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Thou who wouldst see where dawned the light at last,

North-westwards from the "Thousand Gardens" go

By Gunga's valley till thy steps be set

On the green hills where those twin streamlets spring

Nilajan and Mohana; follow them,

Winding beneath broad-leaved mahua-trees,

'Mid thickets of the sansar and the bir,

Till on the plain the shining sisters meet

In Phalgu's bed, flowing by rocky banks

To Gaya and the red Barabar hills.

Hard by that river spreads a thorny waste,

Uruwelaya named in ancient days,

With sandhills broken; on its verge a wood

Waves sea-green plumes and tassels 'thwart the sky,

With undergrowth wherethrough a still flood steals,

Dappled with lotus-blossoms, blue and white,

And peopled with quick fish and tortoises.

Near it the village of Senani reared

Its roofs of grass, nestled amid the palms,

Peaceful with simple folk and pastoral toils.

There in the sylvan solitudes once more

Lord Buddha lived, musing the woes of men,

The ways of fate, the doctrines of the books,

The lessons of the creatures of the brake,

The secrets of the silence whence all come,

The secrets of the gloom whereto all go,

The life which lies between, like that arch flung

From cloud to cloud across the sky, which hath

Mists for its masonry and vapoury piers,

Melting to void again which was so fair

With sapphire hues, garnet, and chrysoprase.

Moon after moon our Lord sate in the wood,

So meditating these that he forgot

Ofttimes the hour of food, rising from thoughts

Prolonged beyond the sunrise and the noon

To see his bowl unfilled, and eat perforce

Of wild fruit fallen from the boughs o'erhead,

Shaken to earth by chattering ape or plucked

By purple parokeet. Therefore his grace

Faded; his body, worn by stress of soul,

Lost day by day the marks, thirty and two,

Which testify the Buddha. Scarce that leaf,

Fluttering so dry and withered to his feet

From off the sal-branch, bore less likeliness

Of spring's soft greenery than he of him

Who was the princely flower of all his land.

And once at such a time the o'erwrought Prince

Fell to the earth in deadly swoon, all spent,

Even as one slain, who hath no longer breath

Nor any stir of blood; so wan he was,

So motionless. But there came by that way

A shepherd-boy, who saw Siddartha lie

With lids fast-closed, and lines of nameless pain

Fixed on his lips—the fiery noonday sun

Beating upon his head—who, plucking boughs

From wild rose-apple trees, knitted them thick

Into a bower to shade the sacred face.

Also he poured upon the Master's lips

Drops of warm milk, pressed from his she-goat's bag,

Lest, being of low caste, he do wrong to one

So high and holy seeming. But the books

Tell how the jambu-branches, planted thus,

Shot with quick life in wealth of leaf and flower

And glowing fruitage interlaced and close,

So that the bower grew like a tent of silk

Pitched for a king at hunting, decked with studs

Of silver-work and bosses of red gold.

And the boy worshipped, deeming him some God;

But our Lord, gaining breath, arose and asked

Milk in the shepherd's lots. "Ah, my Lord,

I cannot give thee," quoth the lad; "thou seest

I am a Sudra, and my touch defiles!"

Then the World-honoured spake: "Pity and need

Make all flesh kin. There is no caste in blood,

Which runneth of one hue, nor caste in tears,

Which trickle salt with all; neither comes man

To birth with tilka-mark stamped on the brow,

Nor sacred thread on neck. Who doth right deeds

Is twice-born, and who doeth ill deeds vile.

Give me to drink, my brother; when I come

Unto my quest it shall be good for thee."

Thereat the peasant's heart was glad, and gave.

