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one told the King, "There cometh here

      A holy hermit, bringing down the flock

      Which thou didst bid to crown the sacrifice."

      The King stood in his hall of offering.

      On either hand, the white-robed Brahmans ranged

      Muttered their mantras, feeding still the fire

      Which roared upon the midmost altar. There

      From scented woods flickered bright tongues of flame,

      Hissing and curling as they licked the gifts

      Of ghee and spices and the soma juice,

      The joy of Iudra. Round about the pile

      A slow, thick, scarlet streamlet smoked and ran,

      Sucked by the sand, but ever rolling down,

      The blood of bleating victims. One such lay,

      A spotted goat, long-horned, its head bound back

      With munja grass; at its stretched throat the knife

      Pressed by a priest, who murmured: "This, dread gods,

      Of many yajnas cometh as the crown

      From Bimbasara: take ye joy to see

      The spirted blood, and pleasure in the scent

      Of rich flesh roasting 'mid the fragrant flames;

      Let the King's sins be laid upon this goat,

      And let the fire consume them burning it,

      For now I strike."

      But Buddha softly said,

      "Let him not strike, great King!" and therewith loosed

      The victim's bonds, none staying him, so great

      His presence was. Then, craving leave, he spake

      Of life, which all can take but none can give,

      Life, which all creatures love and strive to keep,

      Wonderful, dear and pleasant unto each,

      Even to the meanest; yea, a boon to all

      Where pity is, for pity makes the world

      Soft to the weak and noble for the strong.

      Unto the dumb lips of his flock he lent

      Sad pleading words, showing how man, who prays

      For mercy to the gods, is merciless,

      Being as god to those; albeit all life

      Is linked and kin, and what we slay have given

      Meek tribute of the milk and wool, and set

      Fast trust upon the hands which murder them.

      Also he spake of what the holy books

      Do surely teach, how that at death some sink

      To bird and beast, and these rise up to man

      In wanderings of the spark which grows purged flame.

      So were the sacrifice new sin, if so

      The fated passage of a soul be stayed.

      Nor, spake he, shall one wash his spirit clean

      By blood; nor gladden gods, being good, with blood;

      Nor bribe them, being evil; nay, nor lay

      Upon the brow of innocent bound beasts

      One hair's weight of that answer all must give

      For all things done amiss or wrongfully,

      Alone, each for himself, reckoning with that

      The fixed arithmic of the universe,

      Which meteth good for good and ill for ill,

      Measure for measure, unto deeds, words, thoughts;

      Watchful, aware, implacable, unmoved;

      Making all futures fruits of all the pasts.

      Thus spake he, breathing words so piteous

      With such high lordliness of ruth and right,

      The priests drew back their garments o'er the hands

      Crimsoned with slaughter, and the King came near,

      Standing with clasped palms reverencing Buddh;

      While still our Lord went on, teaching how fair

      This earth were if all living things be linked

      In friendliness, and common use of foods

      Bloodless and pure; the golden grain, bright fruits,

      Sweet herbs which grow for all, the waters wan,

      Sufficient drinks and meats. Which when these heard,

      The might of gentleness so conquered them,

      The priests themselves scattered their altar-flames

      And flung away the steel of sacrifice;

      And through the land next day passed a decree

      Proclaimed by criers, and in this wise graved

      On rock and column: "Thus the King's will is:

      There hath been slaughter for the sacrifice,

      And slaying for the meat, but henceforth none

      Shall spill the blood of life nor taste of flesh,

      Seeing that knowledge grows, and life is one,

      And mercy cometh to the merciful."

      So ran the edict, and from those days forth

      Sweet peace hath spread between all living kind,

      Man and the beasts which serve him, and the birds,

      On all those banks of Gunga where our Lord

      Taught with his saintly pity and soft speech.

      For aye so piteous was the Master's heart

      To all that breathe this breath of fleeting life,

      Yoked in one fellowship of joys and pains,

      That it is written in the holy books

      How, in an ancient age—when Buddha wore

      A Brahman's form, dwelling upon the rock

      Named Munda, by the village of Dalidd—

      Drought withered all the land: the young rice died

      Ere it could hide a quail; in forest glades

      A fierce sun sucked the pools; grasses and herbs

      Sickened, and all the woodland creatures fled

      Scattering for sustenance. At such a time,

      Between the hot walls of a nullah, stretched

      On naked stones, our Lord spied, as he passed,

      A starving tigress. Hunger in her orbs

      Glared with green flame; her dry tongue lolled a span

      Beyond the gasping jaws and shrivelled jowl;

      Her painted hide hung wrinkled on her ribs,

      As when between the rafters sinks a thatch

      Rotten with rains; and at the poor lean dugs

      Two cubs, whining with famine, tugged and sucked,

      Mumbling those milkless teats which rendered nought,

      While she, their gaunt dam, licked full motherly

      The

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