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Buddh

      Strove with fell spirits in his inmost heart,

      Judge ye:—I write what ancient books have writ.

      The ten chief Sins came—Mara's mighty ones,

      Angels of evil—Attavada first,

      The Sin of Self, who in the Universe

      As in a mirror sees her fond face shown,

      And crying "I" would have the world say "I,"

      And all things perish so if she endure.

      "If thou be'st Buddh," she said, "let others grope

      Lightless; it is enough that thou art Thou

      Changelessly; rise and take the bliss of gods

      Who change not, heed not, strive not."

      But Buddh spake,

      "The right in thee is base, the wrong a curse;

      Cheat such as love themselves." Then came wan Doubt,

      He that denies—the mocking Sin—and this

      Hissed in the Master's ear: "All things are shows,

      And vain the knowledge of their vanity;

      Thou dost but chase the shadow of thyself;

      Rise and go hence, there is no better way

      Than patient scorn, nor any help for man,

      Nor any staying of his whirling wheel."

      But quoth our Lord, "Thou hast no part with me,

      False Visikitcha, subtlest of man's foes."

      And third came she who gives dark creeds their power,

      Silabbat-paramasa, sorceress,

      Draped fair in many lands as lowly Faith,

      But ever juggling souls with rites and prayers;

      The keeper of those keys which lock up Hells

      And open Heavens. "Wilt thou dare," she said,

      "Put by our sacred books, dethrone our gods,

      Unpeople all the temples, shaking down

      That law which feeds the priests and props the realms?"

      But Buddha answered, "What thou bidd'st me keep

      Is form which passes, but the free Truth stands;

      Get thee unto thy darkness." Next there drew

      Gallantly nigh a braver Tempter, he,

      Kama, the King of passions, who hath sway

      Over the gods themselves, lord of all loves,

      Ruler of Pleasure's realm. Laughing he came

      Unto the Tree, bearing his bow of gold

      Wreathed with red blooms, and arrows of desire

      Pointed with five-tongued delicate flame which stings

      The heart it smites sharper than poisoned barb.

      And round him came into that lonely place

      Bands of bright shapes with heavenly eyes and lips

      Singing in lovely words the praise of Love

      To music of invisible sweet chords,

      So witching, that it seemed the night stood still

      To hear them, and the listening stars and moon,

      Paused in their orbits while these hymned to Buddh

      Of lost delights, and how a mortal man

      Findeth nought dearer in the three wide worlds

      Than are the yielded loving fragrant breasts

      Of Beauty and the rosy breast-blossoms,

      Love's rubies; nay, and toucheth nought more high

      Than is that dulcet harmony of form

      Seen in the lines and charms of loveliness

      Unspeakable, yet speaking, soul to soul,

      Owned by the bounding blood, worshipped by will

      Which leaps to seize it, knowing this is best,

      This the true heaven where mortals are like gods,

      Makers and Masters, this the gift of gifts

      Ever renewed and worth a thousand woes.

      For who hath grieved when soft arms shut him safe,

      And all life melted to a happy sigh,

      And all the world was given in one warm kiss?

      So sang, they with soft float of beckoning hands,

      Eyes lighted with love-flames, alluring smiles;

      In dainty dance their supple sides and limbs

      Revealing and concealing like burst buds

      Which tell their colour, but hide yet their hearts.

      Never so matchless grace delighted eye

      As troop by troop these midnight-dancers swept

      Nearer the Tree, each daintier than the last,

      Murmuring, "O great Siddartha! I am thine,

      Taste of my mouth and see if youth is sweet!"

      Also, when nothing moved our Master's mind,

      Lo! Kama waved his magic bow, and lo!

      The band of dancers opened, and a shape

      Fairest and stateliest of the throng came forth

      Wearing the guise of sweet Yasodhara.

      Tender the passion of those dark eyes seemed

      Brimming with tears; yearning those outspread arms

      Opened towards him; musical that moan

      Wherewith the beauteous shadow named his name,

      Sighing: "My Prince! I die for lack of thee!

      What heaven hast thou found like that we knew

      By bright Rohini in the Pleasure-house,

      Where all these weary years I weep for thee?

      Return, Siddartha! ah, return! But touch

      My lips again, but let me to thy breast

      Once, and these fruitless dreams will end! Ah, look!

      Am I not she thou lovedst?" But Buddh said:

      "For that sweet sake of her thou playest thus

      Fair and false Shadow, is thy playing vain;

      I curse thee not who wear'st a form so dear,

      Yet as thou art, so are all earthly shows.

      Melt to thy void again!" Thereat a cry

      Thrilled through the grove, and all that comely rout

      Faded with flickering wafts of flame, and trail

      Of vaporous ropes.

      Next under darkening skies

      And noise of rising storm came fiercer Sins

      The rearmost of the Ten, Patigha—Hate—

      With serpents coiled about her waist, which suck

      Poisonous milk from both her hanging dugs,

      And with her curses mix their angry hiss.

      Little wrought she upon that Holy One

      Who with his

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