Stringing the fruited fig-leaves into chains,

  New furbishing the Lingam, decking new

  Yesterday's faded arc of boughs, but aye

  Questioning wayfarers if any noise

  Be on the road of great Siddartha. These

  The Princess marked with lovely languid eyes,

  Watching, as they, the southward plain and bent

  Like them to listen if the passers gave

  News of the path. So fell it she beheld

  One slow approaching with his head close shorn,

  A yellow cloth over his shoulder cast,

  Girt as the hermits are, and in his hand

  An earthen bowl, shaped melonwise, the which

  Meekly at each hut-door he held a space,

  Taking the granted dole with gentle thanks

  And all as gently passing where none gave.

  Two followed him wearing the yellow robe,

  But he who bore the bowl so lordly seemed,

  So reverend, and with such a passage moved,

  With so commanding presence filled the air,

  With such sweet eyes of holiness smote all,

  That as they reached him alms the givers gazed

  Awestruck upon his face, and some bent down

  In worship, and some ran to fetch fresh gifts,

  Grieved to be poor; till slowly, group by group,

  Children and men and women drew behind

  Into his steps, whispering with covered lips,

  "Who is he? who? when looked a Rishi thus?"

  But as he came with quiet footfall on

  Nigh the pavilion, lo! the silken door

  Lifted, and, all unveiled, Yasodhara

  Stood in his path crying, "Siddartha! Lord!"

  With wide eyes streaming and with close-clasped hands,

  Then sobbing fell upon his feet, and lay.

  Afterwards, when this weeping lady passed

  Into the Noble Paths, and one had prayed

  Answer from Buddha wherefore-being vowed

  Quit of all mortal passion and the touch,

  Flower-soft and conquering, of a woman's hands—

  He suffered such embrace, the Master said

  "The greater beareth with the lesser love

  So it may raise it unto easier heights.

  Take heed that no man, being 'soaped from bonds,

  Vexeth bound souls with boasts of liberty.

  Free are ye rather that your freedom spread

  By patient winning and sweet wisdom's skill.

  Three eras of long toil bring Bodhisats—

  Who will be guides and help this darkling world—

  Unto deliverance, and the first is named

  Of deep 'Resolve,' the second of 'Attempt,'

  The third of 'Nomination.' Lo! I lived

  In era of Resolve, desiring good,

  Searching for wisdom, but mine eyes were sealed.

  Count the grey seeds on yonder castor-clump—

  So many rains it is since I was Ram,

  A merchant of the coast which looketh south

  To Lanka and the hiding-place of pearls.

  Also in that far time Yasodhara

  Dwelt with me in our village by the sea,

  Tender as now, and Lukshmi was her name.

  And I remember how I journeyed thence

  Seeking our gain, for poor the household was

  And lowly. Not the less with wistful tears

  She prayed me that I should not part, nor tempt

  Perils by land and water. 'How could love

  Leave what it loved?' she wailed; yet, venturing, I

  Passed to the Straits, and after storm and toil

  And deadly strife with creatures of the deep,

  And woes beneath the midnight and the noon,

  Searching the wave I won therefrom a pearl

  Moonlike and glorious, such as kings might buy

  Emptying their treasury. Then came I glad

  Unto mine hills, but over all that land

  Famine spread sore; ill was I stead to live

  In journey home, and hardly reached my door—

  Aching for food—with that white wealth of the sea

  Tied in my girdle. Yet no food was there;

  And on the threshold she for whom I toiled—

  More than myself—lay with her speechless lips

  Nigh unto death for one small gift of grain.

  Then cried I, 'If there be who hath of grain,

  Here is a kingdom's ransom for one life

  Give Lukshmi bread and take my moonlight pearl.'

  Whereat one brought the last of all his hoard,

  Millet—three seers—and clutched the beauteous thing.

  But Lukshmi lived and sighed with gathered life,

  'Lo! thou didst love indeed!' I spent my pearl

  Well in that life to comfort heart and mind

  Else quite uncomforted; but these pure pearls,

  My last large gain, won from a deeper wave—

  The Twelve Nidanas and the Law of Good—

  Cannot be spent, nor dimmed, and most fulfil

  Their perfect beauty being freeliest given.

  For like as is to Meru yonder hill

  Heaped by the little ants, and like as dew

  Dropped in the footmark of a bounding roe

  Unto the shoreless seas, so was that gift

  Unto my present giving; and so love—

  Vaster in being free from toils of sense—

  Was wisest stooping to the weaker heart;

  And so the feet of sweet Yasodhara

  Passed into peace and bliss, being softly led."

  But when the King heard how Siddartha came

  Shorn, with the mendicant's sad-coloured cloth,

  And stretching out a bowl to gather orts

  From base-borns' leavings, wrathful sorrow drove

  Love from his heart. Thrice on the ground he spat,

  Plucked at his silvered beard, and strode straight forth

  Lackeyed by trembling lords. Frowning he clomb

  Upon his war-horse, drove the spurs, and dashed,

  Angered, through wondering streets and lanes of folk.