And on another day there passed that road

A band of tinselled, girls, the nautch-dancers

Of Indra's temple in the town, with those

Who made their music—one that beat a drum

Set round with peacock-feathers, one that blew

The piping bansuli, and one that twitched

A three-string sitar. Lightly tripped they down

From ledge to ledge and through the chequered paths

To some gay festival, the silver bells

Chiming soft peals about the small brown feet,

Armlets and wrist-rings tattling answer shrill;

While he that bore the sitar thrummed and twanged

His threads of brass, and she beside him sang—

"Fair goes the dancing when the sitar's tuned;

Tune us the sitar neither low nor high,

And we will dance away the hearts of men.

"The string o'erstretched breaks, and the music flies,

The string o'erslack is dumb, and music dies;

Tune us the sitar neither low nor high."

"So sang the nautch-girl to the pipe and wires,

Fluttering like some vain, painted butterfly

From glade to glade along the forest path,

Nor dreamed her light words echoed on the ear

Of him, that holy man, who sate so rapt

Under the fig-tree by the path. But Buddh

Lifted his great brow as the wantons passed,

And spake: 'The foolish ofttimes teach the wise;

I strain too much this string of life, belike,

Meaning to make such music as shall save.

Mine eyes are dim now that they see the truth,

My strength is waned now that my need is most;

Would that I had such help as man must have,

For I shall die, whose life was all men's hope.'"

Now, by that river dwelt a landholder

Pious and rich, master of many herds,

A goodly chief, the friend of all the poor;

And from his house the village drew its name—

"Senani." Pleasant and in peace he lived,

Having for wife Sujata, loveliest

Of all the dark-eyed daughters of the plain;

Gentle and true, simple and kind was she,

Noble of mien, with gracious speech to all

And gladsome looks—a pearl of womanhood—

Passing calm years of household happiness

Beside her lord in that still Indian home,

Save that no male child blessed their wedded love.

Wherefore with many prayers she had besought

Lukshmi, and many nights at full-moon gone

Round the great Lingam, nine times nine, with gifts

Of rice and jasmine wreaths and sandal oil,

Praying a boy; also Sujata vowed—

If this should be—an offering of food

Unto the Wood-God, plenteous, delicate,

Set in a bowl of gold under his tree,

Such as the lips of Devs may taste and take.

And this had been: for there was born to her

A beauteous boy, now three months old, who lay

Between Sujata's breasts, while she did pace

With grateful footsteps to the Wood-God's shrine,

One arm clasping her crimson sari close

To wrap the babe, that jewel of her joys,

The other lifted high in comely curve

To steady on her head the bowl and dish

Which held the dainty victuals for the God.

But Radha, sent before to sweep the ground

And tie the scarlet threads around the tree,

Came eager, crying, "Ah, dear Mistress! look!

There is the Wood-God sitting in his place,

Revealed, with folded hands upon his knees.

See how the light shines round about his brow!

How mild and great he seems, with heavenly eyes!

Good fortune is it thus to meet the gods."

So,—thinking him divine,—Sujata drew

Tremblingly nigh, and kissed the earth and said,

With sweet face bent: "Would that the Holy One

Inhabiting his grove, Giver of good,

Merciful unto me his handmaiden,

Vouchsafing now his presence, might accept

These our poor gifts of snowy curds, fresh made,

With milk as white as new-carved ivory!"

Therewith into the golden bowl she poured

The curds and milk, and on the hands of Buddh

Dropped attar from a crystal flask-distilled

Out of the hearts of roses; and he ate,

Speaking no word, while the glad mother stood

In reverence apart. But of that meal

So wondrous was the virtue that our Lord

Felt strength and life return as though the nights

Of watching and the days of fast had passed

In dream, as though the spirit with the flesh

Shared that fine meat and plumed its wings anew,

Like some delighted bird at sudden streams

Weary with flight o'er endless wastes of sand,

Which laves the desert dust from neck and crest—

And more Sujata worshipped, seeing our Lord

Grow fairer and his countenance more bright:

"Art thou indeed the God?" she lowly asked,

"And hath my gift found favour?"

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

"Holy one!"

