Gordon Cumming's description of a hill covered with this +luminous grass. + +[8]There can be no doubt that the fire-worship of the East is the +remains of a true but largely emblematic religion. + +[9]The difference between the Buddhist idea of a deva and the Christian +idea of an attendant angel is scarcely perceptible. + +[10]The Brahmans claim that Buddha's great doctrine of universal +brotherhood was taken from their sacred books and was not an +originality of Buddha, as his followers claim. + +[11]The Mediterranean or Egyptian wheat is said to have this origin. + +[12]At the time of Buddha's birth there seemed to be no mean between +the Chakravartin or absolute monarch and the recluse who had renounced +all ordinary duties and enjoyments, and was subjecting himself to all +deprivations and sufferings. Buddha taught the middle course of +diligence in daily duties and universal love. + +[13]I am aware that some Buddhist authors whom Arnold has followed in +his "Light of Asia" make Buddha but little better than a stale +prisoner, and would have us believe that the glimpses he got of the +ills that flesh is heir to were gained in spite of all precautions, as +he was occasionally taken out of his rose embowered, damsel filled +prison-house, and not as any prince of high intelligence and tender +sensibilities who loved his people and mingled freely with them would +gain a knowledge of suffering and sorrow; but we are justified in +passing all such fancies, not only on account of their intrinsic +improbability, but because the great Asvaghosha, who wrote about the +beginning of our era, knew nothing of them. + +[14]To suppose that the Aryan races when they emigrated to India or +Europe left behind them their most valuable possession, the Nisaean +horse, is to suppose them lacking in the qualities of thrift and +shrewdness which have distinguished their descendants. That the +Nisaean horse of the table-lands of Asia was the horse of the armored +knights of the middle ages and substantially the Percheron horse of +France, I had a curious proof: In Layard's Nineveh is a picture of a +Nisaean horse found among the ruins, which would have been taken as a +good picture Of a Percheron stallion I once owned, who stood for the +picture here drawn of what I regard as his undoubted ancestor. + +[15]Marco Polo speaks of the breed of horses here attempted to be +described as "excellent, large, strong and swift, said to be of the +race of Alexander's Bucephalus." + +[16]It is said that the Mongolians in their career of conquest could +move an army of 500,000 fifty miles a day, a speed out of the question +with all the facilities of modern warfare. + +[17]See Bret Harte's beautiful poem, "Sell Patchin," and also an +article on the "Horses of the Plains," in _The Century_, January, 1889. + + + + + BOOK II. + + She passed along, and then the king and prince + With their attendants wheeled in line and moved + Down to the royal stand, each to his place. + + The trumpets sound, and now the games begin. + + But see the scornful curl of Culture's lip + At such low sports! Dyspeptic preachers hear + Harangue the sleepers on their sinfulness! + Hear grave philosophers, so limp and frail + They scarce can walk God's earth to breathe his air, + Talk of the waste of time! Short-sighted men! + God made the body just to fit the mind, + Each part exact, no scrimping and no waste-- + Neglect the body and you cramp the soul. + + First brawny wrestlers, shining from the bath, + Wary and watchful, quick with arm and eye, + After long play clinch close, arms twined, knees locked, + Each nerve and muscle strained, and stand as still + As if a bronze from Vulcan's fabled shop, + Or else by power of magic changed to stone + In that supremest moment, when a breath + Or feather's weight would tip the balanced scale; + And when they fall the shouts from hill to hill + Sound like the voices of the mighty deep, + As wave on wave breaks on the rock-bound shore. + + Then boxers, eye to eye and foot to foot, + One arm at guard, the other raised to strike. + + The hurlers of the quoit next stand in line, + Measure the distance with experienced eye, + Adjust the rings, swing them with growing speed, + Until at length on very tiptoe poised, + Like Mercury just lighted on the earth, + With mighty force they whirl them through the air. + + And then the spearmen, having for a mark + A lion rampant, standing as in life, + So distant that it seemed but half life-size, + Each vital part marked with a little ring. + And when the spears were hurled, six trembling stood + Fixed in the beast, piercing each vital part, + Leaving the victory in even scale. + For these was set far off a lesser mark, + Until at length by chance, not lack of skill, + The victory so long in doubt was won. + And then again the people wildly shout, + The prince victor and nobly vanquished praised. + + Next runners, lithe and light, glide round the plain, + Whose flying feet like Mercury's seemed winged, + Their chests expanded, and their swinging arms + Like oars to guide and speed their rapid course; + And as they passed along the people cheered + Each well-known master of the manly art. + + Then archers, with broad chests and brawny arms + Such as the blacksmith's heavy hammer wields + With quick, hard blows that make the anvil ring + And myriad sparks from the hot iron fly; + A golden eagle on a screen their mark, + So distant that it seemed a sparrow's size-- + "For," said the prince, "let not this joyful day + Give anguish to the smallest living thing." + They strain their bows until their muscles seem + Like knotted cords, the twelve strings twang at once, + And the ground trembles as at the swelling tones + Of mighty organs or the thunder's roll. + Two arrows pierce the eagle, while the rest + All pierce the screen. A second mark was set, + When lo! high up in air two lines of swans, + Having one leader, seek their northern nests, + Their white plumes shining in the noonday sun, + Calling each other in soft mellow notes. + Instant one of the people cries "A mark!" + Whereat the thousands shout "A mark! a mark!" + One of the archers chose the leader, one the last. + Their arrows fly. The last swan left its mates + As if sore wounded, while the first came down + Like a great eagle swooping for its prey, + And fell before the prince, its strong wing pierced, + Its bright plumes darkened by its crimson blood. + Whereat the people shout, and shout again, + Until the hills repeat the mighty sound. + The prince gently but sadly raised the bird, + Stroked tenderly its plumes, calmed its wild fear, + And gave to one to care for and to cure. + + And now the people for the chariot-race + Grow eager, while beneath the royal stand, + By folding doors hid from the public view, + The steeds, harnessed and ready, champ their bits + And paw the ground, impatient for the start. + The charioteers alert, with one strong hand + Hold high the reins, the other holds the lash. + Timour--a name that since has filled the world, + A Tartar chief, whose sons long after swept + As with destruction's broom fair India's plains-- + With northern jargon calmed his eager steeds; + Azim, from Cashmere's rugged lovely vale, + His prancing Babylonians firmly held; + Channa, from Ganges' broad and sacred stream, + With bit and word checked his Nisaean three; + While Devadatta, cousin to the prince, + Soothed his impatient Arabs with such terms + As fondest mothers to their children use; + "Atair, my pet! Mira, my baby, hush! + Regil, my darling child, be still! be still!" + With necks high arched, nostrils distended wide, + And eager gaze, they stood as those that saw + Some distant object in their desert home. + + At length the gates open as of themselves, + When at the trumpet's sound the steeds dash forth + As by one spirit moved, under tight rein, + And neck and neck they thunder down the plain, + While rising dust-clouds chase the flying wheels. + But weight, not lack of nerve or spirit, tells; + Azim and Channa urge their steeds in vain, + By Tartar and light Arab left behind + As the light galley leaves the man-of-war; + They sweat and labor ere a mile is gained, + While their light rivals pass the royal stand + Fresh as at first, just warming to the race. + + And now the real race at length begins, + A double race, such as the Romans loved. + Horses so matched in weight and strength and speed, + Drivers so matched in skill that as they pass + Azim and Channa seemed a single man. + Timour and Devadatta, side by side, + Wheel almost touching wheel, dash far ahead. + + Azim and Channa, left so far behind, + No longer urge a race already lost. + The Babylonian and Nisaean steeds, + No longer pressed so far beyond their power, + With long and even strides sweep smoothly on, + Striking the earth as with a single blow, + Their hot breath rising in a single cloud. + Arab and Tartar with a longer stride + And lighter stroke skim lightly o'er the ground. + Watching the horses with a master's eye, + As Devadatta and Timour four times, + Azim and Channa thrice, swept by the stand, + The prince saw that another round would test, + Not overtax, their powers, and gave the sign, + When three loud trumpet-blasts to all proclaimed + That running one more round would end the race. + These ringing trumpet-calls that brought defeat + Or victory so near, startle and rouse. + The charioteers more ardent urge their steeds; + The steeds are with hot emulation fired; + The social multitude now cease to talk-- + Even age stops short in stories often told; + Boys, downy-chinned, in rough-and-tumble sports + Like half-grown bears engaged, turn quick and look; + And blooming girls, with merry ringing laugh, + Romping in gentler games, watching meanwhile + With sly and sidelong look the rougher sports, + Turn eagerly to see the scene below; + While mothers for the time forget their babes, + And lovers who had sought out quiet nooks + To tell the tale that all the past has told + And coming times will tell, stand mute and gaze. + The home-stretch soon is reached, and Channa's three + By word and lash urged to their topmost speed, + The foaming Babylonians left behind, + While Devadatta and Timour draw near, + A whole round gained, Timour a length ahead. + But Devadatta loosens now his reins, + Chides his fleet pets, with lash swung high in air + Wounds their proud spirits, not their tender flesh. + With lion-bounds they pass the Tartar steeds, + That with hot rival rage and open mouths, + And flaming eyes, and fierce and angry cries, + Dash full at Regil's side, but dash in vain. + Fear adding speed, the Arabs sweep ahead. + Meanwhile the prince springs forward from his seat, + And all on tiptoe still and eager stand, + So that the rumbling of the chariot-wheels, + The tramp of flying feet and drivers' cries, + Alone the universal stillness break-- + As when before the bursting of some fearful storm, + Birds, beasts and men stand mute with trembling awe, + While heaven's artillery and roaring winds + Are in the awful silence only heard. + But when the double victory is gained, + Drums, shells and trumpets mingle with the shouts + From hill to hill re-echoed and renewed-- + As when, after the morning's threatening bow, + Dark, lurid, whirling clouds obscure the day, + And forked lightnings dart athwart the sky, + And angry winds roll up the boiling sea, + And thunder, raging winds and warring waves + Join in one mighty and earth shaking roar. + + Thus end the games, and the procession forms, + The king and elders first, contestants next, + And last the prince; each victor laurel-crowned, + And after each his prize, while all were given + Some choice memorial of the happy day-- + Cinctures to all athletes to gird the loins + And falling just below the knee, the belt + Of stoutest leather, joined with silver clasps, + The skirt of softest wool or finest silk, + Adorned with needlework and decked with gems, + Such as the modest Aryans always wore + In games intended for the public view, + Before the Greeks became degenerate, + And savage Rome compelled those noble men + Whose only crime was love of liberty, + By discipline and numbers overwhelmed, + Bravely defending children, wife and home, + Naked to fight each other or wild beasts, + And called this brutal savagery high sport + For them and for their proud degenerate dames, + Of whom few were what Caesar's wife should be. + The athletes' prizes all were rich and rare, + Some costly emblem of their several arts. + The archers' prizes all were bows; the first + Made from the horns of a great mountain-goat + That long had ranged the Himalayan heights, + Till some bold hunter climbed his giddy cliffs + And brought his unsuspecting victim down. + His lofty horns the bowsmith root to root + Had firmly joined, and polished, bright, + And tipped with finest gold, and made a bow + Worthy of Sinhahamu's[1] mighty arm. + The other prizes, bows of lesser strength + But better suited to their weaker arms. + A chariot, the charioteers' first prize,[2] + Its slender hubs made strong with brazen bands, + The spokes of whitest ivory polished bright, + The fellies ebony, with tires of bronze, + Each axle's end a brazen tiger's head, + The body woven of slender bamboo shoots + Intwined with silver wire and decked with gold. + A mare and colt of the victorious breed + The second prize, more worth in Timour's eyes. + Than forty chariots, though each were made + Of ebony or ivory or gold, + And all the laurel India ever grew. + The third, a tunic of soft Cashmere wool, + On which, by skillful needles deftly wrought, + The race itself as if in life stood forth. + The fourth, a belt to gird the laggard's loins + And whip to stimulate his laggard steeds. + + And thus arrayed they moved once round the course, + Then to the palace, as a fitter place + For beauty's contest than the open plain; + The singers chanting a triumphal hymn, + While many instruments, deep toned and shrill, + And all the multitude, the chorus swell. + + This day his mission ceased to press the prince, + And he forgot the sorrows of the world, + So deep and earnest seemed the general joy. + Even those with grinning skeletons at home + In secret closets locked from public view, + And care and sorrow rankling at their hearts, + Joined in the general laugh and swelled the shouts, + And seemed full happy though they only seemed. + But through the games, while all was noisy mirth, + He felt a new, strange feeling at his heart, + And ever and anon he stole a glance + At beauty's rose-embowered hiding-place, + To catch a glimpse of those two laughing eyes, + So penetrating yet so soft and mild. + And at the royal banquet spread for all + It chanced Yasodhara sat next the prince-- + An accident by older heads designed-- + And the few words that such constraint allowed + Were music to his ears and touched his heart; + And when her eyes met his her rosy blush + Told what her maiden modesty would hide. + And at the dance, when her soft hands touched his + The music seemed to quicken, time to speed; + But when she bowed and passed to other hands, + Winding the mystic measure of the dance,[3] + The music seemed to slacken, time to halt, + Or drag his limping moments lingering on. + At length, after the dance, the beauties passed + Before the prince, and each received her prize. + So rich and rare that each thought hers the first, + A treasure to be kept and shown with pride, + And handed down to children yet unborn. + But when Yasodhara before him stood, + The prizes all were gone; but from his neck + He took a golden chain thick set with gems, + And clasped it round her slender waist, and said: + "Take this, and keep it for the giver's sake." + + And from the prince they passed before the king. + The proud and stately he would greet with grace, + The timid cheer with kind and gracious words. + But when Yasodhara bowed low and passed, + He started, and his color went and came + As if oppressed with sudden inward pain. + Asita, oldest of his counselors, + Sprang to his side and asked: "What ails the king?" + "Nothing, my friend, nothing," the king replied, + "But the sharp probing of an ancient wound. + You know how my sweet queen was loved of all-- + But how her life was woven into mine, + Filling my inmost soul, none e'er can know. + My bitter anguish words can never tell, + As that sweet life was gently breathed away. + Time only strengthens this enduring love, + And she seems nearer me as I grow old. + Often in stillest night's most silent hour, + When the sly nibbling of a timid mouse + In the deep stillness sounds almost as loud + As builders' hammers in the busy day, + My Maya as in life stands by my side. + A halo round her head, as she would say: + 'A little while, and you shall have your own.' + Often in deepest sleep she seems to steal + Into that inmost chamber of my soul + Vacant for her, and nestle to my heart, + Breathing a peace my waking hours know not. + And when I wake, and turn to clasp my love + My sinking heart finds but her vacant place. + Since that sad day that stole her from my arms + I've seen a generation of sweet girls + Grow up to womanhood, but none like her! + Hut that bright vision that just flitted by + Seemed so like her it made me cringe and start. + O dear Asita, little worth is life, + With all its tears and partings, woes and pains, + If when its short and fitful fever ends + There is no after-life, where death and pain, + And sundered ties, and crushed and bleeding hearts, + And sad and last farewells are never known." + + Such was the old and such the new-born love; + The new quick bursting into sudden flame, + Warming the soul to active consciousness + That man alone is but a severed part + Of one full, rounded, perfect, living whole; + The old a steady but undying flame, + A living longing for the loved and lost; + But each a real hunger of the soul + For what gave paradise its highest bliss, + And what in this poor fallen world of ours + Gives glimpses of its high and happy life. + + O love! how beautiful! how pure! how sweet! + Life of the angels that surround God's throne! + But when corrupt, Pandora's box itself, + Whence spring all human ills and woes and crimes, + The very fire that lights the flames of hell. + + The festival is past. The crowds have gone, + The diligent to their accustomed round + Of works and days, works to each day assigned, + The thoughtless and the thriftless multitude + To meet their tasks haphazard as they come, + But all the same old story to repeat + Of cares and sorrows sweetened by some joys. + + Three days the sweet Yasodhara remained, + For her long journey taking needful rest. + But when the rosy dawn next tinged the east + And lit the mountain-tops and filled the park + With a great burst of rich and varied song, + The good old king bade the sweet girl farewell, + Imprinting on her brow a loving kiss, + While welling up from tender memories + Big tear-drops trickled down his furrowed cheeks. + And as her train, escorted by the prince + And noble youth, wound slowly down the hill, + The rising sun with glory gilds the city + That like a diadem circled its brow, + While giant shadows stretch across the plain; + And when they reach the plain they halt for rest + Deep in a garden's cooling shade, where flowers + That fill the air with grateful fragrance hang + By ripening fruits, and where all seems at rest + Save two young hearts and tiny tireless birds + That dart from flower to newer to suck their sweets, + And even the brook that babbled down the hill + Now murmurs dreamily as if asleep. + Sweet spot! sweet hour! how quick its moments fly! + How soon the cooling winds and sinking sun + And bustling stir of preparation tells + 'Tis time for her to go; and when they part, + The gentle pressure of the hand, one kiss-- + A kiss not given yet not resisted--tells + A tale of love that words are poor to tell. + And when she goes how lonely seems her way + Through groves, through fields, through busy haunts of men; + And as he climbs the hill and often stops + To watch her lessening train until at length + Her elephant seems but a moving speck, + Proud Kantaka, pawing and neighing, asks + As plain as men could ever ask in, words: + "What makes my master choose this laggard pace?" + + At length she climbs those rocky, rugged hills. + That guarded well the loveliest spot on earth + Until the Moguls centuries after came, + Like swarms of locusts swept before the wind, + Or ravening wolves, to conquer fair Cashmere.