LITMIR.BIZ

      Book The Eigth

       Table of Contents

      A broad mead spreads by swift Kohana's bank

      At Nagara; five days shall bring a man

      In ox-wain thither from Benares' shrines

      Eastward and northward journeying. The horns

      Of white Himala look upon the place,

      Which all the year is glad with blooms and girt

      By groves made green from that bright streamlet's wave.

      Soft are its slopes and cool its fragrant shades,

      And holy all the spirit of the spot

      Unto this time: the breath of eve comes hushed

      Over the tangled thickets, and high heaps

      Of carved red stones cloven by root and stem

      Of creeping fig, and clad with waving veil

      Of leaf and grass. The still snake glistens forth

      From crumbled work of lac and cedar-beams

      To coil his folds there on deep-graven slabs;

      The lizard dwells and darts o'er painted floors

      Where kings have paced; the grey fox litters safe

      Under the broken thrones; only the peaks,

      And stream, and sloping lawns, and gentle air

      Abide unchanged. All else, like all fair shows

      Of life, are fled—for this is where it stood,

      The city of Suddhodana, the hill

      Whereon, upon an eve of gold and blue

      At sinking sun Lord Buddha set himself

      To teach the Law in hearing of his own.

      Lo! ye shall read it in the Sacred Books

      How, being met in that glad pleasaunce-place—

      A garden in old days with hanging walks,

      Fountains, and tanks, and rose-banked terraces

      Girdled by gay pavilions and the sweep

      Of stately palace-fronts—the Master sate

      Eminent, worshipped, all the earnest throng

      Catching the opening of his lips to learn

      That wisdom which hath made our Asia mild;

      Whereto four hundred crores of living souls

      Witness this day. Upon the King's right hand

      He sate, and round were ranged the Sakya Lords

      Ananda, Devadatta—all the Court.

      Behind stood Seriyut and Mugallan, chiefs

      Of the calm brethren in the yellow garb,

      A goodly company. Between his knees

      Rahula smiled with wondering childish eyes

      Bent on the awful face, while at his feet

      Sate sweet Yasodhara, her heartaches gone,

      Foreseeing that fair love which doth not feed

      On fleeting sense, that life which knows no age,

      That blessed last of deaths when Death is dead,

      His victory and hers. Wherefore she laid

      Her hand upon his hands, folding around

      Her silver shoulder-cloth his yellow robe,

      Nearest in all the world to him whose words

      The Three Worlds waited for. I cannot tell

      A small part of the splendid lore which broke

      From Buddha's lips: I am a late-come scribe

      Who love the Master and his love of men,

      And tell this legend, knowing he was wise,

      But have not wit to speak beyond the books;

      And time hath blurred their script and ancient sense,

      Which once was new and mighty, moving all.

      A little of that large discourse I know

      Which Buddha spake on the soft Indian eve.

      Also I know it writ that they who heard

      Were more—lakhs more—crores more—than could be seen,

      For all the Devas and the Dead thronged there,

      Till Heaven was emptied to the seventh zone

      And uttermost dark Hells opened their bars;

      Also the daylight lingered past its time

      In rose-leaf radiance on the watching peaks,

      So that it seemed night listened in the glens,

      And noon upon the mountains; yea! they write,

      The evening stood between them like some maid

      Celestial, love-struck, rapt; the smooth-rolled clouds

      Her braided hair; the studded stars the pearls

      And diamonds of her coronal; the moon

      Her forehead jewel, and the deepening dark

      Her woven garments. 'T was her close-held breath

      Which came in scented sighs across the lawns

      While our Lord taught, and, while he taught, who heard—

      Though he were stranger in the land, or slave,

      High caste or low, come of the Aryan blood,

      Or Mlech or Jungle-dweller—seemed to hear

      What tongue his fellows talked. Nay, outside those

      Who crowded by the river, great and small,

      The birds and beasts and creeping things—'t is writ—

      Had sense of Buddha's vast embracing love

      And took the promise of his piteous speech;

      So that their lives—prisoned in shape of ape,

      Tiger, or deer, shagged bear, jackal, or wolf,

      Foul-feeding kite, pearled dove, or peacock gemmed,

      Squat toad, or speckled serpent, lizard, bat,

      Yea, or of fish fanning the river waves—

      Touched meekly at the skirts of brotherhood

      With man who hath less innocence than these;

      And in mute gladness knew their bondage broke

      Whilst Buddha spake these things before the King:

      Om, Amitaya! measure not with words

      Th' Immeasurable; nor sink the string of thought

      Into

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