Answered Sujata, "from our droves I took

Milk of a hundred mothers newly-calved,

And with that milk I fed fifty white cows,

And with their milk twenty-and-five, and then

With theirs twelve more, and yet again with theirs

The six noblest and best of all our herds,

That yield I boiled with sandal and fine spice

In silver lotas, adding rice, well grown

From chosen seed, set in new-broken ground,

So picked that every grain was like a pearl.

This did I of true heart, because I vowed,

Under thy tree, if I should bear a boy

I would make offering for my joy, and now

I have my son and all my life is bliss!"

Softly our Lord drew down the crimson fold,

And, laying on the little head those hands

Which help the world, he said: "Long be thy bliss!

And lightly fall on him the load of life!

For thou hast holpen me who am no God,

But one thy Brother; heretofore a Prince

And now a wanderer, seeking night and day

These six hard years that light which somewhere shines

To lighten all men's darkness, if they knew!

And I shall find the light; yea, now it dawned

Glorious and helpful, when my weak flesh failed

Which this pure food, fair Sister, hath restored,

Drawn manifold through lives to quicken life

As life itself passes by many births

To happier heights and purging off of sins.

Yet dost thou truly find it sweet enough

Only to live? Can life and love suffice?"

Answered Sujata: "Worshipful! my heart

Is little, and a little rain will fill

The lily's cup which hardly moists the field.

It is enough for me to feel life's sun

Shine in my lord's grace and my baby's smile,

Making the loving summer of our home.

Pleasant my days pass filled with household cares

From sunrise when I wake to praise the gods,

And give forth grain, and trim the tulsi-plant,

And set my handmaids to their tasks, till noon

When my lord lays his head upon my lap

Lulled by soft songs and wavings of the fan;

And so to supper-time at quiet eve,

When by his side I stand and serve the cakes.

Then the stars light their silver lamps for sleep,

After the temple and the talk with friends.

How should I not be happy, blest so much,

And bearing him this boy whose tiny hand

Shall lead his soul to Swerga, if it need?

For holy books teach when a man shall plant

Trees for the travelers' shade, and dig a well

For the folks' comfort, and beget a son,

It shall be good for such after their death;

And what the books say, that I humbly take,

Being not wiser than those great of old

Who spake with gods, and knew the hymns and charms,

And all the ways of virtue and of peace.

Also I think that good must come of good

And ill of evil—surely—unto all—

In every place and time—seeing sweet fruit

Groweth from wholesome roots, and bitter things

From poison-stocks; yea, seeing, too, how spite

Breeds hate, and kindness friends, and patience peace

Even while we live; and when 't is willed we die

Shall there not be as good a `Then' as `Now'?

Haply much better! since one grain of rice

Shoots a green feather gemmed with fifty pearls,

And all the starry champak's white and gold

Lurks in those little, naked, grey spring-buds.

Ah, Sir! I know there might be woes to bear

Would lay fond Patience with her face in dust;

If this my babe pass first I think my heart

Would break—almost I hope my heart would break!

That I might clasp him dead and wait my lord

In whatsoever world holds faithful wives—

Duteous, attending till his hour should come.

But if Death called Senani, I should mount

The pile and lay that dear head in my lap,

My daily way, rejoicing when the torch

Lit the quick flame and rolled the choking smoke.

For it is written if an Indian wife

Die so, her love shall give her husband's soul

For every hair upon her head a crore

Of years in Swerga. Therefore fear I not.

And therefore, Holy Sir! my life is glad,

Nowise forgetting yet those other lives

Painful and poor, wicked and miserable,

Whereon the gods grant pity! but for me,

What good I see humbly I seek to do,

And live obedient to the law, in trust

That what will come, and must come, shall come well."

Then spake our Lord: "Thou teachest them who teach,

Wiser than wisdom in thy simple lore.

Be thou content to know not, knowing thus

Thy way of right and duty: grow, thou flower

With thy sweet kind in peaceful shade—the light

Of Truth's high noon is not for tender leaves

Which must spread broad in other suns and lift

In later lives a crowned head to the sky.

