LITMIR.BIZ

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      A crown of mogra-flowers and lightly drew

      The veil of black and gold across her brow,

      Proud pacing past the youths, until she came

      To where Siddartha stood in grace divine,

      New lighted from the night-dark steed, which bent

      Its strong neck meekly underneath his arm.

      Before the Prince lowly she bowed, and bared

      Her face celestial beaming with glad love;

      Then on his neck she hung the fragrant wreath,

      And on his breast she laid her perfect head,

      And stooped to touch his feet with proud glad eyes,

      Saying, "Dear Prince, behold me, who am thine!"

      And all the throng rejoiced, seeing them pass

      Hand fast in hand, and heart beating with heart,

      The veil of black and gold drawn close again.

      Long after—when enlightenment was come—

      They prayed Lord Buddha touching all, and why

      She wore this black and gold, and stepped so proud.

      And the World-honoured answered, "Unto me

      This was unknown, albeit it seemed half known;

      For while the wheel of birth and death turns round,

      Past things and thoughts, and buried lives come back.

      I now remember, myriad rains ago,

      What time I roamed Himala's hanging woods,

      A tiger, with my striped and hungry kind;

      I, who am Buddh, couched in the kusa grass

      Gazing with green blinked eyes upon the herds

      Which pastured near and nearer to their death

      Round my day-lair; or underneath the stars

      I roamed for prey, savage, insatiable,

      Sniffing the paths for track of man and deer.

      Amid the beasts that were my fellows then,

      Met in deep jungle or by reedy jheel,

      A tigress, comeliest of the forest, set

      The males at war; her hide was lit with gold,

      Black-broidered like the veil Yasodhara

      Wore for me; hot the strife waged in that wood

      With tooth and claw, while underneath a neem

      The fair beast watched us bleed, thus fiercely wooed.

      And I remember, at the end she came

      Snarling past this and that torn forest-lord

      Which I had conquered, and with fawning jaws

      Licked my quick-heaving flank, and with me went

      Into the wild with proud steps, amorously.

      The wheel of birth and death turns low and high."

      Therefore the maid was given unto the Prince

      A willing spoil; and when the stars were good—

      Mesha, the Red Ram, being Lord of heaven—

      The marriage feast was kept, as Sakyas use,

      The golden gadi set, the carpet spread,

      The wedding garlands hung, the arm-threads tied,

      The sweet cake broke, the rice and attar thrown,

      The two straws floated on the reddened milk,

      Which, coming close, betokened "love till death;"

      The seven steps taken thrice around the fire,

      The gifts bestowed on holy men, the alms

      And temple offerings made, the mantras sung,

      The garments of the bride and bridegroom tied.

      Then the grey father spake: "Worshipful Prince,

      She that was ours henceforth is only thine;

      Be good to her, who hath her life in thee."

      Wherewith they brought home sweet Yasodhara,

      With songs and trumpets, to the Prince's arms,

      And love was all in all.

      Yet not to love

      Alone trusted the King; love's prison-house

      Stately and beautiful he bade them build,

      So that in all the earth no marvel was

      Like Vishramvan, the Prince's pleasure-place.

      Midway in those wide palace-grounds there rose

      A verdant hill whose base Rohini bathed,

      Murmuring adown from Himalay's broad feet,

      To bear its tribute into Gunga's waves.

      Southward a growth of tamarind trees and sal,

      Thick set with pale sky-coloured ganthi flowers,

      Shut out the world, save if the city's hum

      Came on the wind no harsher than when bees

      Hum out of sight in thickets. Northward soared

      The stainless ramps of huge Hamala's wall,

      Ranged in white ranks against the blue-untrod

      Infinite, wonderful—whose uplands vast,

      And lifted universe of crest and crag,

      Shoulder and shelf, green slope and icy horn,

      Riven ravine, and splintered precipice

      Led climbing thought higher and higher, until

      It seemed to stand in heaven and speak with gods.

      Beneath the snows dark forests spread, sharp laced

      With leaping cataracts and veiled with clouds

      Lower grew rose-oaks and the great fir groves

      Where echoed pheasant's call and panther's cry

      Clatter of wild sheep on the stones, and scream

      Of circling eagles: under these the plain

      Gleamed like a praying-carpet at the foot

      Of those divinest altars. 'Fronting this

      The builders set the bright pavilion up,

      'Fair-planted on the terraced hill, with towers

      On either flank and pillared cloisters round.

      Its beams were carved with stories of old time—

      Radha and Krishna and the sylvan girls—

      Sita and Hanuman and Draupadi;

      And on the middle porch God Ganesha,

      With disc and hook—to bring wisdom and wealth—

      Propitious sate, wreathing his sidelong trunk.

      By winding ways of garden and of court

      The inner gate was reached, of marble wrought,

      White with pink veins; the lintel lazuli,

      The threshold alabaster, and the doors

      Sandalwood, cut in pictured panelling;

      Whereby to lofty halls and shadowy bowers

      Passed

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