[4] + And when she reached the top, before her lay, + As on a map spread out, her native land, + By lofty mountains walled on every side, + From winds, from wars, and from the world shut out; + The same great snow-capped mountains north and east + In silent, glittering, awful grandeur stand, + And west the same bold, rugged, cliff-crowned hills. + That filled her eyes with wonder when a child. + Below the snow a belt of deepest green; + Below this belt of green great rolling hills, + Checkered with orchards, vineyards, pastures, fields, + The vale beneath peaceful as sleeping babe, + The city nestling round the shining lake, + And near the park and palace, her sweet home. + + O noble, peaceful, beautiful Cashmere! + Well named the garden of eternal spring! + But yet, with home and all its joys so near. + She often turned and strained her eager eyes + To catch one parting glimpse of that sweet spot + Where more than half of her young heart was left. + + At length their horns, whose mocking echoes + Rolled from hill to hill, were answered from below, + While from the park a gay procession comes, + Increasing as it moves, to welcome her, + Light of the palace, the people's idol, home. + + The prince's thoughts by day and dreams by night + Meanwhile were filled with sweet Yasodhara, + And this bright vision ever hovering near + Hid from his eyes those grim and ghastly forms, + Night-loving and light-shunning brood of sin, + That ever haunt poor fallen human lives, + And from the darkened corners of the soul + Are quick to sting each pleasure with sharp pain, + To pour some bitter in life's sweetest cup, + And shadow with despair its brightest hopes-- + Made him forget how sorrow fills the world, + How strength is used to crush and not to raise, + How creeds are bandages to blind men's eyes, + Lest they should see and walk in duty's path + That leads to peace on earth and joy in heaven, + And even made him for the time forget + His noble mission to restore and save. + + He sought her for his bride, but waited long, + For princes cannot wed like common folk-- + Friends called, a feast prepared, some bridal gifts, + Some tears at parting and some solemn vows, + Rice scattered, slippers thrown with noisy mirth, + And common folk are joined till death shall part. + Till death shall part! O faithless, cruel thought! + Death ne'er shall part souls joined by holy love, + Who through life's trials, joys and cares + Have to each other clung, faithful till death, + Tender and true in sickness and in health, + Bearing each other's burdens, sharing griefs, + Lightening each care and heightening every joy. + Such life is but a transient honeymoon, + A feeble foretaste of eternal joys. + But princes when they love, though all approve, + Must wait on councils, embassies and forms. + But how the coach of state lumbers and lags + With messages of love whose own light wings + Glide through all bars, outstrip all fleetest things-- + No bird so light, no thought so fleet as they. + + But while the prince chafed at the long delay, + The sweet Yasodhara began to feel + The bitter pangs of unrequited love. + But her young hands, busy with others' wants, + And her young heart, busy with others' woes, + With acts of kindness filled the lagging hours, + Best of all medicines for aching hearts. + Yet often she would seek a quiet nook + Deep in the park, where giant trees cross arms, + Making high gothic arches, and a shade + That noonday's fiercest rays could scarcely pierce, + And there alone with her sad heart communed: + "Yes! I have kept it for the giver's sake, + But he has quite forgot his love, his gift, and me. + How bright these jewels seemed warmed by his love, + But now how dull, how icy and how dead!" + But soon the soft-eyed antelopes and fawns + And fleet gazelles came near and licked her hands; + And birds of every rich and varied plume + Gathered around and filled the air with song; + And even timid pheasants brought their broods, + For her sweet loving life had here restored + The peace and harmony of paradise; + And as they shared her bounty she was soothed + By their mute confidence and perfect trust. + + But though time seems to lag, yet still it moves, + Resistless as the ocean's swelling tide, + Bearing its mighty freight of human lives + With all their joys and sorrows, hopes and fears, + Onward, forever onward, to life's goal. + At length the embassy is sent, and now, + Just as the last faint rays of rosy light + Fade from the topmost Himalayan peaks, + And tired nature sinks to quiet rest, + A horseman dashes through the silent streets + Bearing the waiting prince the welcome word + That one short journey of a single day + Divides him from the sweet Yasodhara; + And light-winged rumor spreads the joyful news, + And ere the dawn had danced from mountain-top + O'er hill and vale and plain to the sweet notes + Of nature's rich and varied orchestra, + And dried the pearly tears that night had wept, + The prince led forth his train to meet his bride, + Wondering that Kantaka, always so free, + So eager and so fleet, should seem to lag. + And in that fragrant garden's cooling shade, + Where they had parted, now again they meet, + And there we leave them reverently alone, + For art can never paint nor words describe + The peace and rest and rapture of that scene. + + Meanwhile the city rings with busy stir. + The streets are swept and sprinkled with perfumes, + And when the evening shades had veiled the earth, + And heaven's blue vault was set with myriad stars, + The promised signal from the watchtower sounds, + And myriad lamps shine from each house and tree, + And merry children strew their way with flowers, + And all come forth to greet Siddartha's bride, + And welcome her, their second Maya, home. + And at the palace gate the good old king + Receives her with such loving tenderness, + As fondest mother, sick with hope deferred, + Waiting and watching for an absent child, + At length receives him in her open arms. + +[1]Sinhahamu was an ancestor, said to be the grandfather, of our +prince, whose bow, like that of Ulysses, no one else could bend. See +notes 24 and 35 to Book Second of Arnold's "Light of Asia." + +[2]Any one who has read that remarkable work, "Ben Bur," and every one +who has not should, will recognize my obligations to General Wallace. + +[3]One may be satisfied with the antiquity of the dance, practically as +we have it, from lines 187-8, Book VI. of the Odyssey: + + "Joyful they see applauding princes gaze + When stately in the dance they swim the harmonious maze." + + +[4]I am aware I place Kapilavasta nearer the Vale of Cashmere than +most, but as two such writers as Beal and Rhys Davids differ 30 +yojanas, or 180 miles in its location, and as no remains have yet been +identified at all corresponding to the grandeur of the ancient city as +described by all Buddhist writers, I felt free to indulge my fancy. +Perhaps these ruins may yet be found by some chance traveler in some +unexplored jungle. + + + + + BOOK III. + + And now his cup with every blessing filled + Full to the brim, to overflowing full, + What more has life to give or heart to wish? + Stately in form, with every princely grace, + A very master of all manly arts, + His gentle manners making all his friends, + His young blood bounding on in healthful flow, + His broad domains rich in all earth can yield, + Guarded by nature and his people's love, + And now that deepest of all wants supplied, + The want of one to share each inmost thought, + Whose sympathy can soothe each inmost smart, + Whose presence, care and loving touch can make + The palace or the humblest cottage home, + His life seemed rounded, perfect, full, complete. + And they were happy as the days glide on, + And when at night, locked in each other's arms, + They sink to rest, heart beating close to heart, + Their thoughts all innocence and trust and love, + It almost seemed as if remorseless Time + Had backward rolled his tide, and brought again + The golden age, with all its peace and joy, + And our first parents, ere the tempter came, + Were taking sweet repose in paradise. + But as one night they slept, a troubled dream + Disturbed the prince. He dreamed he saw one come, + As young and fair as sweet Yasodhara, + But clad in widow's weeds, and in her arms + A lifeless child, crying: "Most mighty prince! + O bring me back my husband and my child!" + But he could only say "Alas! poor soul!" + And started out of sleep he cried "Alas!" + Which waked the sweet Yasodhara, who asked, + "What ails my love?" "Only a troubled dream," + The prince replied, but still she felt him tremble, + And kissed and stroked his troubled brow, + And soothed him into quiet sleep again. + And then once more he dreamed--a pleasing dream. + He dreamed he heard strange music, soft and sweet; + He only caught its burden: "Peace, be still!" + And then he thought he saw far off a light, + And there a place where all was peace and rest, + And waking sighed to find it all a dream. + + One day this happy couple, side by side, + Rode forth alone, Yasodhara unveiled-- + "For why," said she, "should those whose thoughts are pure + Like guilty things hide from their fellow-men?"-- + Rode through the crowded streets, their only guard + The people's love, strongest and best of guards; + For many arms would spring to their defense, + While some grim tyrant, at whose stern command + A million swords would from their scabbards leap, + Cringes in terror behind bolts and bars, + Starts at each sound, and fears some hidden mine + May into atoms blow his stately towers, + Or that some hand unseen may strike him down, + And thinks that poison lurks in every cup, + While thousands are in loathsome dungeons thrust + Or pine in exile for a look or word. + And as they pass along from street to street + A sea of happy faces lines their way, + Their joyful greetings answered by the prince. + No face once seen, no name once heard, forgot, + While sweet Yasodhara was wreathed in smiles, + The kind expression of her gentle heart, + When from a little cottage by the way, + The people making room for him to pass, + There came an aged man, so very old + That time had ceased to register his years; + His step was firm, his eye, though faded, mild, + And childhood's sweet expression on his face. + The prince stopped short before him, bending low, + And gently asked: "What would my father have? + Speak freely--what I can, I freely give." + "Most noble prince, I need no charity, + For my kind neighbors give me all unasked, + And my poor cottage where my fathers dwelt, + And where my children and their mother died, + Is kept as clean as when sweet Gunga lived; + And young and old cheer up my lonely hours, + And ask me much of other times and men. + For when your father's father was a child, + I was a man, as young and strong as you, + And my sweet Gunga your companion's age. + But O the mystery of life explain! + Why are we born to tread this little round, + To live, to love, to suffer, sorrow, die? + Why do the young like field-flowers bloom to fade? + Why are the strong like the mown grass cut down? + Why am I left as if by death forgot, + Left here alone, a leafless, fruitless trunk? + Is death the end, or what comes after death? + Often when deepest sleep shuts out the world, + The dead still seem to live, while life fades out; + And when I sit alone and long for light + The veil seems lifted, and I seem to see + A world of life and light and peace and rest, + No sickness, sin or sorrow, pain or death, + No helpless infancy or hopeless age. + But we poor Sudras cannot understand-- + Yet from my earliest memory I've heard + That from this hill one day should burst a light, + Not for the Brahmans only, but for all. + And when you were a child I saw a sage + Bow down before you, calling you that light. + O noble, mighty prince! let your light shine, + That men no longer grope in dark despair!" + + He spoke, and sank exhausted on the ground. + They gently raised him, but his life was fled. + The prince gave one a well-filled purse and said: + "Let his pile neither lack for sandal-wood + Or any emblem of a life well spent." + And when fit time had passed they bore him thence + And laid him on that couch where all sleep well, + Half hid in flowers by loving children brought, + A smile still lingering on his still, cold lips, + As if they just had tasted Gunga's kiss, + Soon to be kissed by eager whirling flames. + + Just then two stately Brahmans proudly passed-- + Passed on the other side, gathering their robes + To shun pollution from the common touch, + And passing said: "The prince with Sudras talks + As friend to friend--but wisdom comes with years." + + Silent and thoughtful then they homeward turned, + The prince deep musing on the old man's words; + "'The veil is lifted, and I seem to see + A world of life and light and peace and rest.' + O if that veil would only lift for me + The mystery of life would be explained." + As they passed on through unfrequented streets, + Seeking to shun the busy, thoughtless throng, + Those other words like duty's bugle-call + Still ringing in his ears: "Let your light shine, + That men no longer grope in dark despair"-- + The old sad thoughts, long checked by passing joys, + Rolling and surging, swept his troubled soul-- + As pent-up waters, having burst their dams, + Sweep down the valleys and o'erwhelm the plains. + + Just then an aged, angry voice cried out: + "O help! they've stolen my jewels and my gold!" + And from a wretched hovel by the way + An old man came, hated and shunned by all, + Whose life was spent in hoarding unused gold, + Grinding the poor, devouring widows' homes; + Ill fed, ill clad, from eagerness to save, + His sunken eyes glittering with rage and greed. + And when the prince enquired what troubled him: + "Trouble enough," he said, "my sons have fled + Because I would not waste in dainty fare + And rich apparel all my life has saved, + And taken all my jewels, all my gold. + Would that they both lay dead before my face! + O precious jewels! O beloved gold!" + The prince, helpless to soothe, hopeless to cure + This rust and canker of the soul, passed on, + His heart with all-embracing pity filled. + "O deepening mystery of life!" he cried, + "Why do such souls in human bodies dwell-- + Fitter for ravening wolves or greedy swine! + Just at death's door cursing his flesh and blood + For thievish greed inherited from him. + Is this old age, or swinish greed grown old? + O how unlike that other life just fled! + His youth's companions, wife and children, dead, + Yet filled with love for all, by all beloved, + With his whole heart yearning for others' good, + With his last breath bewailing others' woes." + "My best beloved," said sweet Yasodhara, + Her bright eyes filled with sympathetic tears, + Her whole soul yearning for his inward peace, + "Brood not too much on life's dark mystery-- + Behind the darkest clouds the sun still shines." + "But," said the prince, "the many blindly grope + In sorrow, fear and ignorance profound, + While their proud teachers, with their heads erect, + Stalk boldly on, blind leaders of the blind. + Come care, come fasting, woe and pain for me, + And even exile from my own sweet home, + All would I welcome could I give them light." + "But would you leave your home, leave me, leave all, + And even leave our unborn pledge of love, + The living blending of our inmost souls, + That now within me stirs to bid you pause?" + "Only for love of you and him and all! + O hard necessity! O bitter cup! + But would you have me like a coward shun + The path of duty, though beset with thorns-- + Thorns that must pierce your tender feet and mine?" + Piercing the question as the sharpest sword; + Their love, their joys, tempted to say him nay. + But soon she conquered all and calmly said: + "My love, my life, where duty plainly calls + I bid you go, though my poor heart must bleed, + And though my eyes weep bitter scalding tears." + + Their hearts too full for words, too full for tears, + Gently he pressed her hand and they passed home; + And in the presence of this dark unknown + A deep and all-pervading tenderness + Guides every act and tempers every tone-- + As in the chamber of the sick and loved + The step is light, the voice is soft and low. + But soon their days with varied duties filled, + Their nights with sweet repose, glide smoothly on, + Until this shadow seems to lift and fade-- + As when the sun bursts through the passing storm, + Gilding the glittering raindrops as they fall, + And paints the bow of hope on passing clouds. + Yet still the old sad thoughts sometimes return, + The burden of a duty unperformed, + The earnest yearning for a clearer light. + The thought that hour by hour and day by day + The helpless multitudes grope blindly on, + Clouded his joys and often banished sleep. + + One day in this sad mood he thought to see + His people as they are in daily life, + And not in holiday attire to meet their prince. + In merchant's dress, his charioteer his clerk, + The prince and Channa passed unknown, and saw + The crowded streets alive with busy hum, + Traders cross-legged, with their varied wares, + The wordy war to cheapen or enhance, + One rushing on to clear the streets for wains + With huge stone wheels, by slow strong oxen drawn; + Palanquin-bearers droning out "Hu, hu, ho, ho," + While keeping step and praising him they bear; + The housewives from the fountain water bring + In balanced water-jars, their black-eyed babes + Athwart their hips, their busy tongues meanwhile + Engaged in gossip of the little things + That make the daily round of life to them; + The skillful weaver at his clumsy loom; + The miller at his millstones grinding meal; + The armorer, linking his shirts of mail; + The money-changer at his heartless trade; + The gaping, eager crowd gathered to watch + Snake-charmers, that can make their deadly charge + Dance harmless to the drone of beaded gourds; + Sword-players, keeping many knives in air; + Jugglers, and those that dance on ropes swung high: + And all this varied work and busy idleness + As in a panorama passing by. + + While they were passing through these varied scenes, + The prince, whose ears were tuned to life's sad notes, + Whose eyes were quick to catch its deepest shades, + Found sorrow, pain and want, disease and death, + Were woven in its very warp and woof. + A tiger, springing from a sheltering bush, + Had snatched a merchant's comrade from his side; + A deadly cobra, hidden by the path, + Had stung to death a widow's only son; + A breath of jungle-wind a youth's blood chilled, + Or filled a strong man's bones with piercing pain; + A household widowed by a careless step; + The quick cross-lightning from an angry cloud + Struck down a bridegroom bringing home his bride-- + All this and more he heard, and much he saw: + A young man, stricken in life's early prime, + Shuffled along, dragging one palsied limb, + While one limp arm hung useless by his side; + A dwarf sold little knickknacks by the way, + His body scarcely in the human form, + To which long arms and legs seemed loosely hung, + His noble head thrust forward on his breast, + Whose pale, sad face as plainly told as words + That life had neither health nor hope for him; + An old man tottering from a hovel came, + Frail, haggard, palsied, leaning on a staff, + Whose eyes, dull, glazed and meaningless, proclaim + The body lingers when the mind has fled; + One seized with sudden hot distemper of the blood, + Writhing with anguish, by the wayside sunk. + The purple plague-spot on his pallid cheek, + Cold drops of perspiration on his brow, + With wildly rolling eyes and livid lips, + Gasping for breath and feebly asking help-- + But ere the prince could aid, death gave relief. + + At length they passed the city's outer gate + And down a stream, now spread in shining pools, + Now leaping in cascades, now dashing on, + A line of foam along its rocky bed, + Bordered by giant trees with densest shade. + Here, day by day, the city bring their dead; + Here, day by day, they build the funeral-piles; + Here lamentations daily fill the air; + Here hissing flames each day taste human flesh, + And friendly watchmen guard the smoldering pile + Till friends can cull the relics from the dust. + And here, just finished, rose a noble pile + By stately Brahmans for a Brahman built + Of fragrant woods, and drenched with fragrant oils, + Loading the air with every sweet perfume + That India's forests or her fields can yield; + Above, a couch of sacred cusa-grass, + On which no dreams disturb the sleeper's rest. + And now the sound of music reaches them, + Far off at first, solemn and sad and slow, + Rising and swelling as it nearer comes, + Until a long procession comes in view. + Four Brahmans first, bearing in bowls the fire + No more to burn on one deserted hearth, + Then stately Brahmans on their shoulders bore + A noble brother of their sacred caste, + In manhood's bloom and early prime cut down. + Then Brahman youth, bearing a little child + Half hid in flowers, and as in seeming sleep. + Then other Brahmans in a litter bore + One young and fair, in early womanhood, + Her youthful beauty joined with matron grace, + In bridal dress adorned with costly gems-- + The very face the prince had dreaming seen, + The very child she carried in her arms. + Then many more, uncovered, four by four, + The aged first, then those in manhood's prime, + And then the young with many acolytes + Chanting in unison their sacred hymns, + Accompanied by many instruments, + Both wind and string, in solemn symphony; + And at respectful distance other castes, + Afraid to touch a Brahman's sacred robes + Or even mingle with his grief their tears. + And when they reached the fragrant funeral-pile, + Weeping they placed their dead on their last couch, + The child within its father's nerveless arms; + And when all funeral rites had been performed, + The widow circled thrice the funeral-pile, + Distributing her gifts with lavish hand, + Bidding her friends a long and last farewell-- + Then stopped, and raised her tearless eyes and said: + "Farewell, a long farewell, to life and friends! + Farewell! O earth and air and sacred sun! + Nanda, my lord, Udra, my child, I come!" + Then pale but calm, with fixed ecstatic gaze + And steady steps she mounts the funeral-pile, + Crying, "They beckon me! I come! I come!" + Then sunk as if the silver cord were loosed + As still as death upon her silent dead. + Instant the flames from the four corners leaped, + Mingling in one devouring, eager blaze. + No groan, no cry, only the crackling flames, + The wailing notes of many instruments, + And solemn chant by many voices raised, + "Perfect is she who follows thus her lord." + O dark and cruel creeds, O perfect love, + Fitter for heaven than this sad world of ours! + + More than enough the prince had seen and heard. + Bowed by the grievous burdens others bore, + Feeling for others' sorrows as his own, + Tears of divinest pity filled his eyes + And deep and all-embracing love his heart. + Home he returned, no more to find its rest. + + But soon a light shines in that troubled house-- + A son is born to sweet Yasodhara. + Their eyes saw not, neither do ours, that sun + Whose light is wisdom and whose heat is love, + Sending through nature waves of living light, + Giving its life to everything that lives, + Which through the innocence of little ones + As through wide-open windows sends his rays + To light the darkest, warm the coldest heart. + Sweet infancy! life's solace and its rest, + Driving away the loneliness of age, + Wreathing in smiles the wrinkled brow of care, + Nectar to joyful, balm to troubled hearts, + Joyful once more is King Suddhodana; + A placid joy beams from that mother's face; + Joy lit the palace, flew from street to street, + And from the city over hill and plain; + + Joy filled the prince's agitated soul-- + He felt a power, from whence he could not tell, + Drawing away, he knew not where it led. + He knew the dreaded separation near, + Yet half its pain and bitterness was passed. + He need not leave his loved ones comfortless-- + His loving people still would have their prince, + The king in young Rahula have his son, + And sweet Yasodhara, his very life, + Would have that nearest, dearest comforter + To soothe her cares and drive away her tears.