Thou who hast worshipped me, I worship thee!

Excellent heart! learned unknowingly,

As the dove is which flieth home by love.

In thee is seen why there is hope for man

And where we hold the wheel of life at will.

Peace go with thee, and comfort all thy days!

As thou accomplishest, may I achieve!

He whom thou thoughtest God bids thee wish this."

"May'st thou achieve," she said, with earnest eyes

Bent on her babe, who reached its tender hands

To Buddh—knowing, belike, as children know,

More than we deem, and reverencing our Lord;

But he arose—made strong with that pure meat—

And bent his footsteps where a great Tree grew,

The Bodhi-tree (thenceforward in all years

Never to fade, and ever to be kept

In homage of the world), beneath whose leaves

It was ordained that Truth should come to Buddh

Which now the Master knew; wherefore he went

With measured pace, steadfast, majestical,

Unto the Tree of Wisdom. Oh, ye Worlds!

Rejoice! our Lord wended unto the Tree!

Whom—as he passed into its ample shade,

Cloistered with columned dropping stems, and roofed

With vaults of glistening green—the conscious earth

Worshipped with waving grass and sudden flush

Of flowers about his feet. The forest-boughs

Bent down to shade him; from the river sighed

Cool wafts of wind laden with lotus-scents

Breathed by the water-gods. Large wondering eyes

Of woodland creatures—panther, boar, and deer—

At peace that eve, gazed on his face benign

From cave and thicket. From its cold cleft wound

The mottled deadly snake, dancing its hood

In honour of our Lord; bright butterflies

Fluttered their vans, azure and green and gold,

To be his fan-bearers; the fierce kite dropped

Its prey and screamed; the striped palm-squirrel raced

From stem to stem to see; the weaver-bird

Chirped from her swinging nest; the lizard ran;

The koil sang her hymn; the doves flocked round;

Even the creeping things were 'ware and glad.

Voices of earth and air joined in one song,

Which unto ears that hear said: "Lord and Friend!

Lover and Saviour! Thou who hast subdued

Angers and prides, desires and fears and doubts,

Thou that for each and all hast given thyself,

Pass to the Tree! The sad world blesseth thee

Who art the Buddh that shall assuage her woes.

Pass, Hailed and Honoured! strive thy last for us,

King and high Conqueror! thine hour is come;

This is the Night the ages waited for!"

Then fell the night even as our Master sate

Under that Tree. But he who is the Prince

Of Darkness, Mara—knowing this was Buddh

Who should deliver men, and now the hour

When he should find the Truth and save the worlds—

Gave unto all his evil powers command.

Wherefore there trooped from every deepest pit

The fiends who war with Wisdom and the Light,

Arati, Trishna, Raga, and their crew

Of passions, horrors, ignorances, lusts.

The brood of gloom and dread; all hating Buddh,

Seeking to shake his mind; nor knoweth one,

Not even the wisest, how those fiends of Hell

Battled that night to keep the Truth from Buddh:

Sometimes with terrors of the tempest, blasts

Of demon-armies clouding all the wind,

With thunder, and with blinding lightning flung

In jagged javelins of purple wrath

From splitting skies; sometimes with wiles and words

Fair-sounding, 'mid hushed leaves and softened airs

From shapes of witching beauty; wanton songs,

Whispers of love; sometimes with royal allures

Of proffered rule; sometimes with mocking doubts,

Making truth vain. But whether these befell

Without and visible, or whether Buddh

Strove with fell spirits in his inmost heart,

Judge ye:—I write what ancient books have writ.

The ten chief Sins came—Mara's mighty ones,

Angels of evil—Attavada first,

The Sin of Self, who in the Universe

As in a mirror sees her fond face shown,

And crying "I" would have the world say "I,"

And all things perish so if she endure.

"If thou be'st Buddh," she said, "let others grope

Lightless; it is enough that thou art Thou

Changelessly; rise and take the bliss of gods

Who change not, heed not, strive not."

