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a pearl

      Moonlike and glorious, such as kings might buy

      Emptying their treasury. Then came I glad

      Unto mine hills, but over all that land

      Famine spread sore; ill was I stead to live

      In journey home, and hardly reached my door—

      Aching for food—with that white wealth of the sea

      Tied in my girdle. Yet no food was there;

      And on the threshold she for whom I toiled—

      More than myself—lay with her speechless lips

      Nigh unto death for one small gift of grain.

      Then cried I, 'If there be who hath of grain,

      Here is a kingdom's ransom for one life

      Give Lukshmi bread and take my moonlight pearl.'

      Whereat one brought the last of all his hoard,

      Millet—three seers—and clutched the beauteous thing.

      But Lukshmi lived and sighed with gathered life,

      'Lo! thou didst love indeed!' I spent my pearl

      Well in that life to comfort heart and mind

      Else quite uncomforted; but these pure pearls,

      My last large gain, won from a deeper wave—

      The Twelve Nidanas and the Law of Good—

      Cannot be spent, nor dimmed, and most fulfil

      Their perfect beauty being freeliest given.

      For like as is to Meru yonder hill

      Heaped by the little ants, and like as dew

      Dropped in the footmark of a bounding roe

      Unto the shoreless seas, so was that gift

      Unto my present giving; and so love—

      Vaster in being free from toils of sense—

      Was wisest stooping to the weaker heart;

      And so the feet of sweet Yasodhara

      Passed into peace and bliss, being softly led."

      But when the King heard how Siddartha came

      Shorn, with the mendicant's sad-coloured cloth,

      And stretching out a bowl to gather orts

      From base-borns' leavings, wrathful sorrow drove

      Love from his heart. Thrice on the ground he spat,

      Plucked at his silvered beard, and strode straight forth

      Lackeyed by trembling lords. Frowning he clomb

      Upon his war-horse, drove the spurs, and dashed,

      Angered, through wondering streets and lanes of folk.

      Scarce finding breath to say, "The King! bow down!"

      Ere the loud cavalcade had clattered by:

      Which—at the turning by the Temple-wall

      Where the south gate was seen—encountered full

      A mighty crowd; to every edge of it

      Poured fast more people, till the roads were lost,

      Blotted by that huge company which thronged

      And grew, close following him whose look serene

      Met the old King's. Nor lived the father's wrath

      Longer than while the gentle eyes of Buddh

      Lingered in worship on his troubled brows,

      Then downcast sank, with his true knee, to earth

      In proud humility. So dear it seemed

      To see the Prince, to know him whole, to mark

      That glory greater than of earthly state

      Crowning his head, that majesty which brought

      All men, so awed and silent, in his steps.

      Nathless the King broke forth: "Ends it in this,

      That great Siddartha steals into his realm,

      Wrapped in a clout, shorn, sandalled, craving food

      Of low-borns, he whose life was as a god's,

      My son! heir of this spacious power, and heir

      Of Kings who did but clap their palms to have

      What earth could give or eager service bring?

      Thou should'st have come apparelled in thy rank,

      With shining spears and tramp of horse and foot.

      Lo! all my soldiers camped upon the road,

      And all my city waited at the gates;

      Where hast thou sojourned through these evil years

      Whilst thy crowned father mourned? and she, too, there

      Lived as the widows use, foregoing joys;

      Never once hearing sound of song or string,

      Nor wearing once the festal robe, till now

      When in her cloth of gold she welcomes home

      A beggar spouse in yellow remnants clad.

      Son! why is this?"

      "My father!" came reply,

      "It is the custom of my race."

      "Thy race,"

      Answered the King "counteth a hundred thrones

      From Maha Sammat, but no deed like this."

      "Not of a mortal line," the Master said,

      "I spake, but of descent invisible,

      The Buddhas who have been and who shall be:

      Of these am I, and what they did I do,

      And this which now befalls so fell before,

      That at his gate a King in warrior-mail

      Should meet his son, a Prince in hermit-weeds;

      And that, by love and self-control, being more

      Than mightiest Kings in all their puissance,

      The appointed Helper of the Worlds should bow—

      As now do I—and with all lowly love

      Proffer, where it is owed for tender debts,

      The first-fruits of the treasure he hath brought;

      Which now I proffer."

      Then the King amazed

      Inquired "What treasure?" and the Teacher took

      Meekly the royal palm, and while they paced

      Through worshipping streets—the Princess and the King

      On either side—he told the things which make

      For peace and pureness, those Four noble Truths

      Which hold all wisdom as shores shut the seas,

      Those Eight right Rules whereby who will may walk—

      Monarch or slave—upon the perfect Path

      That hath its Stages Four and Precepts Eight,

      Whereby whoso will live—mighty or mean

      Wise or unlearned, man, woman, young or old

      Shall soon or late break from the wheels

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