[1] + + But now strange dreams disturb the good old king-- + Dreams starting him in terror from his sleep, + Yet seeming prophecies of coming good. + He dreamed he saw the flag his fathers loved + In tatters torn and trailing in the dust, + But in its place another glorious flag, + Whose silken folds seemed woven thick with gems + That as it waved glittered with dazzling light. + He dreamed he saw proud embassies from far + Bringing the crowns and scepters of the earth, + Bowing in reverence before the prince, + Humbly entreating him to be their king-- + From whom he fled in haste as if in fear. + Then dreamed he saw his son in tattered robes + Begging from Sudras for his daily bread. + Again, he dreamed he saw the ancient tower + Where he in worship had so often knelt, + Rising and shining clothed with living light, + And on its top the prince, beaming with love, + Scattering with lavish hand the richest gems + On eager crowds that caught them as they fell. + But soon it vanished, and he saw a hill, + Rugged and bleak, cliff crowned and bald and bare, + And there he saw the prince, kneeling alone, + Wasted with cruel fastings till his bones + Clave to his skin, and in his sunken eyes + With fitful flicker gleamed the lamp of life + Until they closed, and on the ground he sank, + As if in death or in a deadly swoon; + And then the hill sank to a spreading plain, + Stretching beyond the keenest vision's ken, + Covered with multitudes as numberless + As ocean's sands or autumn's forest leaves; + And mounted on a giant elephant, + White as the snows on Himalaya's peaks, + The prince rode through their midst in royal state, + And as he moved along he heard a shout, + Rising and swelling, like the mighty voice + Of many waters breaking on the shore: + "All hail! great Chakravartin, king of kings! + Hail! king of righteousness! Hail! prince of peace!" + + Strange dreams! Where is their birthplace--where their home? + Lighter than foam upon the crested wave, + Fleeter than shadows of the passing cloud, + They are of such fantastic substance made + That quick as thought they change their fickle forms-- + Now grander than the waking vision views, + Now stranger than the wildest fancy feigns, + And now so grim and terrible they start + The hardened conscience from its guilty sleep. + In troops they come, trooping they fly away, + Waved into being by the magic wand + Of some deep purpose of the inmost soul, + Some hidden joy or sorrow, guilt or fear-- + Or better, as the wise of old believed, + Called into being by some heavenly guest + To soothe, to warn, instruct or terrify. + + Strange dreams by night and troubled thoughts by day + Disturb the prince and banish quiet sleep. + He dreamed that darkness, visible and dense, + Shrouded the heavens and brooded o'er the earth, + Whose rayless, formless, vacant nothingness + Curdled his blood and made his eyeballs ache; + When suddenly from out this empty void + A cloud, shining with golden light, was borne + By gentle winds, loaded with sweet perfumes, + Sweeter than spring-time on this earth can yield. + The cloud passed just above him, and he saw + Myriads of cherub faces looking down, + Sweet as Rahula, freed from earthly stain; + Such faces mortal brush could never paint-- + Enraptured Raphael ne'er such faces saw. + But still the outer darkness hovered near, + And ever and anon a bony hand + Darts out to snatch some cherub face away. + Then dreamed he saw a broad and pleasant land, + With cities, gardens, groves and fruitful fields, + Where bee-fed flowers half hide the ripening fruits. + And spicy breezes stir the trembling leaves, + And many birds make sweetest melody, + But bordered by a valley black as night, + That ever vomits from its sunless depths + Great whirling clouds of suffocating smoke, + Blacker than hide the burning Aetna's head, + Blacker than over Lake Avernus hung; + No bird could fly above its fatal fumes; + Eagles, on tireless pinions upward borne, + In widening circles rising toward the sun, + Venturing too near its exhalations, fall, + As sinks the plummet in the silent sea; + And lions, springing on their antlered prey, + Drop still and lifeless on its deadly brink; + Only the jackal's dismal howl is heard + To break its stillness and eternal sleep. + He was borne forward to the very verge + Of this dark valley, by some power unseen. + A wind that pierced his marrow parts the clouds, + And far within, below he saw a sight + That stood his hair on end, beaded his brow + With icy drops, and made his blood run cold; + He saw a lofty throne, blacker than jet, + But shining with a strange and baleful light + That made him shade his blinded, dazzled eyes, + And seated on that throne a ghastly form + That seemed a giant human skeleton, + But yet in motion terrible and quick + As lightning, killing ere the thunders roll; + His fleshless skull had on a seeming crown, + While from his sunken sockets glared his eyes + Like coals of fire or eyes of basilisk, + And from his bony hand each instant flew + Unerring darts that flew to pierce and kill, + Piercing the infant in its mother's arms, + The mother when she feels her first-born's breath, + Piercing the father in his happy home, + Piercing the lover tasting love's first kiss, + Piercing the vanquished when his banners fall, + Piercing the victor 'mid triumphant shouts, + Piercing the mighty monarch on his throne; + While from a towering cypress growing near + Every disease to which frail flesh is heir + Like ravening vultures watch each arrow's flight, + And quick as thought glide off on raven's wings + To bring the wounded, writhing victim in-- + As well-trained hunters mark their master's aim, + Then fly to bring the wounded quarry home. + Meanwhile a stifling stench rose from below-- + As from a battle-field where nations met + And fiery ranks of living valor fought, + Now food for vultures, moldering cold and low-- + And bleaching bones were scattered everywhere. + + Startled he wakes and rises from his couch. + The lamps shine down with soft and mellow light. + The fair Yasodhara still lay in sleep, + But not in quiet sleep. Her bosom heaved + As if a sigh were seeking to escape; + Her brows were knit as if in pain or fear, + And tears were stealing from her close-shut lids. + But sweet Rahula slept, and sleeping smiled + As if he too those cherub faces saw. + In haste alone he noiselessly stole forth + To wander in the park, and cool his brow + And calm his burdened, agitated soul. + The night had reached that hour preceding dawn + When nature seems in solemn silence hushed, + Awed by the glories of the coming day. + The moon hung low above the western plains; + Unnumbered stars with double brightness shine, + And half-transparent mists the landscape veil, + Through which the mountains in dim grandeur rise. + Silent, alone he crossed the maidan wide + Where first he saw the sweet Yasodhara, + Where joyful multitudes so often met, + Now still as that dark valley of his dream. + He passed the lake, mirror of heaven's high vault, + Whose ruffled waters ripple on the shore, + Stirred by cool breezes from the snow-capped peaks; + And heedless of his way passed on and up, + Through giant cedars and the lofty pines, + Over a leafy carpet, velvet soft, + While solemn voices from their branches sound, + Strangely in unison with his sad soul; + And on and up until he reached a spot + Above the trees, above the mist-wrapped world, + Where opening chasms yawned on every side. + Perforce he stopped; and, roused from revery, + Gazed on the dark and silent world below. + The moon had sunk from sight, the stars grew dim, + And densest darkness veiled the sleeping world, + When suddenly bright beams of rosy light + Shot up the east; the highest mountain-top + Glittered as if both land and sea had joined + Their richest jewels and most costly gems + To make its crown; from mountain-peak to peak + The brightness spread, and darkness slunk away, + Until between two giant mountain-tops + Glittered a wedge of gold; the hills were tinged, + And soon the sun flooded the world with light + As when the darkness heard that first command: + "Let there be light!" and light from chaos shone. + Raptured he gazed upon the glorious scene. + "And can it be," he said, "with floods of light + Filling the blue and boundless vault above, + Bathing in brightness mountain, hill and plain, + Sending its rays to ocean's hidden depths, + With light for bird and beast and creeping thing, + Light for all eyes, oceans of light to spare, + That man alone from outer darkness comes, + Gropes blindly on his brief and restless round, + And then in starless darkness disappears? + There must be light, fountains of living light, + For which my thirsty spirit pining pants + As pants the hunted hart for water-brooks-- + Another sun, lighting a better world, + Where weary souls may find a welcome rest. + Gladly I'd climb yon giddy mountain-heights, + Or gladly take the morning's wings and fly + To earth's remotest bounds, if light were there, + Welcome to me the hermit's lonely cell, + And welcome dangers, labors, fastings, pains-- + All would be welcome could I bring the light + To myriads now in hopeless darkness sunk. + Farewell to kingdom, comforts, home and friends! + All will I leave to seek this glorious light." + The die is cast, the victory is gained. + Though love of people, parent, wife and child, + Half selfish, half divine, may bid him pause, + A higher love, unselfish, all divine, + For them and every soul, bade him go forth + To seek for light, and seek till light be found. + Home he returned, now strong to say farewell. + + Meanwhile the sweet Yasodhara still slept, + And dreamed she saw Siddartha's empty couch. + She dreamed she saw him flying far away, + And when she called to him he answered not, + But only stopped his ears and faster flew + Until he seemed a speck, and then was gone. + And then she heard a mighty voice cry out: + "The time has come--his glory shall appear!" + Waked by that voice, she found his empty couch, + Siddartha gone, and with him every joy; + But not all joy, for there Rahula lay, + With great wide-open eyes and cherub smile, + Watching the lights that flickered on the wall. + Caught in her arms she pressed him to her heart + To still its tumult and to ease its pain. + + But now that step she knew so well is heard. + Siddartha comes, filled with unselfish love + Until his face beamed with celestial light + That like a holy halo crowned his head. + Gently he spoke: "My dearest and my best, + The time has come--the time when we must part. + Let not your heart be troubled--it is best." + This said, a tender kiss spoke to her heart, + In love's own language, of unchanging love. + When sweet Rahula stretched his little arms, + And cooing asked his share of tenderness, + Siddartha from her bosom took their boy, + And though sore troubled, both together smiled, + And with him playing, that sweet jargon spoke, + Which, though no lexicon contains its words, + Seems like the speech of angels, poorly learned, + For every sound and syllable and word + Was filled brimful of pure and perfect love. + At length grown calm, they tenderly communed + Of all their past, of all their hopes and fears; + + And when the time of separation came, + His holy resolution gave her strength + To give the last embrace and say farewell. + And forth he rode,[2] mounted on Kantaka, + A prince, a loving father, husband, son, + To exile driven by all-embracing love. + + What wonder, as the ancient writings say, + That nature to her inmost depths was stirred, + And as he passed the birds burst forth in song, + Fearless of hawk or kite that hovered near? + What wonder that the beasts of field and wood, + And all the jungle's savage denizens, + Gathered in groups and gamboled fearlessly, + Leopards with kids and wolves with skipping lambs? + For he who rode alone, bowed down and sad, + Taught millions, crores[3] of millions, yet unborn + To treat with kindness every living thing. + What wonder that the deepest hells were stirred? + What wonder that the heavens were filled with joy? + For he, bowed down with sorrow, going forth, + Shall come with joy and teach all men the way + From earth's sad turmoil to Nirvana's rest. + + +[1]In the "Light of Asia" the prince is made to leave his young wife +before the birth of their son, saying: "Whom, if I wait to bless, my +heart will fail,"--a piece of cowardice hardly consistent with my +conception of that brave and self-denying character. + +[2]In the "Light of Asia," the prince, after leaving his young wife, is +made to pass through a somewhat extensive harem _en deshabille_, which +is described with voluptuous minuteness. Although there are some +things in later Buddhistic literature that seem to justify it, I can +but regard the introduction of an institution so entirely alien to +every age, form and degree of Aryan civilization and so inconsistent +with the tender conjugal love which was the strongest tie to his +beloved home, as a serious blot on that beautiful poem and as +inconsistent with its whole theory, for no prophet ever came from a +harem. + +[3]A crore is ten millions. + + + + + BOOK IV. + + Far from his kingdom, far from home and friends, + The prince has gone, his flowing locks close shorn, + His rings and soft apparel laid aside, + All signs of rank and royalty cast off. + Clothed in a yellow robe, simple and coarse, + Through unknown streets from door to door he passed, + Holding an alms-bowl forth for willing gifts. + But when, won by his stateliness and grace, + They brought their choicest stores, he gently said: + "Not so, my friends, keep such for those who need-- + The sick and old; give me but common food." + And when sufficient for the day was given, + He took a way leading without the walls, + And through rich gardens, through the fruitful fields, + Under dark mangoes and the jujube trees, + Eastward toward Sailagiri, hill of gems; + And through an ancient grove, skirting its base, + Where, soothed by every soft and tranquil sound, + Full many saints were wearing out their days + In meditation, earnest, deep, intent, + Seeking to solve the mystery of life, + Seeking, by leaving all its joys and cares, + Seeking, by doubling all its woes and pains, + To gain an entrance to eternal rest; + And winding up its rugged sides, to where + A shoulder of the mountain, sloping west, + O'erhangs a cave with wild figs canopied. + This mountain cave was now his dwelling-place, + A stone his pillow, and the earth his bed, + His earthen alms-bowl holding all his stores + Except the crystal waters, murmuring near. + A lonely path, rugged, and rough, and steep; + A lonely cave, its stillness only stirred + By eagle's scream, or raven's solemn croak, + Or by the distant city's softened sounds, + Save when a sudden tempest breaks above, + And rolling thunders shake the trembling hills-- + A path since worn by countless pilgrims' feet, + Coming from far to view this hallowed spot, + And bow in worship on his hard, cold bed, + And press his pillow with their loving lips. + For here, for six long years, the world-renowned, + The tender lover of all living things, + Fasted and watched and wrestled for the light, + Less for himself than for a weeping world. + And here arrived, he ate his simple meal, + And then in silent meditation sat + The livelong day, heedless of noon's fierce heat + That sent to covert birds and panting beasts, + And from the parched and glowing plain sent up, + As from a furnace, gusts of scorching air, + Through which the city's walls, the rocks and trees. + All seemed to tremble, quiver, glow and shake, + As if a palsy shook the trembling world; + Heedless of loosened rocks that crashed so near, + And dashed and thundered to the depths below, + And of the shepherds, who with wondering awe + Came near to gaze upon his noble form + And gentle, loving but majestic face, + And thought some god had deigned to visit men. + And thus he sat, still as the rock his seat, + Seeking to pierce the void from whence man came, + To look beyond the veil that shuts him in, + To find a clue to life's dark labyrinth, + Seeking to know why man is cast adrift + Upon the bosom of a troubled sea, + His boat so frail, his helm and compass lost, + To sink at last in dull oblivion's depths; + When nature seems so perfect and complete, + Grand as a whole, and perfect all its parts, + Which from the greatest to the least proclaims + That Wisdom, Watchfulness, and Power and Love + Which built the mountains, spread the earth abroad, + And fixed the bounds that ocean cannot pass; + Which taught the seasons their accustomed rounds, + Lest seed-time and the happy harvests fail; + Which guides the stars in their celestial course, + And guides the pigeon's swift unerring flight + O'er mountain, sea and plain and desert waste, + Straight as an arrow to her distant home; + Teaching the ant for winter to prepare; + Clothing the lily in its princely pride; + Watching the tiny sparrow when it falls; + Nothing too great for His almighty arm; + Nothing too small for His all-seeing eye; + Nothing too mean for His paternal care. + + And thus he mused, seeking to find a light + To guide men on their dark and weary way, + And through the valley and the shades of death, + Until the glories of the setting sun + Called him to vespers and his evening meal. + + Then roused from revery, ablutions made, + Eight times he bowed, just as the setting sun, + A fiery red, sunk slowly out of sight + Beyond the western plains, gilded and tinged, + Misty and vast, beneath a brilliant sky, + Shaded from brightest gold to softest rose. + Then, after supper, back and forth he paced + Upon the narrow rock before his cave, + Seeking to ease his numbed and stiffened limbs; + While evening's sombre shadows slowly crept + From plain to hill and highest mountain-top, + And solemn silence settled on the world, + Save for the night-jar's cry and owl's complaint; + While many lights from out the city gleam, + And thickening stars spangle the azure vault, + Until the moon, with soft and silvery light, + Half veils and half reveals the sleeping world. + And then he slept--for weary souls must sleep, + As well as bodies worn with daily toil; + And as he lay stretched on his hard, cold bed, + His youthful blood again bounds freely on, + Repairing wastes the weary day had made. + And then he dreamed. Sometimes he dreamed of home, + Of young Rahula, reaching out his arms, + Of sweet Yasodhara with loving words + Cheering him on, as love alone can cheer. + Sometimes he dreamed he saw that living light + For which his earnest soul so long had yearned-- + But over hills and mountains far away. + And then he seemed with labored steps to climb + Down giddy cliffs, far harder than ascent, + While yawning chasms threatened to devour, + And beetling cliffs precluded all retreat; + But still the way seemed opening step by step, + Until he reached the valley's lowest depths, + Where twilight reigned, and grim and ghastly forms, + With flaming swords, obstruct his onward way, + But his all-conquering love still urged him on, + When with wild shrieks they vanished in thin air; + And then he climbed, clinging to jutting cliffs, + And stunted trees that from each crevice grew, + Till weary, breathless, he regained the heights, + To see that light nearer, but still so far. + + And thus he slept, and thus sometimes he dreamed, + But rose before the dawn had tinged the east, + Before the jungle-cock had made his call, + When thoughts are clearest, and the world is still, + Refreshed and strengthened for his daily search + Into the seeds of sorrow, germs of pain, + After a light to scatter doubts and fears. + + But when the coming day silvered the east, + And warmed that silver into softest gold, + And faintest rose-tints tinged the passing clouds, + He, as the Vedas taught, each morning bathed + In the clear stream that murmured near his cave, + Then bowed in reverence to the rising sun, + As from behind the glittering mountain-peaks + It burst in glory on the waking world. + + Then bowl and staff in hand, he took his way + Along his mountain-path and through the grove, + And through the gardens, through the fruitful fields, + Down to the city, for his daily alms; + While children his expected coming watch, + And running cry: "The gracious Rishi comes." + All gladly gave, and soon his bowl was filled, + For he repaid their gifts with gracious thanks, + And his unbounded love, clearer than words, + Spoke to their hearts as he passed gently on. + Even stolid plowmen after him would look, + Wondering that one so stately and so grand + Should even for them have kind and gracious words, + Sometimes while passing through the sacred grove, + He paused beneath an aged banyan-tree, + Whose spreading branches drooping down took root + To grow again in other giant trunks, + An ever-widening, ever-deepening shade, + Where five, like him in manhood's early prime, + Each bound to life by all its tender ties, + High born and rich, had left their happy homes, + Their only food chance-gathered day by day, + Their only roof this spreading banyan-tree; + And there long time they earnestly communed, + Seeking to aid each other in the search + For higher life and for a clearer light. + And here, under a sacred peepul's shade, + Two Brahmans, famed for sanctity, had dwelt + For many years, all cares of life cast off, + Who by long fastings sought to make the veil + Of flesh translucent to the inner eye; + Eyes fixed intently on the nose's tip, + To lose all consciousness of outward things; + By breath suppressed to still the outer pulse, + So that the soul might wake to conscious life, + And on unfolded wings unchecked might rise. + And in the purest auras freely soar, + Above cross-currents that engender clouds + Where thunders roll, and quick cross-lightnings play, + To view the world of causes and of life, + And bathe in light that knows no night, no change. + With eager questionings he sought to learn, + While they with gentle answers gladly taught + All that their self-denying search had learned. + And thus he passed his days and months and years, + In constant, patient, earnest search for light, + With longer fastings and more earnest search, + While day by day his body frailer grew, + Until his soul, loosed from its earthly bonds, + Sometimes escaped its narrow prison-house, + And like the lark to heaven's gate it soared, + To view the glories of the coming dawn. + But as he rose, the sad and sorrowing world, + For which his soul with tender love had yearned, + Seemed deeper in the nether darkness sunk, + Beyond his reach, beyond his power to save, + When sadly to his prison-house he turned, + Wishing no light that did not shine for all. + + Six years had