But Buddh spake,

"The right in thee is base, the wrong a curse;

Cheat such as love themselves." Then came wan Doubt,

He that denies—the mocking Sin—and this

Hissed in the Master's ear: "All things are shows,

And vain the knowledge of their vanity;

Thou dost but chase the shadow of thyself;

Rise and go hence, there is no better way

Than patient scorn, nor any help for man,

Nor any staying of his whirling wheel."

But quoth our Lord, "Thou hast no part with me,

False Visikitcha, subtlest of man's foes."

And third came she who gives dark creeds their power,

Silabbat-paramasa, sorceress,

Draped fair in many lands as lowly Faith,

But ever juggling souls with rites and prayers;

The keeper of those keys which lock up Hells

And open Heavens. "Wilt thou dare," she said,

"Put by our sacred books, dethrone our gods,

Unpeople all the temples, shaking down

That law which feeds the priests and props the realms?"

But Buddha answered, "What thou bidd'st me keep

Is form which passes, but the free Truth stands;

Get thee unto thy darkness." Next there drew

Gallantly nigh a braver Tempter, he,

Kama, the King of passions, who hath sway

Over the gods themselves, lord of all loves,

Ruler of Pleasure's realm. Laughing he came

Unto the Tree, bearing his bow of gold

Wreathed with red blooms, and arrows of desire

Pointed with five-tongued delicate flame which stings

The heart it smites sharper than poisoned barb.

And round him came into that lonely place

Bands of bright shapes with heavenly eyes and lips

Singing in lovely words the praise of Love

To music of invisible sweet chords,

So witching, that it seemed the night stood still

To hear them, and the listening stars and moon,

Paused in their orbits while these hymned to Buddh

Of lost delights, and how a mortal man

Findeth nought dearer in the three wide worlds

Than are the yielded loving fragrant breasts

Of Beauty and the rosy breast-blossoms,

Love's rubies; nay, and toucheth nought more high

Than is that dulcet harmony of form

Seen in the lines and charms of loveliness

Unspeakable, yet speaking, soul to soul,

Owned by the bounding blood, worshipped by will

Which leaps to seize it, knowing this is best,

This the true heaven where mortals are like gods,

Makers and Masters, this the gift of gifts

Ever renewed and worth a thousand woes.

For who hath grieved when soft arms shut him safe,

And all life melted to a happy sigh,

And all the world was given in one warm kiss?

So sang, they with soft float of beckoning hands,

Eyes lighted with love-flames, alluring smiles;

In dainty dance their supple sides and limbs

Revealing and concealing like burst buds

Which tell their colour, but hide yet their hearts.

Never so matchless grace delighted eye

As troop by troop these midnight-dancers swept

Nearer the Tree, each daintier than the last,

Murmuring, "O great Siddartha! I am thine,

Taste of my mouth and see if youth is sweet!"

Also, when nothing moved our Master's mind,

Lo! Kama waved his magic bow, and lo!

The band of dancers opened, and a shape

Fairest and stateliest of the throng came forth

Wearing the guise of sweet Yasodhara.

Tender the passion of those dark eyes seemed

Brimming with tears; yearning those outspread arms

Opened towards him; musical that moan

Wherewith the beauteous shadow named his name,

Sighing: "My Prince! I die for lack of thee!

What heaven hast thou found like that we knew

By bright Rohini in the Pleasure-house,

Where all these weary years I weep for thee?

Return, Siddartha! ah, return! But touch

My lips again, but let me to thy breast

Once, and these fruitless dreams will end! Ah, look!

Am I not she thou lovedst?" But Buddh said:

"For that sweet sake of her thou playest thus

Fair and false Shadow, is thy playing vain;

I curse thee not who wear'st a form so dear,

Yet as thou art, so are all earthly shows.

Melt to thy void again!" Thereat a cry

Thrilled through the grove, and all that comely rout

Faded with flickering wafts of flame, and trail

Of vaporous ropes.

