But the King’s most precious, costly treasure,
His happiness, his soul’s first pleasure,
The joy and the pride of Mahawasant
Is truly his snow-white elephant.
As a home for a guest so highly respected
A splendid palace the King has erected;
Gay lotos-headed columns uphold
Its roof, all cover’d with plates of gold.
Three hundred heralds stand at the gate,
As the elephant’s guard of honour to wait;
And kneeling down with low-bent back
There serve him a hundred eunuchs black.
For his proboscis the daintiest meat
On golden dishes they bring him to eat;
From silver buckets he drinks his wine,
Well season’d with spices sweet and fine.
With perfumes they rub him, and otto of roses
On his head a chaplet of flowers reposes,
The richest shawls that are made in the East
As carpets serve for the dignified beast.
The happiest life appears to be his,
But no one on earth contented is;
The noble creature,—one cannot tell why,—
Gives way to a deep despondency.
The melancholy monster white
Is wretched, all this profusion despite;
They fain would enliven and cheer him again,
But all their cleverest efforts are vain.
In vain with singing and springing there come
The bayaderes; the kettle drum
And cornet in vain the musicians play,
But nothing can make the elephant gay.
As matters continue to go on badly,
The heart of Mahawasant beats sadly;
He sends for the wisest astrologer known,
And bids him stand before his throne.
“Stargazer, I’ll cut off at once your head”—
Thus speaks he, “unless you can tell me instead
“What is it that my poor elephant needs,
“And why his spirit with sorrow so bleeds.”