passed, six long and weary years, + Since first he left the world to seek for light. + Knowledge he found, knowledge that soared aloft + To giddy heights, and sounded hidden depths, + Secrets of knowledge that the Brahmans taught + The favored few, but far beyond the reach + Of those who toil and weep and cry for help; + A light that gilds the highest mountain-tops, + But leaves the fields and valleys dark and cold; + But not that living light for which he yearned, + To light life's humble walks and common ways, + And send its warmth to every heart and home, + As spring-time sends a warm and genial glow + To every hill and valley, grove and field, + Clothing in softest verdure common grass, + As well as sandal-trees and lofty palms. + + One night, when hope seemed yielding to despair, + Sleepless he lay upon the earth--his bed-- + When suddenly a white and dazzling light + Shone through the cave, and all was dark again. + Startled he rose, then prostrate in the dust, + His inmost soul breathed forth an earnest prayer[1] + That he who made the light would make it shine + Clearer and clearer to that perfect day, + When innocence, and peace, and righteousness + Might fill the earth, and ignorance and fear, + And cruelty and crime, might fly away, + As birds of night and savage prowling beasts + Fly from the glories of the rising sun. + Long time he lay, wrestling in earnest prayer, + When from the eastern wall, one clothed in light, + Beaming with love, and halo-crowned, appeared, + And gently said: "Siddartha, rise! go forth! + Waste not your days in fasts, your nights in tears! + Give what you have; do what you find to do; + With gentle admonitions check the strong; + With loving counsels aid and guide the weak, + And light will come, the day will surely dawn." + This said, the light grew dim, the form was gone, + But hope revived, his heart was strong again. + + Joyful he rose, and when the rising sun + Had filled the earth's dark places full of light, + With all his worldly wealth, his staff and bowl, + Obedient to that voice he left his cave; + When from a shepherd's cottage near his way, + Whence he had often heard the busy hum + Of industry, and childhood's merry laugh, + There came the angry, stern command of one + Clothed in a little brief authority, + Mingled with earnest pleadings, and the wail + Of women's voices, and above them all + The plaintive treble of a little child. + Thither he turned, and when he reached the spot, + The cause of all this sorrow was revealed: + One from the king had seized their little all, + Their goats and sheep, and e'en the child's pet lamb. + But when they saw him they had often watched + With reverent awe, as if come down from heaven, + Prostrate they fell, and kissed his garment's hem, + While he so insolent, now stood abashed, + And, self accused, he thus excused himself: + "The Brahmans make this day a sacrifice, + And they demand unblemished goats and lambs. + I but obey the king's express command + To bring them to the temple ere high noon." + But Buddha stooped and raised the little child, + Who nestled in his arms in perfect trust, + And gently said: "Rise up, my friends, weep not! + The king must be obeyed--but kings have hearts. + I go along to be your advocate. + The king may spare what zealous priest would kill, + Thinking the gods above delight in blood." + But when the officers would drive the flock + With staves and slings and loud and angry cries, + They only scattered them among the rocks, + And Buddha bade the shepherd call his own, + As love can lead where force in vain would drive. + He called; they knew his voice and followed him, + Dumb innocents, down to the slaughter led, + While Buddha kissed the child, and followed them, + With those so late made insolent by power, + Now dumb as if led out to punishment. + + Meanwhile the temple-gates wide open stood, + And when the king, in royal purple robed, + And decked with gems, attended by his court, + To clash of cymbals, sound of shell and drum, + Through streets swept clean and sprinkled with perfumes, + Adorned with flags, and filled with shouting crowds, + Drew near the sacred shrine, a greater came, + Through unswept ways, where dwelt the toiling poor, + Huddled in wretched huts, breathing foul air, + Living in fetid filth and poverty-- + No childhood's joys, youth prematurely old, + Manhood a painful struggle but to live, + And age a weary shifting of the scene; + While all the people drew aside to gaze + Upon his gentle but majestic face, + Beaming with tender, all-embracing love. + And when the king and royal train dismount, + 'Mid prostrate people and the stately priests, + On fragrant flowers that carpeted his way, + And mount the lofty steps to reach the shrine, + Siddartha came, upon the other side, + 'Mid stalls for victims, sheds for sacred wood, + And rude attendants on the pompous rites, + Who seized a goat, the patriarch of the flock, + And bound him firm with sacred munja grass, + And bore aloft, while Buddha followed where + A priest before the blazing altar stood + With glittering knife, and others fed the fires, + While clouds of incense from the altar rose, + Sweeter than Araby the blest can yield, + And white-robed Brahmans chant their sacred hymns. + And there before that ancient shrine they met, + The king, the priests, the hermit from the hill, + When one, an aged Brahman, raised his hands, + And praying, lifted up his voice and cried: + "O hear! great Indra, from thy lofty throne + On Meru's holy mountain, high in heaven. + Let every good the king has ever done + With this sweet incense mingled rise to thee; + And every secret, every open sin + Be laid upon this goat, to sink from sight, + Drunk by the earth with his hot spouting blood, + Or on this altar with his flesh be burned." + And all the Brahman choir responsive cried: + "Long live the king! now let the victim die!" + But Buddha said: "Let him not strike, O king! + For how can God, being good, delight in blood? + And how can blood wash out the stains of sin, + And change the fixed eternal law of life + That good from good, evil from evil flows?" + This said, he stooped and loosed the panting goat, + None staying him, so great his presence was. + And then with loving tenderness he taught + How sin works out its own sure punishment; + How like corroding rust and eating moth + It wastes the very substance of the soul; + Like poisoned blood it surely, drop by drop, + Pollutes the very fountain of the life; + Like deadly drug it changes into stone + The living fibres of a loving heart; + Like fell disease, it breeds within the veins + The living agents of a living death; + And as in gardens overgrown with weeds, + Nothing but patient labor, day by day, + Uprooting cherished evils one by one, + Watering its soil with penitential tears, + Can fit the soul to grow that precious seed, + Which taking root, spreads out a grateful shade + Where gentle thoughts like singing birds may lodge, + Where pure desires like fragrant flowers may bloom, + And loving acts like ripened fruits may hang. + Then, chiding not, with earnest words he urged + Humanity to man, kindness to beasts, + Pure words, kind acts, in all our daily walks. + As better than the blood of lambs and goats. + Better than incense or the chanted hymn, + To cleanse the heart and please the powers above, + And fill the world with harmony and peace, + Till pricked in heart, the priest let fall his knife; + The Brahmans listening, ceased to chant their hymns; + The king drank in his words with eager ears; + And from that day no altar dripped with blood, + But flowers instead breathed forth their sweet perfumes. + And when that troubled day drew near its close, + Joy filled once more that shepherd's humble home, + From door to door his simple story flew, + And when the king entered his palace gates, + New thoughts were surging in his wakened soul. + + But though the beasts have lairs, the birds have nests, + Buddha had not whereon to lay his head, + Not even a mountain-cave to call his home; + And forth he fared, heedless about his way-- + For every way was now alike to him. + Heedless of food, his alms-bowl hung unused. + While all the people stood aside with awe, + And to their children pointed out the man + Who plead the shepherd's cause before the king. + At length he passed the city's western gate, + And crossed the little plain circling its walls. + Circled itself by five bold hills that rise, + A rugged, rampart and an outer wall. + Two outer gates this mountain rampart had, + The one a narrow valley opening west + Toward Gaya, through the red Barabar hills. + Through which the rapid Phalgu swiftly glides, + Down from the Vindhya mountains far away, + Then gently winds around this fruitful plain, + Its surface green with floating lotus leaves. + And bright with lotus blossoms, blue and white, + O'erhung with drooping trees and trailing vines, + Till through the eastern gate it hastens on, + To lose itself in Gunga's sacred stream. + + Toward Gaya now Siddartha bent his steps, + Distant the journey of a single day + As men marked distance in those ancient times, + No longer heeded in this headlong age, + When we count moments by the miles we pass; + And one may see the sun sink out of sight. + Behind great banks of gray and wintry clouds, + While feathery snowflakes fill the frosty air, + And after quiet sleep may wake next day + To see it bathe green fields with floods of light, + And dry the sparkling dew from opening flowers, + And hear the joyful burst of vernal song, + And breathe the balmy air of opening spring. + + And as he went, weary and faint and sad, + The valley opening showed a pleasant grove, + Where many trees mingled their grateful shade, + And many blossoms blended sweet perfumes; + And there, under a drooping vakul-tree, + A bower of roses and sweet jasmine vines, + Within a couch, without a banquet spread, + While near a fountain with its falling spray + Ruffled the surface of a shining pool, + Whose liquid cadence mingled with the songs + Of many birds concealed among the trees. + + And there three seeming sister graces were,[2] + Fair as young Venus rising from the sea, + The one in seeming childlike innocence + Bathed in the pool, while her low liquid laugh + Rung sweet and clear; and one her vina tuned, + And as she played, the other lightly danced, + Clapping her hands, tinkling her silver bells, + Whose gauzy silken garments seemed to show + Rather than hide her slender, graceful limbs. + And she who played the vina sweetly sang; + + "Come to our bower and take your rest-- + Life is a weary road at best. + Eat, for your board is richly spread; + Drink, for your wine is sparkling red; + Rest, for the weary day is past; + Sleep, for the shadows gather fast. + Tune not your vina-strings too high, + Strained they will break and the music die. + Come to our bower and take your rest-- + Life is a weary road at best." + + But Buddha, full of pity, passing said: + "Alas, poor soul! flitting a little while + Like painted butterflies before the lamp + That soon will burn your wings; like silly doves, + Calling the cruel kite to seize and kill; + Displaying lights to be the robber's guide; + Enticing men to wrong, who soon despise. + Ah! poor, perverted, cold and cruel world! + Delights of love become the lures of lust, + The joys of heaven changed into fires of hell." + + +[1]I am aware there are many who think that Buddha did not believe in +prayer, which Arnold puts into his own mouth in these words, which +sound like the clanking of chains in a prison-vault: + + "Pray not! the darkness will not brighten! Ask + Nought from Silence, for it cannot speak!" + +Buddha did teach that mere prayers without any effort to overcome our +evils is of no more use than for a merchant to pray the farther bank of +a swollen stream to come to him without seeking any means to cross, +which merely differs in words from the declaration of St. James that +faith without works is dead; but if he ever taught that the earnest +yearning of a soul for help, which is the essence of prayer, is no aid +in the struggle for a higher life, then my whole reading has been at +fault, and the whole Buddhist worship has been a departure from the +teachings of its founder. + +[2]Mara dispatched three pleasure-girls from the north quarter to come +and tempt him. Their names were Tanha, Rati and Ranga. Fa Hian +(Beal), p. 120. + + + + + BOOK V. + + Now mighty Mara, spirit of the air, + The prince of darkness, ruling worlds below, + Had watched for Buddha all these weary years, + Seeking to lead his steady steps astray + By many wiles his wicked wit devised, + Lest he at length should find the living light + And rescue millions from his dark domains. + Now, showing him the kingdoms of the world. + He offered him the Chakravartin's crown; + Now, opening seas of knowledge, shoreless, vast, + Knowledge of ages past and yet to come, + Knowledge of nature and the hidden laws + That guide her changes, guide the roiling spheres, + Sakwal on sakwal,[1] boundless, infinite, + Yet ever moving on in harmony, + He thought to puff his spirit up with pride + Till he should quite forget a suffering world, + In sin and sorrow groping blindly on. + But when he saw that lust of power moved not, + And thirst for knowledge turned him not aside + From earnest search after the living light, + From tender love for every living thing, + He sent the tempters Doubt and dark Despair. + And as he watched for final victory + He saw that light flash through the silent cave, + And heard the Buddha breathe that earnest prayer, + And fled amazed, nor dared to look behind. + For though to Buddha all his way seemed dark, + His wily enemy could see a Power, + A mighty Power, that ever hovered near, + A present help in every time of need, + When sinking souls seek earnestly for aid. + He fled, indeed, as flies the prowling wolf, + Alarmed at watch-dog's bark or shepherd's voice, + While seeking entrance to the slumbering fold, + But soon returns with soft and stealthy step, + With keenest scent snuffing the passing breeze, + With ears erect catching each slightest sound, + With glaring eyes watching each moving thing, + With hungry jaws, skulking about the fold + Till coming dawn drives him to seek his lair. + So Mara fled, and so he soon returned, + And thus he watched the Buddha's every step; + Saw him with gentleness quell haughty power; + Saw him with tenderness raise up the weak; + Heard him before the Brahmans and the king + Denounce those bloody rites ordained by him; + Heard him declare the deadly work of Sin, + His own prime minister and eldest-born; + Heard him proclaim the mighty power of Love + To cleanse the life and make the flinty heart + As soft as sinews of the new-born babe. + And when he saw whither he bent his steps, + He sent three wrinkled hags, deformed and foul, + The willing agents of his wicked will-- + Life-wasting Idleness, the thief of time; + Lascivious Lust, whose very touch defiles, + Poisoning the blood, polluting all within; + And greedy Gluttony, most gross of all, + Whose ravening maw forever asks for more-- + To that delightful garden near his way, + To tempt the Master, their true forms concealed-- + For who so gross that such coarse hags could tempt?-- + But clothed instead in youthful beauty's grace. + And now he saw him pass unmoved by lust, + Nor yet with cold, self-righteous pride puffed up, + But breathing pity from his inmost soul + E'en for the ministers of vice themselves. + + Defeated, not discouraged, still he thought + To try one last device, for well he knew + That Buddha's steps approached the sacred tree + Where light would dawn and all his power would end. + Upon a seat beside the shaded path, + A seeming aged Brahman, Mara sat, + And when the prince approached, his tempter rose, + Saluting him with gentle stateliness, + Saluted in return with equal grace. + + "Whither away, my son?" the tempter said, + "If you to Gaya now direct your steps, + Perhaps your youth may cheer my lonely age." + "I go to seek for light," the prince replied, + "But where it matters not, so light be found." + + But Mara answered him: "Your search is vain. + Why seek to know more than the Vedas teach? + Why seek to learn more than the teachers know? + But such is youth; the rosy tints of dawn + Tinge all his thoughts. 'Excelsior!' he cries, + And fain would scale the unsubstantial clouds + To find a light that knows no night, no change; + We Brahmans chant our hymns in solemn wise, + The vulgar listen with profoundest awe; + But still our muffled heart-throbs beat the march + Onward, forever onward, to the grave, + When one ahead cries, 'Lo! I see a light!' + And others clutch his garments, following on. + Till all in starless darkness disappear, + There may be day beyond this starless night, + There may be life beyond this dark profound-- + But who has ever seen that changeless day? + What steps have e'er retraced that silent road? + Fables there are, hallowed by hoary age, + Fables and ancient creeds, that men have made + To give them power with ignorance and fear; + Fables of gods with human passions filled: + Fables of men who walked and talked with gods; + Fables of kalpas passed, when Brahma slept + And all created things were wrapped in flames, + And then the floods descended, chaos reigned, + The world a waste of waters, and the heavens + A sunless void, until again he wakes, + And sun and moon and stars resume their rounds, + Oceans receding show the mountain-tops, + And then the hills and spreading plains-- + Strange fables all, that crafty men have feigned. + Why waste your time pursuing such vain dreams-- + As some benighted travelers chase false lights + To lose themselves in bogs and fens at last? + But read instead in Nature's open book + How light from darkness grew by slow degrees; + How crawling worms grew into light-winged birds, + Acquiring sweetest notes and gayest plumes; + How lowly ferns grew into lofty palms; + How men have made themselves from chattering apes;[2] + How, even from protoplasm to highest bard, + Selecting and rejecting, mind has grown, + Until at length all secrets are unlocked, + And man himself now stands pre-eminent, + Maker and master of his own great self, + To sneer at all his lisping childlike past + And laugh at all his fathers had revered." + + The prince with gentle earnestness replied: + "Full well I know how blindly we grope on + In doubt and fear and ignorance profound, + The wisdom of the past a book now sealed. + But why despise what ages have revered? + As some rude plowman casts on rubbish-heaps + The rusty casket that his share reveals, + Not knowing that within it are concealed + Most precious gems, to make him rich indeed, + The hand that hid them from the robber, cold, + The key that locked this rusty casket, lost. + The past was wise, else whence that wondrous tongue[3] + That we call sacred, which the learned speak, + Now passing out of use as too refined + For this rude age, too smooth for our rough tongues, + Too rich and delicate for our coarse thoughts. + Why should such men make fables so absurd + Unless within their rough outside is stored + Some precious truth from profanation hid? + Revere your own, revile no other faith, + Lest with the casket you reject the gems, + Or with rough hulls reject the living seed. + Doubtless in nature changes have been wrought + That speak of ages in the distant past, + Whose contemplation fills the mind with awe. + The smooth-worn pebbles on the highest hills + Speak of an ocean sweeping o'er their tops; + The giant palms, now changed to solid rocks, + Speak of the wonders of a buried world. + Why seek to solve the riddle nature puts, + Of whence and why, with theories and dreams? + The crawling worm proclaims its Maker's power; + The singing bird proclaims its Maker's skill; + The mind of man proclaims a greater Mind, + Whose will makes world, whose thoughts are living acts. + Our every heart-throb speaks of present power, + Preserving, recreating, day by day. + Better confess how little we can know, + Better with feet unshod and humble awe + Approach this living Power to ask for aid." + And as he spoke the devas filled the air, + Unseen, unheard of men, and sweetly sung: + "Hail, prince of peace! hail, harbinger of day! + The darkness vanishes, the light appears." + But Mara heard, and silent slunk away, + The o'erwrought prince fell prostrate on the ground + And lay entranced, while devas hovered near, + Watching each heart-throb, breathing that sweet calm + Its guardian angel gives the sleeping child. + + The night has passed, the day-star fades from sight, + And morning's softest tint of rose and gold + Tinges the east and tips the mountain-tops. + The silent village stirs with waking life, + The bleat of goats and low of distant herds, + The song of birds and crow of jungle-cocks + Breathe softest music through the dewy air. + + And now two girls,[4] just grown to womanhood, + The lovely daughters of the village lord, + Trapusha one, and one Balika called, + Up with the dawn, trip lightly o'er the grass, + Bringing rich curds and rice picked grain by grain, + A willing offering to their guardian god-- + Who dwelt, as all the simple folk believed, + Beneath an aged bodhi-tree that stood + Beside the path and near where Buddha lay-- + To ask such husbands as their fancies paint, + Gentle and strong, and noble, true and brave; + And having left their gifts and made their vows, + With timid steps the maidens stole away. + + But while the outer world is filled with life. + That inner world from whence this life proceeds, + Concealed from sight by matter's blinding folds, + Whose coarser currents fill with wondrous power + The nervous fluid of the universe + Which darts through nature's frame, from star to star, + From cloud to cloud, filling the world with awe; + Now harnessed to our use, a patient drudge, + Heedless of time or space, bears human thought + From land to land and through the ocean's depths; + And bears the softest tones of human speech + Faster than light, farther than ocean sounds; + And whirls the clattering car through crowded streets, + And floods with light the haunts of prowling thieves-- + That inner world, whose very life is love, + Pure love, and perfect, infinite, intense, + That world is now astir. A rift appears + In those dark clouds that rise from sinful souls + And hide from us its clear celestial light, + And clouds of messengers from that bright world, + Whom they called devas and we angels call, + Rush to that