Next under darkening skies

And noise of rising storm came fiercer Sins

The rearmost of the Ten, Patigha—Hate—

With serpents coiled about her waist, which suck

Poisonous milk from both her hanging dugs,

And with her curses mix their angry hiss.

Little wrought she upon that Holy One

Who with his calm eyes dumbed her bitter lips

And made her black snakes writhe to hide their fangs.

Then followed Ruparaga—Lust of days—

That sensual Sin which out of greed for life

Forgets to live; and next him Lust of Fame,

Nobler Aruparaga, she whose spell

Beguiles the wise, mother of daring deeds,

Battles and toils. And haughty Mano came,

The Fiend of Pride; and smooth Self-Righteousness.

Uddhachcha; and—with many a hideous band

Of vile and formless things, which crept and flapped

Toad-like and bat-like—Ignorance, the Dam

Of Fear and Wrong, Avidya, hideous hag,

Whose footsteps left the midnight darker, while

The rooted mountains shook, the wild winds howled,

The broken clouds shed from their caverns streams

Of levin-lighted rain; stars shot from heaven,

The solid earth shuddered as if one laid

Flame to her gaping wounds; the torn black air

Was full of whistling wings, of screams and yells,

Of evil faces peering, of vast fronts

Terrible and majestic, Lords of Hell

Who from a thousand Limbos led their troops

To tempt the Master.

But Buddh heeded not,

Sitting serene, with perfect virtue walled

As is a stronghold by its gates and ramps;

Also the Sacred Tree—the Bodhi-tree—

Amid that tumult stirred not, but each leaf

Glistened as still as when on moonlit eves

No zephyr spills the glittering gems of dew;

For all this clamour raged outside the shade

Spread by those cloistered stems.

In the third watch,

The earth being still, the hellish legions fled,

A soft air breathing from the sinking moon,

Our Lord attained samma-sambuddh; he saw

By light which shines beyond our mortal ken

The line of all his lives in all the worlds,

Far back and farther back and farthest yet,

Five hundred lives and fifty. Even as one,

At rest upon a mountain-summit, marks

His path wind up by precipice and crag

Past thick-set woods shrunk to a patch; through bogs

Glittering false-green; down hollows where he toiled

Breathless; on dizzy ridges where his feet

Had well-nigh slipped; beyond the sunny lawns,

The cataract and the cavern and the pool,

Backward to those dim flats wherefrom he sprang

To reach the blue—thus Buddha did behold

Life's upward steps long-linked, from levels low

Where breath is base, to higher slopes and higher

Whereon the ten great Virtues wait to lead

The climber skyward. Also, Buddha saw

How new life reaps what the old life did sow;

How where its march breaks off its march begins;

Holding the gain and answering for the loss;

And how in each life good begets more good,

Evil fresh evil; Death but casting up

Debit or credit, whereupon th' account

In merits or demerits stamps itself

By sure arithmic—where no tittle drops—

Certain and just, on some new-springing life;

Wherein are packed and scored past thoughts and deeds,

Strivings and triumphs, memories and marks

Of lives foregone:

And in the middle watch,

Our Lord attained Abhidjna—insight vast

Ranging beyond this sphere to spheres unnamed,

System on system, countless worlds and suns

Moving in splendid measures, band by band

Linked in division, one yet separate,

The silver islands of a sapphire sea

Shoreless, unfathomed, undiminished, stirred

With waves which roll in restless tides of change.

He saw those Lords of Light who hold their worlds

By bonds invisible, how they themselves

Circle obedient round mightier orbs

Which serve profounder splendours, star to star

Flashing the ceaseless radiance of life

From centres ever shifting unto cirques

Knowing no uttermost. These he beheld

With unsealed vision, and of all those worlds,

Cycle on epicycle, all their tale

Of Kalpas, Mahakalpas—terms of time

Which no man grasps, yea, though he knew to count

The drops in Gunga from her springs to the sea,

Measureless unto speech—whereby these wax

And wane; whereby each of this heavenly host

Fulfils its shining life and darkling dies.

