The Dawn and the Day Part 2

You heard him tell the queen she soon would die, And saw her sink in death as in sweet sleep; You laid her gently on her funeral pile, And heard my cry of anguish, when the sage Again appeared and bade me not to weep For her as dead who lived and loved me still.

We saw the prince grow up to man's estate, So strong and full of manliness and grace, And wise beyond his teachers and his years, And thought in him the prophecies fulfilled, And that with glory he would rule the world And bless all men with universal peace.

But now dark shadows fall athwart our hopes.

Often in sleep the prince will start and cry As if in pain, 'O world, sad world, I come!'

But roused, he'll sometimes sit the livelong day, Forgetting teachers, sports and even food, As if with dreadful visions overwhelmed, Or buried in great thoughts profound and deep.

But yet to see our people, riding forth, To their acclaims he answers with such grace And gentle stateliness, my heart would swell As I would hear the people to each other say; 'Who ever saw such grace and grandeur joined?'

Yet while he answers gladness with like joy, His eyes seem searching for the sick and old, The poor, and maimed, and blind--all forms of grief, And oft he'd say, tears streaming from his eyes,[13]

'Let us return; my heart can bear no more.'

One day we saw beneath a peepul-tree An aged Brahman, wasted with long fasts, Loathsome with self-inflicted ghastly wounds, A rigid skeleton, standing erect, One hand stretched out, the other stretched aloft, His long white beard grown filthy by neglect.

Whereat the prince with shuddering horror shook, And cried, 'O world! must I be such for thee?'

And once he led the chase of a wild boar In the great forest near the glacier's foot; On Kantaka so fleet he soon outstripped The rest, and in the distance disappeared.

But when at night they reached the rendezvous, Siddartha was not there; and through the night They searched, fearing to find their much loved prince A mangled corpse under some towering cliff, But searched in vain, and searched again next day, Till in despair they thought to bring me word The prince was lost, when Kantaka was seen Loose-reined and free, and near Siddartha sat Under a giant cedar's spreading shade.

Absorbed in thought, in contemplation lost, Unconscious that a day and night had pa.s.sed.

I cannot reason with such earnestness-- I dare not chide such deep and tender love, But much I fear his reason's overthrow Or that he may become like that recluse He shuddered at, and not a mighty king With power to crush the wrong and aid the right.

How can we turn his mind from such sad thoughts To life's full joys, the duties of a king, And his great destiny so long foretold?"

The oldest and the wisest answered him: "Most n.o.ble king, your thoughts have long been mine.

Oft have I seen him lost in musings sad, And overwhelmed with this absorbing love.

I know no cure for such corroding thoughts But thoughts less sad, for such absorbing love But stronger love."

"But how awake such thoughts?"

The king replied. "How kindle such a love?

His loves seem but as phosph.o.r.escent flames That skim the surface, leaving him heart-whole-- All but this deep and all-embracing love That folds within its arms a suffering world."

"Yes, n.o.ble king, so roams the antlered deer, Adding each year a branch to his great horns, Until the unseen archer lays him low.

So lives our prince; but he may see the day Two laughing eyes shall pierce his inmost soul, And make his whole frame quiver with new fire.

The next full moon he reaches man's estate.

We all remember fifty years ago When you became a man, the sports and games, The contests of fair women and brave men, In beauty, arts and arms, that filled three days With joy and gladness, music, dance and song.

Let us with double splendor now repeat That festival, with prizes that shall draw From all your kingdom and the neighbor states Their fairest women and their bravest men.

If any chance shall bring his destined mate, You then shall see love dart from eye to eye, As darts the lightning's flash from cloud to cloud."

And this seemed good, and so was ordered done.

The king to all his kingdom couriers sent, And to the neighbor states, inviting all To a great festival and royal games The next full moon, day of Siddartha's birth, And offering varied prizes, rich and rare, To all in feats of strength and speed and skill, And prizes doubly rich and doubly rare To all such maidens fair as should compete In youth and beauty, whencesoe'er they came, The prince to be the judge and give the prize.

Now all was joy and bustle in the streets, And joy and stir in palace and in park, The prince himself joining the joyful throng, Forgetting now the sorrows of the world.

Devising and directing new delights Until the park became a fairy scene.