rift to rescue and to save. + The wind from their bright wings fanned Buddha's soul, + The love from their sweet spirits warmed his heart. + He starts from sleep, but rising, scarcely knows + If he had seen a vision while awake, + Or, sunk in sleep, had dreamed a heavenly dream. + From that pure presence all his tempters fled. + The calm of conflict ended filled his soul, + And led by unseen hands he forward passed + To where the sacred fig-tree long had grown, + Beneath whose shade the village altar stood, + Where simple folk would place their willing gifts, + And ask the aid their simple wants required, + Believing all the life above, around, + The life within themselves, must surely come + From living powers that ever hovered near. + Here lay the food Sagata's daughters brought, + The choicest products of his herds and fields, + This grateful food met nature's every need, + Diffused a healthful glow through all his frame, + And all the body's eager yearnings stilled. + Seven days he sat, and ate no more nor drank, + Yet hungered not, nor burned with parching thirst, + For heavenly manna fed his hungry soul-- + Its wants were satisfied, the body's ceased. + Seven days he sat, in sweet internal peace + Waiting for light, and sure that light would come, + When seeming scales fell from his inner sight, + His spirit's eyes were opened and he saw + Not far away, but near, within, above, + As dwells the soul within this mortal frame, + A world within this workday world of ours, + The living soul of all material things. + + Eastward he saw a never-setting Sun, + Whose light is truth, the light of all the worlds, + Whose heat is tender, all-embracing love, + The inmost Life of everything that lives, + The mighty Prototype and primal Cause + Of all the suns that light this universe, + From ours, full-orbed, that tints the glowing east + And paints the west a thousand varied shades, + To that far distant little twinkling star + That seems no larger than the glow-worm's lamp, + Itself a sun to light such worlds as ours; + And round about Him clouds of living light, + Bright clouds of cherubim and seraphim, + Who sing His praise and execute His will-- + Not idly singing, as the foolish feign, + But voicing forth their joy they work and sing; + Doing His will, their works sound forth His praise. + + On every side were fields of living green, + With gardens, groves and gently rising hills, + Where crystal streams of living waters flow, + And dim with distance Meru's lofty heights. + No desert sands, no mountains crowned with ice, + For here the scorching simoom never blows, + Nor wintry winds, that pierce and freeze and kill, + But gentle breezes breathing sweet perfumes; + No weeds, no thorns, no bitter poisonous fruits, + No noxious reptiles and no prowling beasts; + For in this world of innocence and love + No evil thoughts give birth to evil things, + But many birds of every varied plume + Delight the ear with sweetest melody; + And many flowers of every varied tint + Fill all the air with odors rich and sweet; + And many fruits, suited to every taste, + Hang ripe and ready that who will may eat-- + A world of life, with all its lights and shades, + The bright original of our sad world + Without its sin and storms, its thorns and tears. + No Lethe's sluggish waters lave its shores, + Nor solemn shades, of poet's fancy bred, + Sit idly here to boast of battles past, + Nor wailing ghosts wring here their shadowy hands + For lack of honor to their cast-off dust; + But living men, in human bodies clothed-- + Not bodies made of matter, dull and coarse, + Dust from the dust and soon to dust returned, + But living bodies, clothing living souls, + Bodies responsive to the spirit's will, + Clothing in acts the spirit's inmost thoughts-- + Dwell here in many mansions, large and fair, + Stretching beyond the keenest vision's hen, + With room for each and more than room for all, + Forever filling and yet never full. + Not clogged by matter, fast as fleetest birds, + Wishing to go, they go; to come, they come. + No helpless infancy or palsied age, + But all in early manhood's youthful bloom, + The old grown young, the child to man's estate. + Gentle they seemed as they passed to and fro, + Gentle and strong, with every manly grace; + Busy as bees in summer's sunny hours, + In works of usefulness and acts of love; + No pinching poverty or grasping greed, + Gladly receiving, they more gladly give, + Sharing in peace the bounties free to all. + + As lost in wonder and delight he gazed, + He saw approaching from a pleasant grove + Two noble youths, yet full of gentleness, + Attending one from sole to crown a queen, + With every charm of fresh and blooming youth + And every grace of early womanhood, + Her face the mirror of her gentle soul, + Her flowing robes finer than softest silk, + That as she moved seemed woven of the light; + Not borne by clumsy wings, or labored steps, + She glided on as if her will had wings + That bore her willing body where she wished. + As she approached, close by her side he saw, + As through a veil or thin transparent mist, + The form and features of the aged king, + Older and frailer by six troubled years + Than when they parted, yet his very face, + Whom she was watching with the tenderest care. + And nearer seen each seeming youth was two, + As when at first in Eden's happy shade + Our primal parents ere the tempter came + Were twain, and yet but one, so on they come, + Hand joined in hand, heart beating close to heart, + One will their guide and sharing every thought, + Beaming with tender, all-embracing love, + Whom God had joined and death had failed to part. + + What need of words to introduce his guests? + Love knows her own, the mother greets her son. + Her parents and the king's, who long had watched + Their common offspring with a constant care, + Inspiring hope and breathing inward peace + When secret foes assailed on every side, + Now saw him burst the clouds that veiled their view + And stand triumphant full before their eyes. + O happy meeting! joy profound, complete! + Soul greeting soul, heart speaking straight to heart, + While countless happy faces hovered near + And song's of joy sound through Nirvana's heights. + + At length, the transports of first meeting past, + More of this new-found world he wished to see, + More of its peace and joy he wished to know. + Led by his loving guides, enwrapt he saw + Such scenes of beauty passing human speech, + Such scenes of peace and joy past human thought, + That he who sings must tune a heavenly lyre + And seraphs touch his lips with living fire. + My unanointed lips will not presume + To try such lofty themes, glad if I gain + A distant prospect of the promised land, + And catch some glimpses through the gates ajar. + Long time he wandered through these blissful scenes, + Time measured by succession of delights, + Till wearied by excess of very joy + Both soul and body sunk in tranquil sleep. + He slept while hosts of devas sweetly sung: + "Hail, great physician! savior, lover, friend! + Joy of the worlds, guide to Nirvana, hail!" + From whose bright presence Mara's myriads fled. + But Mara's self, subtlest of all, fled not, + But putting on a seeming yogi's form, + Wasted, as if by fasts, to skin and bone, + On one foot standing, rooted to the ground, + The other raised against his fleshless thigh, + Hands stretched aloft till joints had lost their use, + And clinched so close, as if in firm resolve, + The nails had grown quite through the festering palms,[5] + His tattered robes, as if worn out by age, + Hanging like moss from trees decayed and dead, + While birds were nesting in his tangled hair. + And thus disguised the subtle Mara stood, + And when the master roused him from his sleep + His tempter cried in seeming ecstasy: + "O! happy wakening! joy succeeding grief! + Peace after trouble! rest that knows no end! + Life after death! Nirvana found at last! + Here let us wait till wasted by decay + The body's worn-out fetters drop away." + + "Much suffering-brother," Buddha answered him, + "The weary traveler, wandering through the night + In doubt and darkness, gladly sees the dawn. + The storm-tossed sailor on the troubled sea, + Wearied and drenched, with joy re-enters port. + But other nights succeed that happy dawn, + And other seas may toss that sailor's bark. + But he who sees Nirvana's sacred Sun, + And in Nirvana's haven furls his sails, + No more shall wander through the starless night, + No more shall battle with the winds and waves. + O joy of joys! our eyes have seen that Sun! + Our sails have almost reached that sheltering port, + But shall we, joyful at our own escape, + Leave our poor brothers battling with the storm, + Sails rent, barks leaking, helm and compass lost, + No light to guide, no hope to cheer them on?" + + "Each for himself must seek, as we have sought," + The tempter said, "and each must climb alone + The rugged path our weary feet have trod. + No royal road leads to Nirvana's rest; + No royal captain guides his army there. + Why leave the heights with so much labor gained? + Why plunge in darkness we have just escaped? + Men will not heed the message we may bring. + The great will scorn, the rabble will deride,[6] + And cry 'He hath a devil and is mad.'" + + "True," answered Buddha, "each must seek to find; + Each for himself must leave the downward road; + Each for himself must choose the narrow path + That leads to purity and peace and life. + But helping hands will aid those struggling up; + A warning voice may check those hasting down. + Men are like lilies in yon shining pool: + Some sunk in evil grovel in the dust, + Loving like swine to wallow in the mire-- + Like those that grow within its silent depths, + Scarce raised above its black and oozy bed; + While some love good, and seek the purest light, + Breathing sweet fragrance from their gentle lives-- + Like those that rise above its glassy face, + Sparkling with dewdrops, royally arrayed, + Drinking the brightness of the morning sun, + Distilling odors through the balmy air; + But countless multitudes grope blindly on, + Shut out from light and crushed by cruel castes, + Willing to learn, whom none will deign to teach, + Willing to rise, whom none will deign to guide, + Who from the cradle to the silent grave, + Helpless and hopeless, only toil and weep-- + Like those that on the stagnant waters float, + Smothered with leaves, covered with ropy slime, + That from the rosy dawn to dewy eve + Scarce catch one glimmer of the glorious sun. + The good scarce need, the bad will scorn, my aid; + But these poor souls will gladly welcome help. + Welcome to me the scorn of rich and great, + Welcome the Brahman's proud and cold disdain, + Welcome revilings from the rabble rout, + If I can lead some groping souls to light-- + If I can give some weary spirits rest. + Farewell, my brother, you have earned release-- + Rest here in peace. I go to aid the poor." + And as he spoke a flash of lurid light + Shot through the air, and Buddha stood alone-- + Alone! to teach the warring nations peace! + Alone! to lead a groping world to light! + Alone! to give the heavy-laden rest! + + +[1]A sakwal was a sun with its system of worlds, which the ancient +Hindoos believed extended one beyond another through infinite space. +It indicates great advance in astronomical knowledge when such a +complex idea, now universally received as true, as that the fixed stars +are suns with systems of worlds like ours, could be expressed in a +single word. + +[2]It may seem like an anachronism to put the very words of the modern +agnostic into the mouth of Buddha's tempter, but these men are merely +threshing over old straw. The sneer of Epicurus curled the lip of +Voltaire, and now merely breaks out into a broad laugh on the +good-natured face of Ingersoll. + +[3]The Sanscrit, the most perfect of all languages, and the mother of +Greek and of all the languages of the Aryan races, now spread over the +world, had gone out of use in Buddha's time, and the Pali, one of its +earliest offspring, was used by the great teacher and his people. + +[4]Arnold follows the tradition, that there was but one, whom he makes +a young wife, without any authority so far as I can learn. I prefer to +follow the Chinese pilgrim, Fa Hian, who was on the ground with every +means of knowing, who makes them two young girls, and named as above. + +[5]Bishop Heber says he saw a recluse whose hands had been clinched so +close and so long that the nails had actually grown through the hands +as here described. + +[6]The last temptation of Buddha was to keep his light to himself under +the fear that men would reject his message. + + + + + BOOK VI. + + Seven days had passed since first he saw the light, + Seven days of deep, ecstatic peace and joy, + Of open vision of that blissful world, + Of sweet communion with those dwelling there. + But having tasted, seen and felt the joys + Of that bright world where love is all in all, + Filling each heart, inspiring every thought, + Guiding each will and prompting every act, + He yearned to see the other, darker side + Of that bright picture, where the wars and hates, + The lust, the greed, the cruelty and crime + That fill the world with pain and want and woe + Have found their dwelling-place and final goal. + + Quicker than eagles soaring toward the sun + Till but a speck against the azure vault + Swoop down upon their unsuspecting prey, + Quicker than watch-fires on the mountain-top + Send warnings to the dwellers in the plain, + Led by his guides he reached Nirvana's verge, + Whence he beheld a broad and pleasant plain, + Spread with a carpet of the richest green + And decked with flowers of every varied tint, + Whose blended odors fill the balmy air, + Where trees, pleasant to sight and good for food, + In rich abundance and spontaneous grow. + A living stream, as purest crystal clear, + With gentle murmurs wound along the plain, + Its surface bright with fairer lotus-flowers + Than mortal eye on earth had ever seen, + While on its banks were cool, umbrageous groves + Whose drooping branches spicy breezes stir, + A singing bird in every waving bough, + Whose joyful notes the soul of music shed. + + A mighty multitude, beyond the power + Of men to number, moved about the plain; + Some, seeming strangers, wander through the groves + And pluck the flowers or eat the luscious fruits; + Some, seeming visitors from better worlds, + Here wait and watch as for expected guests; + While angel devas, clothed in innocence, + Whose faces beam with wisdom, glow with love, + With loving welcomes greet each coming guest, + With loving counsels aid, instruct and guide. + And as he looked, the countless, restless throng + Seemed ever changing, ever moving on, + So that this plain, comparing great to small, + Seemed like a station near some royal town, + Greater than London or old Babylon, + Where all the roads from some vast empire meet, + And many caravans or sweeping trains + Bring and remove the ever-changing throng. + This plain a valley bordered, deep and still, + The very valley of his fearful dream + Seen from the other side, whose rising mists + Were all aglow with ever-changing light, + Like passing clouds above the setting sun, + Through which as through a glass he darkly saw + Unnumbered funeral-trains, in sable clad, + To solemn music and with measured tread + Bearing their dead to countless funeral-piles, + As thick as heaps that through the livelong day + With patient toil the sturdy woodmen rear, + While clearing forests for the golden grain, + And set aflame when evening's shades descend, + Filling the glowing woods with floods of light + And ghostly shadows: So these funeral-piles + Send up their curling smoke and crackling flames. + + There eager flames devour an infant's flesh; + Here loving arms that risen infant clasp; + There loud laments bewail a loved one lost; + Here joyful welcomes greet that loved one found. + And there he saw a pompous funeral-train, + Bearing a body clothed in robes of state, + To blare of trumpet, sound of shell and drum, + While many mourners bow in silent grief, + And widows, orphans raise a loud lament + As for a father, a protector lost; + And as the flames lick up the fragrant oils, + And whirl and hiss around that wasting form, + An eager watcher from a better world + Welcomes her husband to her open arms, + The cumbrous load of pomp and power cast off, + While waiting devas and the happy throng + His power protected and his bounty blessed + With joy conduct his unaccustomed steps + Onward and upward, to those blissful seats + Where all his stores of duties well performed, + Of power well used and wealth in kindness given, + Were garnered up beyond the reach of thieves, + Where moths ne'er eat and rust can ne'er corrupt. + + Another train draws near a funeral-pile, + Of aloes, sandal-wood and cassia built, + And drenched with every incense-breathing oil, + And draped with silks and rich with rarest flowers, + Where grim officials clothed in robes of state + Placed one in royal purple, decked with gems, + Whose word had been a trembling nation's law, + Whose angry nod was death to high or low. + No mourners gather round this costly pile; + The people shrink in terror from the sight. + But sullen soldiers there keep watch and ward + While eager flames consume those nerveless hands + So often raised to threaten or command, + Suck out those eyes that filled the court with fear, + And only left of all this royal pomp + A little dust the winds may blow away. + + But here that selfsame monarch comes in view, + For royal purple clothed in filthy rags, + And lusterless that crown of priceless gems; + Those eyes, whose bend so lately awed the world, + Blinking and bleared and blinded by the light; + Those hands, that late a royal scepter bore, + Shaking with fear and dripping all with blood. + And as he looked that some should give him place + And lead him to a seat for monarchs fit, + He only saw a group of innocents + His hands had slain, now clothed in spotless white, + From whom he fled as if by furies chased, + Fled from those groves and gardens of delight, + Fled on and down a broad and beaten road + By many trod, and toward a desert waste + With distance dim, and gloomy, grim and vast, + Where piercing thorns and leafless briars grow, + And dead sea-apples, ashes to the taste, + Where loathsome reptiles crawl and hiss and sting, + And birds of night and bat-winged dragons fly, + Where beetling cliffs seem threatening instant fall, + And opening chasms seem yawning to devour, + And sulphurous seas were swept with lurid flames + That seethe and boil from hidden fires below. + + Again he saw, beyond that silent vale, + One frail and old, without a rich man's gate + Laid down to die beneath a peepul-tree, + And parched with thirst and pierced with sudden pain, + A root his pillow and the earth his bed; + Alone he met the King of terrors there; + Whose wasting body, cumbering now the ground, + Chandalas cast upon the passing stream + To float and fester in the fiery sun, + Till whirled by eddies, caught by roots, it lay + A prey for vultures and for fishes food. + + That selfsame day a dart of deadly pain + Shot through that rich man's hard, unfeeling heart, + That laid him low, beyond the power to save, + E'en while his servants cast without his gates + That poor old man, who came to beg him spare + His roof-tree, where his fathers all had died, + His hearth, the shrine of all his inmost joys, + His little home, to every heart so dear; + And in due season tongues of hissing flames + That rich man's robes like snowflakes whirled in air, + And curled his crackling skin, consumed his flesh, + And sucked the marrow from his whitened bones. + + But here these two their places seem to change. + That rich man's houses, lands, and flocks and herds, + His servants, rich apparel, stores of gold, + And all he loved and lived for left behind, + The friends that nature gave him turned to foes, + Dependents whom his greed had wronged and crushed + Shrinking away as from a deadly foe; + No generous wish, no gentle, tender, thought + To hide his nakedness, his shriveled soul + Stood stark and bare, the gaze of passers-by; + Nothing within to draw him on and up, + He slinks away, and wanders on and down, + Till in the desert, groveling in the dust, + He digs and burrows, seeking treasures there-- + While that poor man, as we count poverty, + Is rich in all that makes the spirit's wealth, + His heart so pure that thoughts of guile + And evil purpose find no lodgment there; + His life so innocent that bitter words + And evil-speaking ne'er escape his lips; + The little that he had he freely shared, + And wished it more that more he might have given; + Now rich in soul--for here a crust of bread + In kindness shared, a cup of water given, + Is worth far more than all Potosi's mines, + And Araby's perfumes and India's silks, + And all the cattle on a thousand hills-- + And clothed as with a robe of innocence + The devas welcome him, his troubles passed, + The conflict ended and the triumph gained. + + And there two Brahmans press their funeral-pile, + And sink to dust amid the whirling flames. + Each from his lisping infancy had heard + That Brahmans were a high and holy caste, + Too high and holy for the common touch, + And each had learned the Vedas' sacred lore. + But here they parted. One was cold and proud, + Drawing away from all the humbler castes + As made to toil, and only fit to serve. + The other found within those sacred books + That all were brothers, made of common clay, + And filled with life from one eternal source, + While Brahmans only elder brothers were, + With greater light to be his brother's guide, + With greater strength to give his brother aid; + That he alone a real Brahman was + Who had a Brahman's spirit, not his blood. + With patient toil from youth to hoary age + He taught the ignorant and helped the weak. + And now they come where all external pomp + And rank and caste and creed are nothing worth. + But when that proud and haughty Brahman saw + Poor Sudras and Chandalas clothed in white, + He swept away with proud and haughty scorn, + Swept on and down where heartless selfishness + Alone can find congenial company. + The other, full of joy, his brothers met, + And in sweet harmony they journeyed on + Where higher joys await the pure in heart. + + And there he saw all ranks and grades and castes, + Chandala, Sudra, warrior, Brahman, prince, + The wise and ignorant, the strong and weak, + In all the stages of our mortal round + From lisping; infancy to palsied age, + By all the ways to human frailty known, + Enter that vale of shadows, deep and still, + Leaving behind their pomp and power and wealth, + Leaving their rags and wretchedness and want, + And cast-off bodies, dust to dust returned, + By flames consumed or moldering to decay, + While here the real character appeared, + All shows, hypocrisies and shams cast off, + So that a life of gentleness and love + Shines through the face and molds the outer form + To living beauty, blooming not to fade, + While every act of cruelty and crime + Seems like a gangrened ever-widening wound, + Wasting the very substance of the soul, + Marring its beauty, eating out its strength. + + And here arrived, the good, in little groups + Together drawn by inward sympathy, + And led by devas, take the upward way + To those sweet fields his opened eyes had seen, + Those ever-widening mansions of delight; + While those poor souls--O sad and fearful sight!