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and bold!

      Let nothing stay thee, though a thousand blades

      Deny the road! let neither wall nor moat

      Forbid our flight! Look! if I touch thy flank

      And cry, `On, Kantaka! I let whirlwinds lag

      Behind thy course! Be fire and air, my horse!

      To stead thy Lord, so shalt thou share with him

      The greatness of this deed which helps the world;

      For therefore ride I, not for men alone,

      But for all things which, speechless, share our pain

      And have no hope, nor wit to ask for hope.

      Now, therefore, bear thy master valorously!"

      Then to the saddle lightly leaping, he

      Touched the arched crest, and Kantaka sprang forth

      With armed hoofs sparkling on the stones and ring

      Of champing bit; but none did hear that sound,

      For that the Suddha Devas, gathering near,

      Plucked the red mohra-flowers and strewed them thick

      Under his tread, while hands invisible

      Muffled the ringing bit and bridle chains.

      Moreover, it is written when they came

      Upon the pavement near the inner gates,

      The Yakshas of the air laid magic cloths

      Under the stallion's feet, so that he went

      Softly and still.

      But when they reached the gate

      Of tripled brass—which hardly fivescore men

      Served to unbar and open—lo! the doors

      Rolled back all silently, though one might hear

      In daytime two koss off the thunderous roar

      Of those grim hinges and unwieldy plates.

      Also the middle and the outer gates

      Unfolded each their monstrous portals thus

      In silence as Siddartha and his steed

      Drew near; while underneath their shadow lay.

      Silent as dead men, all those chosen guards—

      The lance and sword let fall, the shields unbraced,

      Captains and soldiers—for there came a wind,

      Drowsier than blows o'er Malwa's fields of sleep

      Before the Prince's path, which, being breathed,

      Lulled every sense aswoon: and so he passed

      Free from the palace.

      When the morning star

      Stood half a spear's length from the eastern rim,

      And o'er the earth the breath of morning sighed

      Rippling Anoma's wave, the border-stream,

      Then drew he rein, and leaped to earth and kissed

      White Kantaka betwixt the ears, and spake

      Full sweet to Channa: "This which thou hast done

      Shall bring thee good and bring all creatures good.

      Be sure I love thee always for thy love.

      Lead back my horse and take my crest-pearl here,

      My princely robes, which henceforth stead me not,

      My jewelled sword-belt and my sword, and these

      The long locks by its bright edge severed thus

      From off my brows. Give the King all, and say

      Siddartha prays forget him till he come

      Ten times a prince, with royal wisdom won

      From lonely searchings and the strife for light;

      Where, if I conquer, lo! all earth is mine—

      Mine by chief service!—tell him—mine by love!

      Since there is hope for man only in man,

      And none hath sought for this as I will seek,

      Who cast away my world to save my world."

      Book the Fifth

       Table of Contents

      Round Rajagriha five fair hills arose,

      Guarding King Bimbasara's sylvan town;

      Baibhara, green with lemon-grass and palms;

      Bipulla, at whose foot thin Sarsuti

      Steals with warm ripple; shadowy Tapovan,

      Whose steaming pools mirror black rocks, which ooze

      Sovereign earth-butter from their rugged roofs;

      South-east the vulture-peak Sailagiri;

      And eastward Ratnagiri, hill of gems.

      A winding track, paven with footworn slabs,

      Leads thee by safflower fields and bamboo tufts

      Under dark mangoes and the jujube-trees,

      Past milk-white veins of rock and jasper crags,

      Low cliff and flats of jungle-flowers, to where

      The shoulder of that mountain, sloping west,

      O'erhangs a cave with wild figs canopied.

      Lo! thou who comest thither, bare thy feet

      And bow thy head! for all this spacious earth

      Hath not a spot more dear and hallowed.

      Here Lord Buddha sate the scorching summers through,

      The driving rains, the chilly dawns and eves;

      Wearing for all men's sakes the yellow robe,

      Eating in beggar's guise the scanty meal

      Chance-gathered from the charitable; at night

      Crouched on the grass, homeless, alone; while yelped

      The sleepless jackals round his cave, or coughs

      Of famished tiger from the thicket broke.

      By day and night here dwelt the World-honoured,

      Subduing that fair body born for bliss

      With fast and frequent watch and search intense

      Of silent meditation, so prolonged

      That ofttimes while he mused—as motionless

      As the fixed rock his seat—the squirrel leaped

      Upon his knee, the timid quail led forth

      Her brood between his feet, and blue doves pecked

      The rice-grains from the bowl beside his hand.

      Thus would he muse from noontide—when the land

      Shimmered with heat, and walls and temples danced

      In the reeking air—till sunset, noting not

      The blazing globe roll down, nor evening glide,

      Purple and swift, across the softened fields;

      Nor the still coming of the stars, nor throb

      Of

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