Behind the palace lay a maidan wide For exercise in arms and manly sports, Its sides bordered by gently rising hills, Where at their ease the city's myriads sat Under the shade of high-pruned spreading trees, Fanned by cool breezes from the snow-capped peaks; While north, and next the lake, a stately dome Stood out, on slender, graceful columns raised, With seats, rank above rank, in order placed, The throne above, and near the throne were bowers Of slender lattice-work, with trailing vines, Thick set with flowers of every varied tint, Breathing perfumes, where beauty's champions Might sit, unseen of all yet seeing all.

At length Siddartha's natal day arrives With joy to rich and poor, to old and young--- Not joy that wealth can buy or power command, But real joy, that springs from real love, Love to the good old king and n.o.ble prince.

When dawning day tinges with rosy light The snow-capped peaks of Himalaya's chain, The people are astir. In social groups, The old and young, companions, neighbors, friends, Baskets well filled, they choose each vantage-ground, Until each hill a sea of faces shows, A sea of sparkling joy and rippling mirth.

At trumpet-sound all eyes are eager turned Up toward the palace gates, now open wide, From whence a gay procession issues forth, A chorus of musicians coming first, And next the prince mounted on Kantaka; Then all the high-born, youth in rich attire, Mounted on prancing steeds with trappings gay; And then the good old king, in royal state, On his huge elephant, white as the snow, Surrounded by his aged counselors, Some on their chargers, some in litters borne, Their long white beards floating in every breeze; And next, compet.i.tors for every prize: Twelve archers, who could pierce the lofty swans Sailing from feeding-grounds by distant seas To summer nests by Thibet's marshy lakes, Or hit the whirring pheasant as it flies-- For in this peaceful reign they did not make Men targets for their art, and armor-joints The marks through which to pierce and kill; Then wrestlers, boxers, those who hurl the quoit, And runners fleet, both lithe and light of limb; And then twelve mighty spearmen, who could pierce The fleeing boar or deer or fleet gazelle; Then chariots, three horses yoked to each, The charioteers in Persian tunics clad, Arms bare, legs bare--all were athletes in power, In form and race each an Apollo seemed; Yoked to the first were three Nisaean steeds,[14]

Each snowy white, proud stepping, rangy, tall, Chests broad, legs clean and strong, necks arched and high, With foreheads broad, and eyes large, full and mild, A race that oft Olympic prizes won, And whose descendants far from Iran's plains Bore armored knights in battle's deadly shock On many b.l.o.o.d.y European fields; Then three of ancient Babylonian stock,[15]

Blood bay and glossy as rich Tyrian silk-- Such horses Israel's sacred prophets saw Bearing their conquerors in triumph home, A race for ages kept distinct and pure, Fabled from Alexander's charger sprung; Then three from distant desert Tartar steppes, Ewe-necked, ill-favored creatures, lank and gaunt, That made the people laugh as they pa.s.sed by-- Who ceased to laugh when they had run the race-- Such horses bore the mighty Mongol hosts[16]

That with the cyclone's speed swept o'er the earth; Then three, one gray, one bay, one glossy black, Descended from four horses long since brought By love-sick chief from Araby the blest, Seeking with such rare gifts an Indian bride, Whose slender, graceful forms, compact and light, Combined endurance, beauty, strength and speed-- A wondrous breed, whose famed descendants bore The Moslem hosts that swept from off the earth Thy mighty power, corrupt, declining Rome, And with each other now alone contend In speed, whose sons cast out, abused and starved, Alone can save from raging whirlwind flames[17]

That all-devouring sweep our western plains; Then stately elephants came next in line, With measured step and gently swaying gait, Covered with cloth of gold richly inwrought, Each bearing in a howdah gaily decked A fair compet.i.tor for beauty's prize, With merry comrades and some sober friend; The vina, bansuli, sitar and harp Filling the air with sweetest melody, While rippling laughter from each howdah rang, And sweetest odors, as from op'ning flowers, Breathed from their rich apparel as they pa.s.sed.

And thus they circle round the maidan wide, And as they pa.s.s along the people shout, "Long live the king! long live our n.o.ble prince!"

To all which glad acclaims the prince responds With heartfelt courtesy and royal grace.

When they had nearly reached the palace gate On their return, the king drew to the right With his attendants, while the prince with his Drew to the left, reviewing all the line That pa.s.sed again down to the judges' seat, Under the king's pavilion near the lake.