Sakwal by Sakwal, depths and heights be passed

Transported through the blue infinitudes,

Marking—behind all modes, above all spheres,

Beyond the burning impulse of each orb—

That fixed decree at silent work which wills

Evolve the dark to light, the dead to life,

To fulness void, to form the yet unformed,

Good unto better, better unto best,

By wordless edict; having none to bid,

None to forbid; for this is past all gods

Immutable, unspeakable, supreme,

A Power which builds, unbuilds, and builds again,

Ruling all things accordant to the rule

Of virtue, which is beauty, truth, and use.

So that all things do well which serve the Power,

And ill which hinder; nay, the worm does well

Obedient to its kind; the hawk does well

Which carries bleeding quarries to its young;

The dewdrop and the star shine sisterly,

Globing together in the common work;

And man, who lives to die, dies to live well

So if he guide his ways by blamelessness

And earnest will to hinder not but help

All things both great and small which suffer life.

These did our Lord see in the middle watch.

But when the fourth watch came the secret came

Of Sorrow, which with evil mars the law,

As damp and dross hold back the goldsmith's fire.

Then was the Dukha-satya opened him

First of the "Noble Truths"; how Sorrow is

Shadow to life, moving where life doth move;

Not to be laid aside until one lays

Living aside, with all its changing states,

Birth, growth, decay, love, hatred, pleasure, pain,

Being and doing. How that none strips off

These sad delights and pleasant griefs who lacks

Knowledge to know them snares; but he who knows

Avidya—Delusion—sets those snares,

Loves life no longer but ensues escape.

The eyes of such a one are wide; he sees

Delusion breeds Sankhara, Tendency

Perverse: Tendency Energy—Vidnnan—

Whereby comes Namarupa, local form

And name and bodiment, bringing the man

With senses naked to the sensible,

A helpless mirror of all shows which pass

Across his heart; and so Vendana grows—

"Sense-life "—false in its gladness, fell in sadness,

But sad or glad, the Mother of Desire,

Trishna, that thirst which makes the living drink

Deeper and deeper of the false salt waves

Whereon they float—pleasures, ambitions, wealth,

Praise, fame, or domination, conquest, love;

Rich meats and robes, and fair abodes, and pride

Of ancient lines, and lust of days, and strife

To live, and sins that flow from strife, some sweet,

Some bitter. Thus Life's thirst quenches itself

With draughts which double thirst; but who is wise

Tears from his soul this Trishna, feeds his sense

No longer on false shows, fills his firm mind

To seek not, strive not, wrong not; bearing meek

All ills which flow from foregone wrongfulness,

And so constraining passions that they die

Famished; till all the sum of ended life—

The Karma—all that total of a soul

Which is the things it did, the thoughts it had,

The "Self" it wove—with woof of viewless time,

Crossed on the warp invisible of acts—

The outcome of him on the Universe,

Grows pure and sinless; either never more

Needing to find a body and a place,

Or so informing what fresh frame it takes

In new existence that the new toils prove

Lighter and lighter not to be at all,

Thus "finishing the Path"; free from Earth's cheats;

Released from all the skandhas of the flesh;

Broken from ties—from Upandanas—saved

From whirling on the wheel; aroused and sane

As is a man wakened from hateful dreams;

Until—greater than Kings, than Gods more glad!—

The aching craze to live ends, and life glides—

Lifeless—to nameless quiet, nameless joy,

Blessed NIRVANA—sinless, stirless rest

That change which never changes!

Lo! the Dawn

Sprang with Buddh's Victory! lo! in the East

Flamed the first fires of beauteous day, poured forth

Through fleeting folds of Night's black drapery.

