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and let the Princess hear

      I take the way forthwith." This told, the folk

      Of white Kapilavastu and its fields

      Made ready for the entrance of their Prince.

      At the south gate a bright pavilion rose

      With flower-wreathed pillars and the walls of silk

      Wrought on their red and green with woven gold.

      Also the roads were laid with scented boughs

      Of neem and mango, and full mussuks shed

      Sandal and jasmine on the dust, and flags

      Fluttered; and on the day when he should come

      It was ordained how many elephants—

      With silver howdahs and their tusks gold-tipped—

      Should wait beyond the ford, and where the drums

      Should boom "Siddartha cometh!" where the lords

      Should light and worship, and the dancing-girls

      Where they should strew their flowers with dance and song

      So that the steed he rode might tramp knee-deep

      In rose and balsam, and the ways be fair;

      While the town rang with music and high joy.

      This was ordained and all men's ears were pricked

      Dawn after dawn to catch the first drum's beat

      Announcing, "Now he cometh!"

      But it fell Eager to be before—Yasodhara

      Rode in her litter to the city-walls

      Where soared the bright pavilion. All around

      A beauteous garden smiled—Nigrodha named—

      Shaded with bel-trees and the green-plumed dates,

      New-trimmed and gay with winding walks and banks

      Of fruits and flowers; for the southern road

      Skirted its lawns, on this hand leaf and bloom,

      On that the suburb-huts where base-borns dwelt

      Outside the gates, a patient folk and poor,

      Whose touch for Kshatriya and priest of Brahm

      Were sore defilement. Yet those, too, were quick

      With expectation, rising ere the dawn

      To peer along the road, to climb the trees

      At far-off trumpet of some elephant,

      Or stir of temple-drum; and when none came,

      Busied with lowly chores to please the Prince;

      Sweeping their door-stones, setting forth their flags,

      Stringing the fruited fig-leaves into chains,

      New furbishing the Lingam, decking new

      Yesterday's faded arc of boughs, but aye

      Questioning wayfarers if any noise

      Be on the road of great Siddartha. These

      The Princess marked with lovely languid eyes,

      Watching, as they, the southward plain and bent

      Like them to listen if the passers gave

      News of the path. So fell it she beheld

      One slow approaching with his head close shorn,

      A yellow cloth over his shoulder cast,

      Girt as the hermits are, and in his hand

      An earthen bowl, shaped melonwise, the which

      Meekly at each hut-door he held a space,

      Taking the granted dole with gentle thanks

      And all as gently passing where none gave.

      Two followed him wearing the yellow robe,

      But he who bore the bowl so lordly seemed,

      So reverend, and with such a passage moved,

      With so commanding presence filled the air,

      With such sweet eyes of holiness smote all,

      That as they reached him alms the givers gazed

      Awestruck upon his face, and some bent down

      In worship, and some ran to fetch fresh gifts,

      Grieved to be poor; till slowly, group by group,

      Children and men and women drew behind

      Into his steps, whispering with covered lips,

      "Who is he? who? when looked a Rishi thus?"

      But as he came with quiet footfall on

      Nigh the pavilion, lo! the silken door

      Lifted, and, all unveiled, Yasodhara

      Stood in his path crying, "Siddartha! Lord!"

      With wide eyes streaming and with close-clasped hands,

      Then sobbing fell upon his feet, and lay.

      Afterwards, when this weeping lady passed

      Into the Noble Paths, and one had prayed

      Answer from Buddha wherefore-being vowed

      Quit of all mortal passion and the touch,

      Flower-soft and conquering, of a woman's hands—

      He suffered such embrace, the Master said

      "The greater beareth with the lesser love

      So it may raise it unto easier heights.

      Take heed that no man, being 'soaped from bonds,

      Vexeth bound souls with boasts of liberty.

      Free are ye rather that your freedom spread

      By patient winning and sweet wisdom's skill.

      Three eras of long toil bring Bodhisats—

      Who will be guides and help this darkling world—

      Unto deliverance, and the first is named

      Of deep 'Resolve,' the second of 'Attempt,'

      The third of 'Nomination.' Lo! I lived

      In era of Resolve, desiring good,

      Searching for wisdom, but mine eyes were sealed.

      Count the grey seeds on yonder castor-clump—

      So many rains it is since I was Ram,

      A merchant of the coast which looketh south

      To Lanka and the hiding-place of pearls.

      Also in that far time Yasodhara

      Dwelt with me in our village by the sea,

      Tender as now, and Lukshmi was her name.

      And I remember how I journeyed thence

      Seeking our gain, for poor the household was

      And lowly. Not the less with wistful tears

      She prayed me that I should not part, nor tempt

      Perils by land and water. 'How could love

      Leave what it loved?' she wailed; yet, venturing, I

      Passed to the Straits, and after storm and toil

      And deadly strife with creatures of the deep,

      And woes beneath the midnight and the noon,

      Searching

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