-- + The very well-springs of the life corrupt, + Shrink from the light and shun the pure and good, + Fly from the devas, who with perfect love + Would gladly soothe their anguish, ease their pain, + Fly on and down that broad and beaten road, + Till in the distance in the darkness lost. + Lost! lost! and must it be forever lost? + The gentle Buddha's all-embracing love + Shrunk from the thought, but rather sought relief + In that most ancient faith by sages taught, + That these poor souls at length may find escape, + The grasping in the gross and greedy swine, + The cunning in the sly and prowling fox, + The cruel in some ravening beast of prey; + While those less hardened, less depraved, may gain + Rebirth in men, degraded, groveling, base.[1] + + But here in sadness let us drop the veil, + Hoping that He whose ways are not like ours, + Whose love embraces all His handiwork, + Who in beginnings sees the final end, + May find some way to save these sinful souls + Consistent with His fixed eternal law + That good from good, evil from evil flows. + + Here Buddha saw the mystery of life + At last unfolded to its hidden depths. + He saw that selfishness was sorrow's root, + And ignorance its dense and deadly shade; + He saw that selfishness bred lust and hate, + Deformed the features, and defiled the soul + And closed its windows to those waves of love + That flow perennial from Nirvana's Sun. + He saw that groveling lusts and base desires + Like noxious weeds unchecked luxurious grow, + Making a tangled jungle of the soul, + Where no good seed can find a place to root, + Where noble purposes and pure desires + And gentle thoughts wither and fade and die + Like flowers beneath the deadly upas-tree. + He saw that selfishness bred grasping greed, + And made the miser, made the prowling thief, + And bred hypocrisy, pretense, deceit, + And made the bigot, made the faithless priest, + Bred anger, cruelty, and thirst for blood, + And made the tyrant, stained the murderer's knife, + And filled the world with war and want and woe, + And filled the dismal regions of the lost + With fiery flames of passions never quenched, + With sounds of discord, sounds of clanking chains, + With cries of anguish, howls of bitter hate, + Yet saw that man was free--not bound and chained[2] + Helpless and hopeless to a whirling wheel, + Rolled on resistless by some cruel power, + Regardless of their cries and prayers and tears-- + Free to resist those gross and groveling lusts, + Free to obey Nirvana's law of love, + The law of order--primal, highest law-- + Which guides the great Artificer himself, + Who weaves the garments of the joyful spring, + Who paints the glories of the passing clouds, + Who tunes the music of the rolling spheres, + Guided by love in all His mighty works, + Filling with love the humblest willing heart. + + He saw that love softens and sweetens life, + And stills the passions, soothes the troubled breast, + Fills homes with joy and gives the nations peace, + A sovereign balm for all the spirit's wounds, + The living fountain of Nirvana's bliss; + For here before his eyes were countless souls, + Born to the sorrows of a sinful world, + With burdens bowed, by cares and griefs oppressed, + Who felt for others' sorrows as their own, + Who lent a helping hand to those in need, + Returning good for evil, love for hate, + Whose garments now were white as spotless wool, + Whose faces beamed with gentleness and love, + As onward, upward, devas guide their steps, + Nirvana's happy mansions full in view. + + He saw the noble eightfold path that mounts + From life's low levels to Nirvana's heights. + Not by steep grades the strong alone can climb, + But by such steps as feeblest limbs may take. + He saw that day by day and step by step, + By lusts resisted and by evil shunned, + By acts of love and daily duties done, + Soothing some heartache, helping those in need, + Smoothing life's journey for a brother's feet, + Guarding the lips from harsh and bitter words, + Guarding the heart from gross and selfish thoughts, + Guarding the hands from every evil act, + Brahman or Sudra, high or low, may rise + Till heaven's bright mansions open to the view, + And heaven's warm sunshine brightens all the way; + While neither hecatombs of victims slain, + Nor clouds of incense wafted to the skies, + Nor chanted hymns, nor prayers to all the gods, + Can raise a soul that clings to groveling lusts. + + He saw the cause of sorrow, and its cure. + He saw that waves of love surround the soul + As waves of sunlight fill the outer world, + While selfishness, the subtle alchemist + Concealed within, changes that love to hate, + Forges the links of karma's fatal chain, + Of passions, envies, lusts to bind the soul, + And weaves his webs of falsehood and deceit + To close its windows to the living light, + Changing its mansion to its prison-house, + Where it must lay self-chained and self-condemned; + While DHARMA, TRUTH, the LAW, the LIVING WORD, + Brushes away those deftly woven webs, + Opens its windows to the living light, + Reveals the architect of all its ills, + Scatters the timbers of its prison-house,[3] + And snaps in twain those bitter, galling chains + So that the soul once more may stand erect, + Victor of self, no more to be enslaved, + And live in charity and gentle peace, + Bearing all meekly, loving those who hate; + And when at last the fated stream is reached, + With lightened boat to reach the other shore. + And here he found the light he long had sought, + Gilding at once Nirvana's blissful heights + And lighting life's sequestered, lowly vales-- + A light whose inner life is perfect love, + A love whose outer form is living light, + Nirvana's Sun, the Light of all the worlds,[4] + Heart of the universe, whose mighty pulse + Gives heaven, the worlds and even hell their life, + Maker and Father of all living things + Matreya's[5] self, the Lover, Saviour, Guide, + The last, the greatest Buddha, who must rule + As Lord of all before the kalpa's end. + + The way of life--the noble eightfold path, + The way of truth, the Dharma-pada--found, + With joy he bade his loving guides farewell, + With joy he turned from all those blissful scenes. + And when the rosy dawn next tinged the east, + And morning's burst of song had waked the day, + With staff and bowl he left the sacred tree-- + Where pilgrims, passing pathless mountain-heights, + And desert sands, and ocean's stormy waves, + From every nation, speaking every tongue, + Should come in after-times to breathe their vows-- + Beginning on that day his pilgrimage + Of five and forty years from place to place, + Breaking the cruel chains of caste and creed, + Teaching the law of love, the way of life. + + +[1]The later Buddhists make much of the doctrine of metempsychosis, but +in the undoubted sayings and Sutras or sermons of Buddha I find no +mention of it except in this way as the last hope of those who persist +through life in evil, while the good after death reach the other shore, +or Nirvana, where there is no more birth or death. + +[2]This great and fundamental truth, lying as the basis of human action +and responsibility, was recognized by Homer, who makes Jupiter say: + + "Perverse mankind, whose wills created free, + Charge all their woes to absolute decree." + +Odyssey, Book I, lines 41 and 42 + +[3]After examining the attempted explanations of that remarkable +passage, the original of which is given at the end of the sixth book of +Arnold's "Light of Asia," I am satisfied this is its true +interpretation. It is not the death of the body, for he lived +forty-five years afterwards, much less the annihilation of the soul, as +some have imagined, but the conquest of the passions and gross and +selfish desires which make human life a prison, the very object and end +of the highest Christian teaching's and aspirations. + +[4] "Know then that heaven and earth's compacted frame, + And flowing waters, and the starry flame, + And both the radiant lights, one common soul + Inspires and feeds and animates the whole." + Dryden's Virgil, Book VI, line 360. + +[5]Buddha predicted that Matreya (Love incarnate) would be his +successor (see Beal's Fa Hian, page 137, note 2, and page 162; also +Hardy's Manual, page 386, and Oldenburgh's Buddhism, page 386), who was +to come at the end of five hundred years at the end of his Dharma (see +Buddhism and Christianity, Lillie, page 2). + +It is a remarkable fact that this successor is the most common object +of worship among Buddhists, so that the most advanced Buddhists and the +most earnest Christians have the same object of worship under different +names. + + + + BOOK VII. + + Alone on his great mission going forth, + Down Phalgu's valley he retraced his steps, + Down past the seat where subtle Mara sat, + And past the fountain where the siren sang, + And past the city, through the fruitful fields + And gardens he had traversed day by day + For six long years, led by a strong desire + To show his Brahman teachers his new light. + But ah! the change a little time had wrought! + A new-made stupa held their gathered dust, + While they had gone where all see eye to eye, + The darkness vanished and the river crossed. + + Then turning sadly from this hallowed spot-- + Hallowed by strivings for a higher life + More than by dust this little mound contained-- + He sought beneath the spreading banyan-tree + His five companions, whom he lately left + Sad at his own departure from the way + The sacred Vedas and the fathers taught. + They too had gone, to Varanassi[1] gone, + High seat and centre of all sacred lore. + + The day was well-nigh spent; his cave was near, + Where he had spent so many weary years, + And as he thither turned and upward climbed, + The shepherd's little child who watched the flock + His love had rescued from the bloody knife, + Upon a rock that rose above his path + Saw him pass by, and ran with eagerness + To bear the news. Joy filled that humble home. + They owed him all. The best they had they brought, + And offered it with loving gratitude. + The master ate, and as he ate he taught + These simple souls the great, the living truth + That love is more than costly sacrifice; + That daily duties done are highest praise; + That when life's duties end its sorrows end, + And higher joys await the pure in heart. + Their eager souls drank in his living words + As those who thirst drink in the living spring. + Then reverently they kissed his garment's hem, + And home returned, while he lay down to sleep. + And sweetly as a babe the master slept-- + No doubts, no darkness, and no troubled dreams. + When rosy dawn next lit the eastern sky, + And morning's grateful coolness filled the air, + The master rose and his ablutions made. + With bowl and staff in hand he took his way + Toward Varanassi, hoping there to find + The five toward whom his earnest spirit yearned. + + Ten days have passed, and now the rising sun. + That hangs above the distant mountain-peaks + Is mirrored back by countless rippling waves + That dance upon the Ganges' yellow stream, + Swollen by rains and melted mountain-snows, + And glorifies the thousand sacred fanes[2] + With gilded pinnacles and spires and domes + That rise in beauty on its farther bank, + While busy multitudes glide up and down + With lightly dipping oars and swelling sails. + And pilgrims countless as those shining waves, + From far and near, from mountain, hill and plain, + With dust and travel-stained, foot-sore, heart-sick, + Here came to bathe within the sacred stream, + Here came to die upon its sacred banks, + Seeking to wash the stains of guilt away, + Seeking to lay their galling burdens down. + Scoff not at these poor heavy-laden souls! + Blindly they seek, but that all-seeing Eye + That sees the tiny sparrow when it falls, + Is watching them, His angels hover near. + Who knows what visions meet their dying gaze? + Who knows what joys await those troubled hearts? + + The ancient writings say that having naught + To pay the ferryman, the churl refused + To ferry him across the swollen stream, + When he was raised and wafted through the air. + What matter whether that all-powerful Love + Which moves the worlds, and bears with all our sins, + Sent him a chariot and steeds of fire, + Or moved the heart of some poor fisherman + To bear him over for a brother's sake? + All power is His, and men can never thwart + His all-embracing purposes of love. + Now past the stream and near the sacred grove + The deer-park called, the five saw him approach. + But grieved at his departure from the way + The ancient sages taught, said with themselves + They would not rise or do him reverence. + But as he nearer came, the tender love, + The holy calm that shone upon his face, + Made them at once forget their firm resolve. + They rose together, doing reverence, + And bringing water washed his way-soiled feet, + Gave him a mat, and said as with one voice: + "Master Gautama, welcome to our grove. + Here rest your weary limbs and share our shade. + Have you escaped from karma's fatal chains + And gained clear vision--found the living light?" + + "Call me not master. Profitless to you + Six years have passed," the Buddha answered them, + "In doubt and darkness groping blindly on. + But now at last the day has surely dawned. + These eyes have seen Nirvana's sacred Sun, + And found the noble eightfold path that mounts + From life's low levels, mounts from death's dark shades + To changeless day, to never-ending rest." + Then with the prophet's newly kindled zeal, + Zeal for the truth his opened eyes had seen, + Zeal for the friends whose struggles he had shared, + Softened by sympathy and tender love, + He taught how selfishness was primal cause + Of every ill to which frail flesh is heir, + The poisoned fountain whence all sorrows flow, + The loathsome worm that coils about the root + And kills the germ of every springing joy, + The subtle foe that sows by night the tares + That quickly springing choke the goodly seed + Which left to grow would fill the daily life + With balmy fragrance and with precious fruit. + He showed that selfishness was life's sole bane + And love its great and sovereign antidote. + He showed how selfishness would change the child + From laughing innocence to greedy youth + And heartless manhood, cold and cruel age, + Which past the vale and stript of all disguise + Shrinks from the good, and eager slinks away + And seeks those dismal regions of the lost + His opened eyes with sinking heart had seen. + Then showed how love its guardian angel paints + Upon the cooing infant's smiling face, + Grows into gentle youth, and manhood rich + In works of helpfulness and brotherhood, + And ripens into mellow, sweet old age, + Childhood returned with all its gentleness, + Whose funeral-pile but lights the upward way + To those sweet fields his opened eyes had seen, + Those ever-widening mansions of delight. + + Enwrapt the teacher taught the living truth; + Enwrapt the hearers heard his living words; + The night unheeded winged its rapid flight, + The morning found their souls from darkness free. + + Six yellow robes Benares daily saw, + Six wooden alms-bowls held for daily food, + Six meeting sneers with smiles and hate with love, + Six watchers by the pilgrim's dying bed, + Six noble souls united in the work + Of giving light and hope and help to all. + + A rich and noble youth, an only son, + Had seen Gautama passing through the streets, + A holy calm upon his noble face, + Had heard him tell the pilgrims by the stream, + Gasping for breath and breathing out their lives, + Of higher life and joys that never end; + And wearied, sated by the daily round + Of pleasure, luxury and empty show + That waste his days but fail to satisfy, + Yet fearing his companions' gibes and sneers, + He sought the master in the sacred grove + When the full moon was mirrored in the stream, + The sleeping city silvered by its light; + And there he lingered, drinking in his words, + Till night was passed and day was well-nigh spent. + + The father, anxious for his absent son, + Had sought him through the night from street to street + In every haunt that youthful folly seeks, + And now despairing sought the sacred grove-- + Perhaps by chance, perhaps led by the light + That guides the pigeon to her distant home-- + And found him there. He too the Buddha heard, + And finding light, and filled with joy, he said: + "Illustrious master, you have found the way. + You place the upturned chalice on its base. + You fill with light the sayings dark of old. + You open blinded eyes to see the truth." + + At length they thought of those poor hearts at home, + Mother and sister, watching through the night-- + Waiting and watching through the livelong day, + Startled at every step, at every sound, + Startled at every bier that came in view + In that great city of the stranger dead, + That city where the living come to die-- + And home returned when evening's rose and gold + Had faded from the sky, and myriad lamps + Danced on the sacred stream, and moon and stars + Hung quivering in its dark and silent depths. + But day by day returned, eager to hear + More of that truth that sweetens daily life, + Yet reaches upward to eternal day. + + A marriage-feast,[3] three festivals in one, + Stirs to its depths Benares' social life. + A gorgeous sunset ushers in the night, + Sunset and city mirrored in the stream. + Broad marble steps upon the river-bank + Lead to a garden where a blaze of bloom, + A hedge of rose-trees, forms the outer wall; + An aged banyan-tree,[4] whose hundred trunks + Sustain a vaulted roof of living green + Which scarce a ray of noonday's sun can pierce, + The garden's vestibule and outer court; + While trees of every varied leaf and bloom + Shade many winding walks, where fountains fall + With liquid cadence into shining pools. + Above, beyond, the stately palace stands, + Inviting in, calling to peace and rest, + As if a soul dwelt in its marble form. + + The darkness thickens, when a flood of light + Fills every recess, lighting every nook; + The garden hedge a wall of mellow light, + A line of lamps along the river's bank, + With lamps in every tree and lining every walk, + While lamps thick set surround each shining pool, + Weaving with rainbow tints the falling spray. + And now the palace through the darkness shines. + A thing of beauty traced with lines of light.[5] + + The guests arrive in light and graceful boats, + In gay gondolas such as Venice used, + With richest carpets, richest canopies, + And over walks with rose-leaves carpeted + Pass to the palace, whose wide open gates + Display within Benares' rank and wealth, + Proud Brahman lords and stately Brahman dames + And Brahman youth and beauty, all were there, + Of Aryan blood but bronzed by India's sun, + Not dressed like us, as very fashion-plates, + But clothed in flowing robes of softest wool + And finest silk, a harmony of shades, + Sparkling with gems, ablaze with precious stones.[6] + Three noble couples greet their gathering guests: + An aged Brahman and his aged wife, + For fifty years united in the bonds + Of wedded love, no harsh, unloving word + For all those happy years, their only fear + That death would break the bonds that bound their souls; + And next their eldest born, who sought his son, + And drank deep wisdom from the Buddha's lips, + And by his side that mother we have seen + Outwatch the night, whose sweet and earnest face + By five and twenty years of wedded love, + By five and twenty years of busy cares-- + The cares of home, with all its daily joys-- + Had gained that look of holy motherhood[7] + That millions worship on their bended knees + As highest emblem of eternal love; + And last that sister whose untiring love + Watched by her mother through the weary hours, + Her fair young face all trust and happiness, + Before her, rainbow-tinted hopes and joys, + Life's dark and cold and cruel side concealed, + And by her side a noble Brahman youth, + Who saw in her his every hope fulfilled. + + But where is now that erring, wandering son, + The pride of all these loyal, loving hearts, + Heir to this wealth and hope of this proud house? + + Seven clothed in coarsest yellow robes draw near + With heads close shorn and bare, unsandaled feet, + Alms-bowl on shoulder slung and staff in hand, + But moving with that gentle stateliness + That birth and blood, not wealth and effort, give, + All in the strength of manhood's early prime, + All heirs to wealth rejected, cast aside, + But all united in the holy cause + Of giving light and hope and help to all, + While earnest greetings from the evening's hosts + Show they are welcome and expected guests. + + Startled, the stately Brahmans turn aside. + "The heir has lost his reason," whispered they, + "And joined that wandering prince who late appeared + Among the yogis in the sacred grove, + Who thinks he sees the truth by inner sight, + Who fain would teach the wise, and claims to know + More than the fathers and the Vedas teach." + But as he nearer came, his stately form, + His noble presence and his earnest face, + Beaming with gentleness and holy love, + Hushed into silence every rising sneer. + + One of their number, wise in sacred lore, + Profoundly learned, in all the Vedas versed, + With courtly grace saluting Buddha, said: + "Our Brahman masters teach that many ways + Lead up to Brahma Loca, Brahma's rest, + As many roads from many distant lands + All meet before Benares' sacred shrines. + They say that he who learns the Vedas' hymns, + Performs the rites and prays the many prayers + That all the sages of the past have taught, + In Brahma's self shall be absorbed at last-- + As all the streams from mountain, hill and plain, + That swell proud Gunga's broad and sacred stream, + At last shall mingle with the ocean's waves, + They say that Brahmans are a holy caste, + Of whiter skin and higher, purer blood, + From Brahma sprung, and Brahma's only heirs, + While you proclaim, if rumor speaks the truth, + That only one hard road to Brahma leads, + That every caste is pure, of common blood, + That all are brothers, all from Brahma sprung." + + But Buddha, full of gentleness, replied: + "Ye call on Dyaus Pittar, Brahma, God,[8] + One God and Father, called by many names, + One God and Father, seen in many forms, + Seen in the tempest, mingling sea and sky, + The blinding sand-storm, changing day to night, + In gentle showers refreshing thirsty fields, + Seen in the sun whose rising wakes the world, + Whose setting calls a weary world to rest, + Seen in the deep o'erarching azure vault, + By day a sea of light, shining by night + With countless suns of countless worlds unseen, + Making us seem so little, God so great. + Ye say that Brahma dwells in purest light; + Ye say that Brahma's self is perfect love; + Ye pray to Brahma under many names + To give you Brahma Loca's perfect rest.