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.