LITMIR.BIZ

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the King: "Our Lord, thy son,

      Wills that his chariot be yoked at noon,

      That he may ride abroad and see mankind."

      "Yea!" spake the careful King, "'tis time he see!

      But let the criers go about and bid

      My city deck itself, so there be met

      No noisome sight; and let none blind or maimed,

      None that is sick or stricken deep in years,

      No leper, and no feeble folk come forth."

      Therefore the stones were swept, and up and down

      The water-carriers sprinkled all the streets

      From spirting skins, the housewives scattered fresh

      Red powder on their thresholds, strung new wreaths,

      And trimmed the tulsi-bush before their doors.

      The paintings on the walls were heightened up

      With liberal brush, the trees set thick with flags,

      The idols gilded; in the four-went ways

      Suryadeva and the great gods shone

      'Mid shrines of leaves; so that the city seemed

      A capital of some enchanted land.

      Also the criers passed, with drum and gong,

      Proclaiming loudly, "Ho! all citizens,

      The King commands that there be seen today

      No evil sight: let no one blind or maimed,

      None that is sick or stricken deep in years,

      No leper, and no feeble folk go forth.

      Let none, too, burn his dead nor bring them out

      Till nightfall. Thus Suddhodana commands."

      So all was comely and the houses trim

      Throughout Kapilavastu, while the Prince

      Came forth in painted car, which two steers drew,

      Snow-white, with swinging dewlaps and huge humps

      Wrinkled against the carved and lacquered yoke.

      Goodly it was to mark the people's joy

      Greeting their Prince; and glad. Siddartha waxed

      At sight of all those liege and friendly folk

      Bright-clad and laughing as if life were good.

      "Fair is the world," he said, "it likes me well!

      And light and kind these men that are not kings,

      And sweet my sisters here, who toil and tend;

      What have I done for these to make them thus?

      Why, if I love them, should those children know?

      I pray take up yon pretty Sakya boy

      Who flung us flowers, and let him ride with me.

      How good it is to reign in realms like this!

      How simple pleasure is, if these be pleased

      Because I come abroad! How many things

      I need not if such little households hold

      Enough to make our city full of smiles!

      Drive, Channa! through the gates, and let me see

      More of this gracious world I have not known."

      So passed they through the gates, a joyous crowd

      Thronging about the wheels, whereof some ran

      Before the oxen, throwing wreaths, some stroked

      Their silken flanks, some brought them rice and cakes,

      All crying, "Jai! jai! for our noble Prince!"

      Thus all the path was kept with gladsome looks

      And filled with fair sights—for the King's word was

      That such should be—when midway in the road,

      Slow tottering from the hovel where he hid,

      Crept forth a wretch in rags, haggard and foul,

      An old, old man, whose shrivelled skin, suntanned,

      Clung like a beast's hide to his fleshless bones.

      Bent was his back with load of many days,

      His eyepits red with rust of ancient tears,

      His dim orbs blear with rheum, his toothless jaws

      Wagging with palsy and the fright to see

      So many and such joy. One skinny hand

      Clutched a worn staff to prop his quavering limbs,

      And one was pressed upon the ridge of ribs

      Whence came in gasps the heavy painful breath.

      "Alms!" moaned he, "give, good people! for I die

      Tomorrow or the next day!" then the cough

      Choked him, but still he stretched his palm, and stood

      Blinking, and groaning 'mid his spasms, "Alms!"

      Then those around had wrenched his feeble feet

      Aside, and thrust him from the road again,

      Saying, "The Prince! dost see? get to thy lair!"

      But that Siddartha cried, "Let be! let be!

      Channa! what thing is this who seems a man,

      Yet surely only seems, being so bowed,

      So miserable, so horrible, so sad?

      Are men born sometimes thus? What meaneth he

      Moaning 'tomorrow or next day I die?'

      Finds he no food that so his bones jut forth?

      What woe hath happened to this piteous one?"

      Then answer made the charioteer, "Sweet Prince!

      This is no other than an aged man.

      Some fourscore years ago his back was straight,

      His eye bright, and his body goodly: now

      The thievish years have sucked his sap away,

      Pillaged his strength and filched his will and wit;

      His lamp has lost its oil, the wick burns black;

      What life he keeps is one poor lingering spark

      Which flickers for the finish: such is age;

      Why should your Highness heed?"

      Then spake the Prince

      "But shall this come to others, or to all,

      Or is it rare that one should be as he?"

      "Most noble," answered Channa, "even as he,

      Will all these grow if they shall live so long."

      "But," quoth the Prince, "if I shall live as long

      Shall I be thus; and if Yasodhara

      Live fourscore years, is this old age for her,

      Jalini, little Hasta, Gautami,

      And Gunga, and the others?" "Yea, great Sir!"

      The charioteer replied. Then spake the Prince

      "Turn back, and drive me to my house again!

      I have seen that I did not think to see."

      Which

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