[9] + Your prayers are vain unless your hearts are clean. + For how can darkness dwell with perfect light? + And how can hatred dwell with perfect love? + The slandering tongue, that stirs up strife and hate, + The grasping hand, that takes but never gives, + The lying lips, the cold and cruel heart, + Whence bitterness and wars and murders spring, + Can ne'er by prayers to Brahma Loca climb.[10] + The pure in heart alone with Brahma dwell. + Ye say that Brahmans are a holy caste, + From Brahma sprung and Brahma's only heirs; + But yet in Bactria, whence our fathers came, + And where their brothers and our kindred dwell, + No Brahman ever wore the sacred cord. + Has mighty Brahma there no son, no heir? + The Brahman mother suffers all the pangs + Kshatriyas, Sudras or the Vassas feel. + The Brahman's body, when the soul has fled, + A putrid mass, defiles the earth and air, + Vile as the Sudras or the lowest beasts. + The Brahman murderer, libertine or thief + Ye say will be reborn in lowest beast, + While some poor Sudra, full of gentleness + And pity, charity and trust and love, + May rise to Brahma Loca's perfect rest, + Why boast of caste, that seems so little worth + To raise the soul or ward off human ill? + Why pray for what we do not strive to gain? + Like merchants on the swollen Ganges' bank + Praying the farther shore to come to them, + Taking no steps, seeking no means, to cross. + Far better strive to cast out greed and hate. + Live not for self, but live for others' good. + Indulge no bitter speech, no bitter thoughts. + Help those in need; give freely what we have. + Kill not, steal not, and ever speak the truth. + Indulge no lust; taste not the maddening bowl + That deadens sense and stirs all base desires; + And live in charity and gentle peace, + Bearing all meekly, loving those who hate. + This is the way to Brahma Loca's rest. + And ye who may, come, follow after me. + Leave wealth and home and all the joys of life, + That we may aid a sad and suffering world + In sin and sorrow groping blindly on, + Becoming poor that others may be rich, + Wanderers ourselves to lead the wanderers home. + And ye who stay, ever remember this: + That hearth is Brahma's altar where love reigns, + That house is Brahma's temple where love dwells, + Ye ask, my aged friends, if death can break + The bonds that bind your souls in wedded love. + Fear not; death has no power to conquer love. + Go hand in hand till death shall claim his own, + Then hand in hand ascend Nirvana's heights, + There, hand in hand, heart beating close to heart, + Enter that life whose joys shall never end, + Perennial youth succeeding palsied age, + Mansions of bliss for this poor house of clay, + Labors of love instead of toil and tears." + + He spoke, and many to each other said: + "Why hear this babbler rail at sacred things-- + Our caste, our faith, our prayers and sacred hymns?" + And strode away in proud and sovereign scorn; + While some with gladness heard his solemn words, + All soon forgotten in the giddy whirl + Of daily business, daily joys and cares. + But some drank in his words with eager ears, + And asked him many questions, lingering long, + And often sought him in the sacred grove + To hear his burning words of living truth. + And day by day some noble Brahman youth + Forsook his wealth, forsook his home and friends, + And took the yellow robe and begging-bowl + To ask for alms where all had given him place, + Meeting with gentleness the rabble's gibes, + Meeting with smiles the Brahman's haughty scorn. + Thus, day by day, this school of prophets grew, + Beneath the banyan's columned, vaulted shade, + All earnest learners at the master's feet, + Until the city's busy, bustling throng + Had come to recognize the yellow robe, + The poor to know its wearer as a friend, + The sick and suffering as a comforter, + While to the dying pilgrim's glazing eyes + He seemed a messenger from higher worlds + Come down to raise his sinking spirit up + And guide his trembling steps to realms of rest. + + A year has passed, and of this growing band + Sixty are rooted, grounded in the faith, + Willing to do whate'er the master bids, + Ready to go where'er the master sends, + Eager to join returning pilgrim-bands + And bear the truth to India's farthest bounds. + + With joy the master saw their burning zeal, + So free from selfishness, so full of love, + And thought of all those blindly groping souls + To whom these messengers would bear the light. + + "Go," said the master, "each a different way. + Go teach the common brotherhood of man. + Preach Dharma, preach the law of perfect love, + One law for high and low, for rich and poor. + Teach all to shun the cudgel and the sword, + And treat with kindness every living thing. + Teach them to shun all theft and craft and greed, + All bitter thoughts, and false and slanderous speech + That severs friends and stirs up strife and hate. + Revere your own, revile no brother's faith. + The light you see is from Nirvana's Sun, + Whose rising splendors promise perfect day. + The feeble rays that light your brother's path + Are from the selfsame Sun, by falsehoods hid, + The lingering shadows of the passing night. + Chide none with ignorance, but teach the truth + Gently, as mothers guide their infants' steps, + Lest your rude manners drive them from the way + That leads to purity and peace and rest-- + As some rude swain in some sequestered vale, + Who thinks the visual line that girts him round + The world's extreme, would meet with sturdy blows + One rudely charging him with ignorance, + Yet gently led to some commanding height, + Whence he could see the Himalayan peaks, + The rolling hills and India's spreading plains, + With joyful wonder views the glorious scene. + Pause not to break the idols of the past. + Be guides and leaders, not iconoclasts. + Their broken idols shock their worshipers, + But led to light they soon forgotten lie." + + One of their number, young and strong and brave, + A merchant ere he took the yellow robe, + Had crossed the frozen Himalayan heights + And found a race, alien in tongue and blood, + Gentle as children in their daily lives, + Untaught as children in all sacred things, + Living in wagons, wandering o'er the steppes, + To-day all shepherds, tending countless flocks, + To-morrow warriors, cruel as the grave, + Building huge monuments of human heads-- + Fearless, resistless, with the cyclone's speed + Leaving destruction in their bloody track, + Who drove the Aryan from his native plains + To seek a home in Europe's trackless wastes. + He yearned to seek these children of the wilds, + And teach them peace and gentleness and love.[11] + "But, Purna," said the master, "they are fierce. + How will you meet their cruelty and wrath?" + Purna replied, "With gentleness and love." + "But," said the master, "they may beat and wound." + "And I will give them thanks to spare my life." + "But with slow tortures they may even kill." + "I with my latest breath will bless their names, + So soon to free me from this prison-house + And send me joyful to the other shore." + "Then," said the master, "Purna, it is well. + Armed with such patience, seek these savage tribes. + Thyself delivered, free from karma's chains + These souls enslaved; thyself consoled, console + These restless children of the desert wastes; + Thyself this peaceful haven having reached, + Guide these poor wanderers to the other shore." + + With many counsels, many words of cheer, + He on their mission sent his brethren forth, + Armed with a prophet's zeal, a brother's love, + A martyr's courage, and the Christian's hope + That when life's duties end, its trials end, + And higher life awaits those faithful found. + + The days pass on; and now the rising sun + Looks down on bands of pilgrims homeward bound, + Some moving north, some south, some east, some west, + Toward every part of India's vast expanse, + One clothed in orange robes with every band + To guide their kindred on the upward road. + + But Purna joined the merchants he had led, + Not moved by thirst for gain, but love for man, + To seek the Tartar on his native steppes. + + Meanwhile the master with diminished band + Crossing the Ganges, backward wends his way + Toward Rajagriha, and the vulture-peak + Where he had spent so many weary years, + Whither he bade the brothers gather in[12] + When summer's rains should bring the time for rest. + + +[1]Varanassi is an old name of Benares. + +[2]It can be no exaggeration to put the number of sacred edifices that +burst upon Buddha's view as he first saw the holy city, at 1,000, as +Phillips Brooks puts the present number of such edifices in Benares at +5,000. + +[3]In this marriage-feast three well-known incidents in the life of +Buddha and his teaching's on the three occasions are united. + +[4]For the best description of the banyan-tree, see Lady Dufferin's +account of the old tree at their out-of-town place in "Our Viceroyal +Life in India," and "Two Years in Ceylon," by C.F. Gordon Cumming. + +[5]Those who saw the illuminations at Chicago during the World's fair, +with lines of incandescent electric lights, can get a good idea of the +great illuminations in India with innumerable oil lamps, and those who +did not should read Lady Dufferin's charming description of them in +"Our Viceroyal Life in India." + +[6]Lady Dufferin says that the viceroy never wearied, in his admiration +of the graceful flowing robes of the East as contrasted with our stiff, +fashion-plate male attire. + +[7]"The good Lord could not be everywhere and therefore made +mothers."--Jewish saying from the Talmud. + +[8]Max Mueller calls attention to the remarkable fact that Dyaus +Pittar, the highest name of deity among the ancient Hindoos, is the +exact equivalent of Zeus Pater among the Greeks, Jupiter among the +Romans, and of "Our Father who art in the heavens" in the divinely +taught and holiest prayer of our own religion. + +[9]How any one can think that Buddha did not believe in a Supreme Being +in the face and light of the wonderful Sutra, or sermon of which, the +text is but a condensation or abstract, is to me unaccountable. It is +equally strange that any one should suppose he regarded Nirvana, which +is but another name for Brahma Loca, as meaning annihilation. + +To be sure he used the method afterwards adopted by Socrates, and now +known as the Socratic method, of appealing to the unquestioned belief +of the Brahmans themselves as the foundation of his argument in support +of that fundamental truth of all religions, that the pure in heart +alone can see God. But to suppose that he was using arguments to +convince them that he did not believe himself, is a libel on one whose +absolute truthfulness and sincerity admit of no question. + +[10]"He prayeth best who loveth best + Both man and bird and beast." + --Rime of the Ancient Mariner. + +[11]Whether the Tartars were "the savage tribes" to whom Purna, one of +the sixty, was sent, may admit of question, but it is certain that long +before the Christian era the whole country north of the Himalayas was +thoroughly Buddhist, and the unwearied missionaries of that great faith +had penetrated so far west that they met Alexander's army and boldly +told him that war was wrong; and they had penetrated east to the +confines of China. + +[12]The large gatherings of the Buddhist brotherhoods everywhere spoken +of in the writings can only be accounted for on the supposition, which +is more than a supposition, that they came to him in the rainy season, +when they could do but little in their missions; and the substantial +unity of the Buddhist faith can only be accounted for on the +supposition that his instructions were constantly renewed at these +gatherings and their errors corrected. + + + + + BOOK VIII. + + Northward the noble Purna took his way + Till India's fields and plains were lost to view, + Then through the rugged foot-hills upward climbed, + And up a gorge by rocky ramparts walled, + Through which a mighty torrent thundered down, + Their treacherous way along the torrent's brink, + Or up the giddy cliffs where one false step + Would plunge them headlong in the raging stream, + Passing from cliff to cliff, their bridge of ropes + Swung high above the dashing, roaring waves. + At length they cross the frozen mountain-pass, + O'er wastes of snow by furious tempests swept, + And cross a desert where no bird or beast + Is ever seen, and where their way is marked + By bleaching bones strewn thick along their track.[1] + + Some perished by the way, and some turned back, + While some of his companions persevered, + Cheered on by Purna's never-flagging zeal, + And by the master's words from Purna's lips, + Until they reached the outmost wandering tribes + Of that great race that he had come to save. + With joy received, these wandering tribes their guides-- + For love makes friends where selfishness breeds strife-- + They soon are led to where their kindred dwell. + They saw the vanity of chasing wealth + Through hunger, danger, desolation, death. + They felt a power sustaining Purna's steps-- + A power unseen yet ever hovering near-- + They saw the truth of Buddha's burning words + That selfishness and greed drag down the soul, + While love can nerve the feeblest arm with strength, + And asked that Purna take them as his aids. + + But ere brave Purna reached his journey's end, + Near many hamlets, many Indian towns, + The moon, high risen to mark the noon of night, + Through many sacred fig-tree's rustling leaves[2] + Sent trembling rays with trembling shadows mixed + Upon a noble youth in orange robes, + His alms-bowl by his side, stretched out in sleep, + Dreaming, perchance, of some Benares maid, + Perchance of home and joys so lately left. + + Meanwhile the master with his little band + Toward Rajagriha backward wends his way, + Some village tree their nightly resting--place, + Until they reached the grove that skirts the base + Of that bold mountain called the vulture-peak, + Through which the lotus-covered Phalgu glides, + O'erarched with trees festooned with trailing vines, + While little streams leap down from rock to rock, + Cooling the verdant slopes and fragrant glades, + And vines and shrubs and trees of varied bloom + Loaded the air with odors rich and sweet, + And where that sacred fig-tree spread its shade + Above the mound that held the gathered dust + Of those sage Brahmans who had sought to aid + The young prince struggling for a clearer light, + And where that banyan-tree for ages grew, + So long the home of those five noble youths, + Now sundered far, some tree when night may fall + Their resting-place, their robe and bowl their all, + Their only food chance gathered day by day, + Preaching the common brotherhood of man, + Teaching the law of universal love, + Bearing the light to those in darkness sunk, + Lending a helping hand to those in need, + Teaching the strong that gentleness is great. + And through this grove where many noble souls + Were seeking higher life and clearer light, + He took his well-known way, and reached his cave + Just as the day was fading into night, + And myriad stars spangled the azure vault, + And myriad lamps that through the darkness shone + Revealed the city that the night had veiled, + Where soon their weary limbs were laid to rest; + But through the silent hour preceding day, + Before the jungle-cock announced the dawn, + All roused from sleep in meditation sat. + But when the sun had set the east aglow, + And roused the birds to sing their matin-song's, + And roused the lowing herds to call their mates, + And roused a sleeping world to daily toil, + Their matins chanted, their ablutions made, + With bowl and staff in hand they took their way + Down to the city for their daily alms. + + But earlier steps had brushed their dewy path. + From out the shepherd's cottage loving eyes + Had recognized the master's stately form, + And love-winged steps had borne the joyful news + That he, the poor man's advocate and friend, + The sweet-voiced messenger of peace and love, + The prince become a beggar for their sake, + So long expected, now at last returns. + From door to door the joyful tidings spread, + And old and young from every cottage came. + The merchant left his wares without a guard; + The housewife left her pitcher at the well; + The loom was idle and the anvil still; + The money-changer told his coins alone, + While all the multitude went forth to meet + Their servant-master and their beggar-prince. + Some brought the garden's choicest treasures forth, + Some gathered lotuses from Phalgu's stream, + Some climbed the trees to pluck their varied bloom, + While children gathered every wayside flower + To strew his way--their lover, savior, guide. + + King Bimbasara from his watch-tower saw + The wild commotion and the moving throng, + And sent swift messengers to learn the cause. + With winged feet through vacant streets they flew, + And through the gates and out an avenue + Where aged trees that grew on either side, + Their giant branches interlocked above, + Made nature's gothic arch and densest shade, + While gentle breezes, soft as if they came + From devas' hovering wings, rustle the leaves + And strew the way with showers of falling bloom, + As if they, voiceless, felt the common joy. + And there they found the city's multitudes, + Not as in tumult, armed with clubs and staves, + And every weapon ready to their hands, + But stretching far on either side the way, + Their flower-filled hands in humble reverence joined, + The only sound a murmur, "There he comes!" + While every eye was turned in loving gaze + Upon a little band in yellow robes + Who now drew near from out the sacred grove. + The master passed with calm, majestic grace, + Stately and tall, one arm and shoulder bare, + With head close shorn and bare unsandaled feet, + His noble brow, the wonder of his age, + Not clothed in terror like Olympic Jove's-- + For love, not anger, beamed from out those eyes, + Changing from clearest blue to softest black, + That seem to show unfathomed depths within, + With tears of holy pity glittering now + For those poor souls come forth to honor him, + All sheep without a shepherd groping on. + The messengers with reverence let him pass, + Then hastened back to tell the waiting king + That he who dwelt so long upon the hill, + The prince who stopped the bloody sacrifice, + With other holy rishis had returned, + Whom all received with reverence and joy. + The king with keenest pleasure heard their words. + That noble form, that calm, majestic face, + Had never faded from his memory. + His words of wisdom, words of tender love, + Had often stayed his hands when raised to strike, + Had often put a bridle on his tongue + When harsh and bitter words leaped to his lips, + And checked those cruel acts of sudden wrath + That stain the annals of the greatest kings, + Until the people to each other said: + "How mild and gentle our good king has grown!" + And when he heard this prince had now returned, + In flower-embroidered purple robes arrayed, + With all the pomp and circumstance of state, + Followed by those who ever wait on power, + He issued forth and climbed the rugged hill + Until he reached the cave where Buddha sat, + Calm and majestic as the rounded moon + That moves serene along its heavenly path. + Greeting each other with such royal grace + As fits a prince greeting a brother prince, + The king inquired why he had left his home? + Why he, a Chakravartin's only son, + Had left his palace for a lonely cave, + Wore coarsest cloth instead of royal robes, + And for a scepter bore a begging-bowl? + "Youth," said the king, "with full and bounding pulse, + Youth is the time for boon companionship, + The time for pleasure, when all pleasures please; + Manhood, the time for gaining wealth and power; + But as the years creep on, the step infirm, + The arm grown feeble and the hair turned gray, + 'Tis time to mortify the five desires, + To give religion what of life is left, + And look to heaven when earth begins to pall. + I would not use my power to hold you here, + But offer half my kingdom for your aid + To govern well and use my power aright." + The prince with gentle earnestness replied: + "O king, illustrious and world-renowned! + Your noble offer through all coming time + Shall be remembered. Men will praise an act + By likening it to Bimbasara's gift. + You offer me the half of your domain. + I in return beseech you share with me + Better than wealth, better than kingly power, + The peace and joy that follows lusts subdued. + Wait not on age--for age brings feebleness-- + But this great battle needs our utmost strength. + If you will come, then welcome to our cave; + If not, may wisdom all your actions guide. + Ruling your empire in all righteousness, + Preserve your country and protect her sons. + Sadly I leave you, great and gracious king, + But my work calls--a world that waits for light. + In yonder sacred grove three brothers dwell-- + Kasyapa, Gada, Nadi, they are called; + Three chosen vessels for the perfect law, + Three chosen lamps to light a groping world, + Who worship now the gross material fire + Which burns and wastes but fails to purify. + I go to tell them of Nirvana's Sun, + Perennial source of that undying flame, + The fire of love, consuming lust and hate + As forest fires devour the crackling thorns, + Until the soul is purified from sin, + And sorrow, birth and death are left behind." + + He found Kasyapa as the setting sun + Was sinking low behind the western hills, + And somber shadows darkened Phalgu's vale, + And asked a place to pass the gathering night. + "Here is a grotto, cooled by trickling streams + And overhanging shades, fit place for sleep," + Kasyapa said, "that I would gladly give; + But some fierce Naga nightly haunts the spot + Whose poisoned breath no man can breathe and live." + "Fear not for me," the Buddha answered him, + "For I this night will make my dwelling there." + "Do as you will," Kasyapa doubtful said, + "But much I fear some dire catastrophe." + Now mighty Mara, spirit of the air, + The prince of darkness, roaming through the earth + Had found this grotto in the sacred grove, + And as a Naga there kept nightly watch + For those who sought deliverance from his power, + Who, when the master calmly took his seat, + Belched forth a flood of poison, foul and black, + And with hot, burning vapors filled the cave. + But Buddha sat unmoved, serene and calm + As Brahma sits amid the kalpa fires + That burn the worlds but cannot harm his heaven. + While Mara, knowing Buddha, fled amazed + And left the Naga coiled in Buddha's bowl.