  Scarce finding breath to say, "The King! bow down!"

  Ere the loud cavalcade had clattered by:

  Which—at the turning by the Temple-wall

  Where the south gate was seen—encountered full

  A mighty crowd; to every edge of it

  Poured fast more people, till the roads were lost,

  Blotted by that huge company which thronged

  And grew, close following him whose look serene

  Met the old King's. Nor lived the father's wrath

  Longer than while the gentle eyes of Buddh

  Lingered in worship on his troubled brows,

  Then downcast sank, with his true knee, to earth

  In proud humility. So dear it seemed

  To see the Prince, to know him whole, to mark

  That glory greater than of earthly state

  Crowning his head, that majesty which brought

  All men, so awed and silent, in his steps.

  Nathless the King broke forth: "Ends it in this,

  That great Siddartha steals into his realm,

  Wrapped in a clout, shorn, sandalled, craving food

  Of low-borns, he whose life was as a god's,

  My son! heir of this spacious power, and heir

  Of Kings who did but clap their palms to have

  What earth could give or eager service bring?

  Thou should'st have come apparelled in thy rank,

  With shining spears and tramp of horse and foot.

  Lo! all my soldiers camped upon the road,

  And all my city waited at the gates;

  Where hast thou sojourned through these evil years

  Whilst thy crowned father mourned? and she, too, there

  Lived as the widows use, foregoing joys;

  Never once hearing sound of song or string,

  Nor wearing once the festal robe, till now

  When in her cloth of gold she welcomes home

  A beggar spouse in yellow remnants clad.

  Son! why is this?"

  "My father!" came reply,

  "It is the custom of my race."

  "Thy race,"

  Answered the King "counteth a hundred thrones

  From Maha Sammat, but no deed like this."

  "Not of a mortal line," the Master said,

  "I spake, but of descent invisible,

  The Buddhas who have been and who shall be:

  Of these am I, and what they did I do,

  And this which now befalls so fell before,

  That at his gate a King in warrior-mail

  Should meet his son, a Prince in hermit-weeds;

  And that, by love and self-control, being more

  Than mightiest Kings in all their puissance,

  The appointed Helper of the Worlds should bow—

  As now do I—and with all lowly love

  Proffer, where it is owed for tender debts,

  The first-fruits of the treasure he hath brought;

  Which now I proffer."

  Then the King amazed

  Inquired "What treasure?" and the Teacher took

  Meekly the royal palm, and while they paced

  Through worshipping streets—the Princess and the King

  On either side—he told the things which make

  For peace and pureness, those Four noble Truths

  Which hold all wisdom as shores shut the seas,

  Those Eight right Rules whereby who will may walk—

  Monarch or slave—upon the perfect Path

  That hath its Stages Four and Precepts Eight,

  Whereby whoso will live—mighty or mean

  Wise or unlearned, man, woman, young or old

  Shall soon or late break from the wheels of life,

  Attaining blest Nirvana. So they came

  Into the Palace-porch, Suddhodana

  With brows unknit drinking the mighty words,

  And in his own hand carrying Buddha's bowl,

  Whilst a new light brightened the lovely eyes

  Of sweet Yasodhara and sunned her tears;

  And that night entered they the Way of Peace.

  Book The Eighth

  *

  A broad mead spreads by swift Kohana's bank

  At Nagara; five days shall bring a man

  In ox-wain thither from Benares' shrines

  Eastward and northward journeying. The horns

  Of white Himala look upon the place,

  Which all the year is glad with blooms and girt

  By groves made green from that bright streamlet's wave.

  Soft are its slopes and cool its fragrant shades,

  And holy all the spirit of the spot

  Unto this time: the breath of eve comes hushed

  Over the tangled thickets, and high heaps

  Of carved red stones cloven by root and stem

  Of creeping fig, and clad with waving veil

  Of leaf and grass. The still snake glistens forth

  From crumbled work of lac and cedar-beams

  To coil his folds there on deep-graven slabs;

  The lizard dwells and darts o'er painted floors

  Where kings have paced; the grey fox litters safe

  Under the broken thrones; only the peaks,

  And stream, and sloping lawns, and gentle air

  Abide unchanged. All else, like all fair shows

  Of life, are fled—for this is where it stood,

  The city of Suddhodana, the hill

  Whereon, upon an eve of gold and blue

  At sinking sun Lord Buddha set himself

  To teach the Law in hearing of his own.

  Lo! ye shall read it in the Sacred Books

  How, being met in that glad pleasaunce-place—

  A garden in old days with hanging walks,

  Fountains, and tanks, and rose-banked terraces

  Girdled by gay pavilions and the sweep

  Of stately palace-fronts—the Master sate

  Eminent, worshipped, all the earnest throng

  Catching the opening of his lips to learn

  That wisdom which hath made our Asia mild;

  Whereto four hundred crores of living souls

  Witness this day. Upon the King's right hand

  He sate, and round were ranged the Sakya Lords

  Ananda, Devadatta—all the Court.