High in the widening blue the herald-star

Faded to paler silver as there shot

Brighter and brighter bars of rosy gleam

Across the grey. Far off the shadowy hills

Saw the great Sun, before the world was 'ware,

And donned their crowns of crimson; flower by flower

Felt the warm breath of Morn and 'gan unfold

Their tender lids. Over the spangled grass

Swept the swift footsteps of the lovely Light,

Turning the tears of Night to joyous gems,

Decking the earth with radiance, 'broidering

The sinking storm-clouds with a golden fringe;

Gilding the feathers of the palms, which waved

Glad salutation; darting beams of gold

Into the glades; touching with magic wand

The stream to rippled ruby; in the brake

Finding the mild eyes of the antelopes

And saying, "It is day"; in nested sleep

Touching the small heads under many a wing

And whispering, "Children, praise the light of day!"

Whereat there piped anthems of all the birds!

The koil's fluted song, the bulbul's hymn,

The "morning, morning" of the painted thrush,

The twitter of the sunbirds starting forth

To find the honey ere the bees be out,

The grey crow's caw, the parrot's scream, the strokes

Of the green hammersmith, the myna's chirp,

The never finished love-talk of the doves

Yea! and so holy was the influence

Of that high Dawn which came with victory

That, far and near, in homes of men there spread

An unknown peace. The slayer hid his knife;

The robber laid his plunder back; the shroff

Counted full tale of coins; all evil hearts

Grew gentle, kind hearts gentler, as the balm

Of that divinest Daybreak lightened Earth.

Kings at fierce war called truce; the sick men leaped

Laughing from beds of pain; the dying smiled

As though they knew that happy Morn was sprung

From fountains farther than the utmost East;

And o'er the heart of sad Yasodhara,

Sitting forlorn at Prince Siddartha's bed,

Came sudden bliss, as if love should not fail

Nor such vast sorrow miss to end in joy.

So glad the World was—though it wist not why—

That over desolate wastes went swooning songs

Of mirth, the voice of bodiless Prets and Bhuts

Foreseeing Buddh; and Devas in the air Cried,

"It is finished, finished!" and the priests

Stood with the wondering people in the streets

Watching those golden splendours flood the sky

And saying, "There hath happed some mighty thing."

Also in Ran and jungle grew that day

Friendship amongst the creatures: spotted deer

Browsed fearless where the tigress fed her cubs,

And cheetahs lapped the pool beside the bucks;

Under the eagle's rock the brown hares scoured

While his fierce beak but preened an idle wing;

The snake sunned all his jewels in the beam

With deadly fangs in sheath; the shrike let pass

The nestling finch; the emerald halcyons

Sate dreaming while the fishes played beneath,

Nor hawked the merops, though the butterflies—

Crimson and blue and amber-flitted thick

Around his perch; the Spirit of our Lord

Lay potent upon man and bird and beast,

Even while he mused under that Bodhi-tree,

Glorified with the Conquest gained for all

And lightened by a Light greater than Day's.

Then he arose—radiant, rejoicing, strong—

Beneath the Tree, and lifting high his voice

Spake this, in hearing of all Times and Worlds:

Anekajatisangsarang

Sandhawissang anibhisang

Gahakarakangawesanto

Dukkhajatipunappunang.

Gahakarakadithosi;

Punagehang nakahasi;

Sabhatephasukhabhagga,

Gahakutangwisang Khitang;

Wisangkharagatang chittang,

Janhanangknayamajhaga.

Many a House of Life

Held me—Seeking Ever Him Wrought

These Prisons of the Senses, Sorrow-Fraught;

Sore was My Ceaseless Strife!

But Now,

Thou Builder of this Tabernacle—Thou!

I Know Thee! Never Shalt Thou Build Again

These Walls of Pain,

Nor Raise the Roof-Tree of Deceits, Nor Lay

Fresh Rafters on the Clay:

Broken Thy House is, and the Ridge-Pole Split!

Delusion Fashioned it!

Safe Pass I Thence—Deliverance to Obtain.