[3] + Kasyapa, terrified, beheld the flames, + And when the first faint rays of dawn appeared + With all his fearful followers sought the cave, + And found the master not consumed to dust, + But full of peace, aglow with perfect love. + Kasyapa, full of wonder, joyful said: + "I, though a master, have no power like this + To conquer groveling lusts and evil beasts." + Then Buddha taught the source of real power, + The power of love to fortify the soul, + Until Kasyapa gathered all his stores, + His sacred vessels, sacrificial robes, + And cast them in the Phalgu passing near. + His brothers saw them floating down the stream, + And winged with fear made haste to learn the cause. + They too the master saw, and heard his words, + And all convinced received the perfect law, + And with their followers joined the Buddha's band. + + The days pass on, and in the bamboo-grove + A great vihara as by magic rose, + Built by the king for Buddha's growing band, + A spacious hall where all might hear his words, + And little cells where each might take his rest, + A school and rest-house through the summer rains. + + But soon the monsoons from the distant seas + Bring gathering clouds to veil the brazen sky, + While nimble lightnings dart their blinding flames, + And rolling thunders shake the trembling hills, + And heaven's downpourings drench the thirsty earth-- + The master's seed-time when the people rest. + For now the sixty from their distant fields + Have gathered in to trim their lamps afresh + And learn new wisdom from the master's lips-- + All but brave Purna on the Tartar steppes + Where summer is the fittest time for toil, + When India's rains force India's sons to rest. + The new vihara and the bamboo-grove + King Bimbasara to the master gave, + Where day by day he taught his growing school, + While rills, grown torrents, leap from rock to rock, + And Phalgu's swollen stream sweeps down the vale. + + That Saraputra after called the Great + Had seen these new-come youths in yellow robes + Passing from street to street to ask for alms, + Receiving coarsest food with gentle thanks-- + Had seen them meet the poor and sick and old + With kindly words and ever-helpful hands-- + Had seen them passing to the bamboo-grove + Joyful as bridegrooms soon to meet their brides. + He, Vashpa and Asvajit met one day, + Whom he had known beneath the banyan-tree, + Two of the five who first received the law, + Now clothed in yellow, bearing begging-bowls, + And asked their doctrine, who their master was, + That they seemed joyful, while within the grove + All seemed so solemn, self-absorbed and sad. + They bade him come and hear the master's words, + And when their bowls were filled, he followed them, + And heard the living truth from Buddha's lips, + And said: "The sun of wisdom has arisen. + What further need of our poor flickering lamps?" + And with Mugallan joined the master's band. + + And now five strangers from the Tartar steppes, + Strangers in form and features, language, dress, + Guided by one as strange in dress as they, + Weary and foot-sore, passed within the gates + Of Rajagriha, while the rising sun + Was still concealed behind the vulture-peak, + A laughing-stock to all the idle crowd, + Whom noisy children followed through the streets + As thoughtless children follow what is strange, + Until they met the master asking alms, + Who with raised hand and gentle, mild rebuke + Hushed into silence all their noisy mirth. + "These are our brothers," Buddha mildly said. + "Weary and worn they come from distant lands, + And ask for kindness--not for mirth and jeers." + They knew at once that calm, majestic face, + That voice as sweet as Brahma's, and those eyes + Beaming with tender, all-embracing love, + Of which, while seated round their argol fires + In their black tents, brave Purna loved to tell, + And bowed in worship at the master's feet. + He bade them rise, and learned from whence they came, + And led them joyful to the bamboo-grove, + Where some brought water from the nearest stream + To bathe their festered feet and weary limbs, + While some brought food and others yellow robes-- + Fitter for India's heat than skins and furs-- + All welcoming their new-found friends who came + From distant lands, o'er desert wastes and snows, + To see the master, hear the perfect law, + And bring the message noble Purna sent. + + The months pass on; the monsoons cease to blow, + The thunders cease to roll, the rains to pour; + The earth, refreshed, is clothed with living green, + And flowers burst forth where all was parched and bare, + And busy toil succeeds long days of rest. + The time for mission work has come. + The brethren, now to many hundreds grown, + Where'er the master thought it best were sent. + The strongest and the bravest volunteered + To answer Purna's earnest call for help, + And clothed in fitting robes for piercing cold + They scale the mountains, pass the desert wastes, + Their guide familiar with their terrors grown; + While some return to their expectant flocks, + And some are sent to kindred lately left, + And some to strangers dwelling near or far-- + All bearing messages of peace and love-- + Until but few in yellow robes remain, + And single footfalls echo through that hall + Where large assemblies heard the master's words. + A few are left, not yet confirmed in faith; + And those five brothers from the distant north + Remain to learn the sacred tongue and lore, + While Saraputra and Kasyapa stay + To aid the master in his special work. + + From far Kosala, rich Sudata came, + Friend of the destitute and orphans called. + In houses rich, and rich in lands and gold, + But richer far in kind and gracious acts, + Who stopped in Rajagriha with a friend. + But when he learned a Buddha dwelt so near, + And heard the gracious doctrine he proclaimed, + That very night he sought the bamboo-grove, + While roofs and towers were silvered by the moon, + And silent streets in deepest shadows lay, + And bamboo-plumes seemed waving silver sprays, + And on the ground the trembling shadows played. + Humble in mind but great in gracious deeds, + Of earnest purpose but of simple heart, + The master saw in him a vessel fit + For righteousness, and bade him stay and learn + His rules of grace that bring Nirvana's rest. + And first of all the gracious master said: + "This restless nature and this selfish world + Is all a phantasy and empty show; + Its life is lust, its end is pain and death. + Waste not your time in speculations deep + Of whence and why. One thing we surely know: + Each living thing must have a living cause, + And mind from mind and not from matter springs; + While love, which like an endless golden chain. + Binds all in one, is love in every link, + Up from the sparrow's nest, the mother's heart, + Through all the heavens to Brahma's boundless love. + And lusts resisted, daily duties done, + Unite our lives to that unbroken chain + Which draws us up to heaven's eternal rest." + And through the night they earnestly communed, + Until Sudata saw the living truth + In rising splendor, like the morning sun, + And doubts and errors all are swept away + As gathering clouds are swept by autumn's winds. + + Bowing in reverence, Sudata said: + "I know the Buddha never seeks repose, + But gladly toils to give to others rest. + O that my people, now in darkness sunk, + Might see the light and hear the master's words! + I dwell in King Pasenit's distant realm-- + A king renowned, a country fair and rich-- + And yearn to build a great vihara there." + The master, knowing well Sudata's heart + And his unselfish charity, replied: + "Some give in hope of greater gifts returned; + Some give to gain a name for charity; + Some give to gain the rest and joy of heaven, + Some to escape the woes and pains of hell. + Such giving is but selfishness and greed, + But he who gives without a selfish thought + Has entered on the noble eightfold path, + Is purified from anger, envy, hate. + The bonds of pain and sorrow are unloosed; + The way to rest and final rescue found. + Let your hands do what your kind heart desires." + + Hearing this answer, he departs with joy, + And Buddha with him Saraputra sent. + Arriving home, he sought a pleasant spot, + And found the garden of Pasenit's son, + And sought the prince, seeking to buy the ground. + But he refused to sell, yet said in jest: + "Cover the grove with gold, the ground is yours." + Forthwith Sudata spread his yellow coin. + But Gata said, caught by his thoughtless jest: + "Spread not your gold--I will not sell the ground." + "Not sell the ground?" Sudata sharply said, + "Why then said you, 'Fill it with yellow gold'?" + And both contending sought a magistrate. + But Gata, knowing well his earnestness, + Asked why he sought the ground; and when he learned, + He said: "Keep half your gold; the land is yours, + But mine the trees, and jointly we will build + A great vihara for the Buddha's use." + The work begun was pressed both night and day; + Lofty it rose, in just proportions built, + Fit for the palace of a mighty king. + The people saw this great vihara rise, + A stately palace for a foreign prince, + And said in wonder: "What strange thing is this? + Our king to welcome thus a foreign king + To new-made palaces, and not with war + And bloody spears and hands to new-made graves, + As was his father's wont in times gone by?" + Yet all went forth to meet this coming prince, + And see a foreign monarch's royal pomp, + But heard no trumpeting of elephants, + Nor martial music, nor the neigh of steeds, + But saw instead a little band draw near + In yellow robes, with dust and travel-stained; + But love, that like a holy halo crowned + That dusty leader's calm, majestic brow, + Hushed into silence every rising sneer. + And when Sudata met this weary band, + And to the prince's garden led their way, + They followed on, their hands in reverence joined, + To where the stately new vihara rose, + Enbowered in giant trees of every kind + That India's climate grows, while winding streams + Along their flowery banks now quiet flow, + Now leap from rocks, now spread in shining pools + With lotuses and lilies overspread, + While playing fountains with their falling spray + Spread grateful coolness, and a blaze of bloom + From myriad opening flowers perfumes the air, + And myriad birds that sought this peaceful spot + Burst forth in every sweet and varied song + That India's fields and groves and gardens know. + And there Sudata bowed on bended knee, + And from a golden pitcher water poured, + The sign and sealing of their gift of love + Of this vihara, Gatavana called, + A school and rest-house for the Buddha's use, + And for the brotherhood throughout the world. + Buddha received it with the fervent prayer + That it might give the kingdom lasting peace. + + Unlike Sudata's self, Sudata's king + Believed religion but a comely cloak + To hide besetting sins from public view, + And sought the master in his new retreat + To talk religion and to act a part, + And greetings ended, said in solemn wise: + "Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown; + But my poor kingdom now is doubly blest + In one whose teachings purify the soul + And give the highest and the humblest rest, + As all are cleansed who bathe in Rapti's stream." + But Buddha saw through all this outer show + His real purposes and inner life: + The love of pleasure blighting high resolve, + The love of money, root of every ill, + That sends its poison fibers through the soul + And saps its life and wastes its vital strength. + "The Tathagata only shows the way + To purity and rest," the master said. + "There is a way to darkness out of light, + There is a way to light from deepest gloom. + They only gain the goal who keep the way. + Harsh words and evil deeds to sorrow lead + As sure as shadows on their substance wait. + For as we sow, so also shall we reap. + Boast not overmuch of kingly dignity. + A king most needs a kind and loving heart + To love his subjects as an only son, + To aid--not injure, comfort--not oppress, + Their help, protector, father, friend and guide. + Such kings shall live beloved and die renowned, + Whose works shall welcome them to heavenly rest." + The king, convicted, heard his solemn words + That like an arrow pierced his inmost life. + To him religion ceased to be a show + Of chants and incense, empty forms and creeds, + But stood a living presence in his way + To check his blind and headlong downward course, + And lead him to the noble eightfold path, + That day by day and step by step shall lead + To purity and peace and heavenly rest. + + Kapilavastu's king, Suddhodana, + His step grown feeble, snowy white his hair, + By cares oppressed and sick with hope deferred, + For eight long years had waited for his son. + But sweet Yasodhara, in widow's weeds, + Her love by sorrow only purified + As fire refines the gold by dross debased, + Though tender memories bring unbidden tears, + Wasted no time in morbid, selfish grief, + But sought in care for others her own cure. + Both son and daughter to the aged king, + She aids with counsels, soothes with tender care. + Father and mother to her little son, + She lavishes on him a double love. + And oft on mercy's missions going forth, + Shunning the pomp and show of royal state, + Leading Rahula, prattling by her side, + The people saw her pass with swelling hearts, + As if an angel clothed in human form. + + And now strange rumors reach the public ear, + By home-bound pilgrims from Benares brought + And merchantmen from Rajagriha come, + That there a holy rishi had appeared + Whom all believed a very living Buddh, + While kings and peoples followed after him. + These rumors reached the sweet Yasodhara, + And stirred these musings in her watchful heart: + "Stately and tall they say this rishi is, + Gentle to old and young, to rich and poor, + And filled with love for every living thing. + But who so gentle, stately, tall and grand + As my Siddartha? Who so full of love? + And he has found the light Siddartha sought! + It must be he--my own, my best beloved! + And surely he will hither come, and bring + To his poor people, now in darkness sunk, + That living light he left his home to seek." + + As the same sun that makes the cedars grow + And sends their vital force through giant oaks, + Clothes fields with green and decks the wayside flower, + And crowns the autumn with its golden fruits, + So that same love which swept through Buddha's soul + And drove him from his home to seek and save, + Warmed into brighter glow each lesser love + Of home and people, father, wife and child,[4] + And often through those long and troubled years + He felt a burning longing to return. + And now, when summer rains had ceased to fall, + And his disciples were again, sent forth, + Both love and duty with united voice + Bade him revisit his beloved home, + And Saraputra and Kasyapa joined + The master wending on his homeward way, + While light-winged rumor bore Yasodhara + This joyful news: "The holy rishi comes." + + Without the southern gate a garden lay, + Lumbini called, by playing fountains cooled, + With shaded walks winding by banks of flowers, + Whose mingled odors load each passing breeze. + Thither Yasodhara was wont to go, + For there her lord and dearest love was born, + And there they passed full many happy days. + The southern road skirted this garden's wall, + While on the other side were suburb huts + Where toiling poor folk and the base-born dwell. + And near this wall a bright pavilion rose, + Whence she could see each passer by the way. + One morning, after days of patient watch, + She saw approach along this dusty road + Three seeming pilgrims, clothed in yellow robes, + Presenting at each humble door their bowls + For such poor food as these poor folk could give. + As they drew near, a growing multitude, + From every cottage swelled, followed their steps, + Gazing with awe upon the leader's face, + While each to his companion wondering said: + "Who ever saw a rishi such as this, + Who calls us brothers, whom the Brahmans scorn?" + But sweet Yasodhara, with love's quick sight, + Knew him she waited for, and forth she rushed, + Crying: "Siddartha, O my love! my lord!" + And prostrate in the dust she clasped his feet. + He gently raised and pressed her to his heart + In one most tender, loving, long embrace. + By that embrace her every heartache cured, + She calmly said: "Give me a humble part + In your great work, for though my hands are weak + My heart is strong, and my weak hands can bear + The cooling cup to fever's burning lips; + My mother's heart has more than room enough + For many outcasts, many helpless waifs." + And there in presence of that base-born throng, + Who gazed with tears and wonder on the scene, + And in a higher presence, who can doubt + He made her first of that great sisterhood, + Since through the ages known in every land, + Who gently raise the dying soldier's head, + Where cruel war is mangling human limbs; + Who smooth the pillow, bathe the burning brow + Of sick and helpless strangers taken in; + Whose tender care has made the orphans' home, + For those poor waifs who know no mother's love. + Then toward the palace they together went + To their Rahula and the aged king, + While streets were lined and doors and windows filled + With eager gazers at the prince returned + In coarsest robes, with closely shaven head, + Returned a Buddha who went forth a prince. + + Through all these troubled, weary, waiting years, + The king still hoped to see his son return + In royal state, with kings for waiting-men, + To rule a willing world as king of kings. + But now that son enters his palace-gates + In coarsest beggar-garb, his alms-bowl filled + With Sudras' leavings for his daily food. + The king with mingled grief and anger said: + "Is this the end of all our cherished hopes, + The answer to such lofty prophecies, + To see the heir of many mighty king's + Enter his kingdom like a beggar-tramp? + This the return for all the patient love + Of sweet Yasodhara, and this the way + To teach his duty to your royal son?" + The prince with reverence kissed his father's hand, + Bent loving eyes upon his troubled brow + That banished all his bitterness and said: + "How hard it is to give up cherished hopes + I know full well. I know a father's love. + Your love for me I for Rahula feel, + And who can better know that deepest love + Whose tendrils round my very heartstrings twine! + But crores of millions, with an equal love, + Fathers and mothers, children, husbands, wives, + In doubt and darkness groping blindly on, + Cry out for help. Not lack of love for you, + Or my Rahula or Yasodhara, + But love for them drove me to leave my home. + The greatest kingdoms are like ocean's foam, + A moment white upon the crested wave. + The longest life is but a passing dream, + Whose changing scenes but fill a moment's space. + But these poor souls shall live in joy or woe + While nations rise and fall and kalpas pass, + And this proud city crumbles to decay + Till antiquarians search its site in vain, + And beasts shall burrow where this palace stands. + Not for the pleasures of a passing day, + Like shadows flitting ere you point their place, + Not for the transient glories of a king, + Now clothed in scarlet but to-morrow dust, + Can I forget those loving, living souls, + Groping in darkness, vainly asking help." + And then he showed the noble eightfold path + From life's low levels to Nirvana's heights, + While king and people on the master gazed, + Whose face, beaming with pure, unselfish love, + Transfigured seemed; and many noble youth, + And chief Ananda, the Beloved called, + Forsook their gay companions and the round + Of youthful sports, and joined the master's band. + And as he spoke, crores more than mortals saw + Gathered to hear, and King Suddhodana + And sweet Yasodhara entered the path. + + +[1]I have substantially followed the description of this fearful route +given by Fa Hian, the Chinese Buddhist pilgrim, who passed by it from +China to India. + +[2]Like the aspen, the leaf of the sacred fig-tree is always +trembling.--"Two Years in Ceylon," Cumming. + +[3]This is Asvaghosha's version, but the Sanchi inscriptions make the +Naga or cobra rise up behind Buddha and extend its hood over his head +as a shelter. + +[4]Some Buddhists teach that Buddha had conquered all human affections, +and even enter into apologies for a show of affection for his wife, one +of the most elaborate of which Arnold, in the "Light of Asia," puts +into his own mouth; but this is no more like the teachings of Buddha +than the doctrine of infant damnation is like the teachings of Him who +said: "Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not; +for of such is the kingdom of God." + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DAWN AND THE DAY*** + + +******* This file should be named 14360.txt or 14360.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/4/3/6/14360 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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