  Behind stood Seriyut and Mugallan, chiefs

  Of the calm brethren in the yellow garb,

  A goodly company. Between his knees

  Rahula smiled with wondering childish eyes

  Bent on the awful face, while at his feet

  Sate sweet Yasodhara, her heartaches gone,

  Foreseeing that fair love which doth not feed

  On fleeting sense, that life which knows no age,

  That blessed last of deaths when Death is dead,

  His victory and hers. Wherefore she laid

  Her hand upon his hands, folding around

  Her silver shoulder-cloth his yellow robe,

  Nearest in all the world to him whose words

  The Three Worlds waited for. I cannot tell

  A small part of the splendid lore which broke

  From Buddha's lips: I am a late-come scribe

  Who love the Master and his love of men,

  And tell this legend, knowing he was wise,

  But have not wit to speak beyond the books;

  And time hath blurred their script and ancient sense,

  Which once was new and mighty, moving all.

  A little of that large discourse I know

  Which Buddha spake on the soft Indian eve.

  Also I know it writ that they who heard

  Were more—lakhs more—crores more—than could be seen,

  For all the Devas and the Dead thronged there,

  Till Heaven was emptied to the seventh zone

  And uttermost dark Hells opened their bars;

  Also the daylight lingered past its time

  In rose-leaf radiance on the watching peaks,

  So that it seemed night listened in the glens,

  And noon upon the mountains; yea! they write,

  The evening stood between them like some maid

  Celestial, love-struck, rapt; the smooth-rolled clouds

  Her braided hair; the studded stars the pearls

  And diamonds of her coronal; the moon

  Her forehead jewel, and the deepening dark

  Her woven garments. 'T was her close-held breath

  Which came in scented sighs across the lawns

  While our Lord taught, and, while he taught, who heard—

  Though he were stranger in the land, or slave,

  High caste or low, come of the Aryan blood,

  Or Mlech or Jungle-dweller—seemed to hear

  What tongue his fellows talked. Nay, outside those

  Who crowded by the river, great and small,

  The birds and beasts and creeping things—'t is writ—

  Had sense of Buddha's vast embracing love

  And took the promise of his piteous speech;

  So that their lives—prisoned in shape of ape,

  Tiger, or deer, shagged bear, jackal, or wolf,

  Foul-feeding kite, pearled dove, or peacock gemmed,

  Squat toad, or speckled serpent, lizard, bat,

  Yea, or of fish fanning the river waves—

  Touched meekly at the skirts of brotherhood

  With man who hath less innocence than these;

  And in mute gladness knew their bondage broke

  Whilst Buddha spake these things before the King:

  Om, Amitaya! measure not with words

  Th' Immeasurable; nor sink the string of thought

  Into the Fathomless. Who asks doth err,

  Who answers, errs. Say nought!

  The Books teach Darkness was, at first of all,

  And Brahm, sole meditating in that Night;

  Look not for Brahm and the Beginning there!

  Nor him, nor any light

  Shall any gazer see with mortal eyes,

  Or any searcher know by mortal mind,

  Veil after veil will lift—but there must be

  Veil upon veil behind.

  Stars sweep and question not. This is enough

  That life and death and joy and woe abide;

  And cause and sequence, and the course of time,

  And Being's ceaseless tide,

  Which, ever-changing, runs, linked like a river

  By ripples following ripples, fast or slow—

  The same yet not the same—from far-off fountain

  To where its waters flow

  Into the seas. These, steaming to the Sun,

  Give the lost wavelets back in cloudy fleece

  To trickle down the hills, and glide again;

  Having no pause or peace.

  This is enough to know, the phantasms are;

  The Heavens, Earths, Worlds, and changes changing them

  A mighty whirling wheel of strife and stress

  Which none can stay or stem.

  Pray not! the Darkness will not brighten!

  Ask Nought from the Silence, for it cannot speak!

  Vex not your mournful minds with pious pains!

  Ah! Brothers, Sisters! seek

  Nought from the helpless gods by gift and hymn,

  Nor bribe with blood, nor feed with fruit and cakes;

  Within yourselves deliverance must be sought;

  Each man his prison makes.

  Each hath such lordship as the loftiest ones;

  Nay, for with Powers above, around, below,

  As with all flesh and whatsoever lives,

  Act maketh joy and woe.

  What hath been bringeth what shall be, and is,

  Worse—better—last for first and first for last;

  The Angels in the Heavens of Gladness reap

  Fruits of a holy past.

  The devils in the underworlds wear out

  Deeds that were wicked in an age gone by.

  Nothing endures: fair virtues waste with time,

  Foul sins grow purged thereby.

  Who toiled a slave may come anew a Prince

  For gentle worthiness and merit won;

  Who ruled a King may wander earth in rags

  For things done and undone.

  Higher than Indra's ye may lift your lot,

  And sink it lower than the worm or gnat;

  The end of many myriad lives is this,

  The end of myriads that.

  Only, while turns this wheel invisible,

  No pause, no peace, no staying-place can be;

  Who mounts will fall, who falls may mount; the spokes

  Go round unceasingly!

 

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