The prince eagerly watched them as they pa.s.sed, Noting their brawny limbs and polished arms, The pose and skill of every charioteer, The parts and varied breed of every horse, Aiding his comrades with his deeper skill.

But when the queens of beauty pa.s.sed him by, He was all smiles and gallantry and grace, Until the last, Yasodhara, came near, Whose laugh was clearest of the merry crowd, Whose golden hair imprisoned sunlight seemed, Whose cheek, blending the lily with the rose, Spoke of more northern skies and Aryan blood, Whose rich, not gaudy, robes exquisite taste Had made to suit her so they seemed a part Of her sweet self; whose manner, simple, free, Not bold or shy, whose features--no one saw Her features, for her soul covered her face As with a veil of ever-moving life.

When she came near, and her bright eyes met his, He seemed to start; his gallantry was gone, And like an awkward boy he sat and gazed; And her laugh too was hushed, and she pa.s.sed on, Pa.s.sed out of sight but never out of mind, The king and all his counselors saw this.

"Good king, our deer is struck," Asita said, "If this love cure him not, nothing can cure."

[1]Lieutenant-General Briggs, in his lectures on the aboriginal races of India, says the Hindoos themselves refer the excavation of caves and temples to the period of the aboriginal kings.

[2]The art of irrigation, once practiced on such a mighty scale, now seems practically a lost art but just now being revived on our western plains.

[3]"And, that which all faire workes doth most aggrace, The art, which all that wrought, appeared in no place."

--Faerie Queene, B. 2, Canto 12.

[4]See Miss Gordon c.u.mming's descriptions of the fields of wild dahlias in Northern India.

[5]By far the finest display of the mettle and blood of high-bred horses I have ever seen has been in the pasture-field, and this description is drawn from life.

[6]Once, coming upon a little prairie in the midst of a great forest, I saw a herd of startled deer bound over the gra.s.s, a scene never to be forgotten.

[7]See Miss Gordon c.u.mming's description of a hill covered with this luminous gra.s.s.

[8]There can be no doubt that the fire-wors.h.i.+p of the East is the remains of a true but largely emblematic religion.

[9]The difference between the Buddhist idea of a deva and the Christian idea of an attendant angel is scarcely perceptible.

[10]The Brahmans claim that Buddha's great doctrine of universal brotherhood was taken from their sacred books and was not an originality of Buddha, as his followers claim.

[11]The Mediterranean or Egyptian wheat is said to have this origin.

[12]At the time of Buddha's birth there seemed to be no mean between the Chakravartin or absolute monarch and the recluse who had renounced all ordinary duties and enjoyments, and was subjecting himself to all deprivations and sufferings. Buddha taught the middle course of diligence in daily duties and universal love.

[13]I am aware that some Buddhist authors whom Arnold has followed in his "Light of Asia" make Buddha but little better than a stale prisoner, and would have us believe that the glimpses he got of the ills that flesh is heir to were gained in spite of all precautions, as he was occasionally taken out of his rose embowered, damsel filled prison-house, and not as any prince of high intelligence and tender sensibilities who loved his people and mingled freely with them would gain a knowledge of suffering and sorrow; but we are justified in pa.s.sing all such fancies, not only on account of their intrinsic improbability, but because the great Asvaghosha, who wrote about the beginning of our era, knew nothing of them.

[14]To suppose that the Aryan races when they emigrated to India or Europe left behind them their most valuable possession, the Nisaean horse, is to suppose them lacking in the qualities of thrift and shrewdness which have distinguished their descendants. That the Nisaean horse of the table-lands of Asia was the horse of the armored knights of the middle ages and substantially the Percheron horse of France, I had a curious proof: In Layard's Nineveh is a picture of a Nisaean horse found among the ruins, which would have been taken as a good picture Of a Percheron stallion I once owned, who stood for the picture here drawn of what I regard as his undoubted ancestor.

[15]Marco Polo speaks of the breed of horses here attempted to be described as "excellent, large, strong and swift, said to be of the race of Alexander's Bucephalus."

[16]It is said that the Mongolians in their career of conquest could move an army of 500,000 fifty miles a day, a speed out of the question with all the facilities of modern warfare.

[17]See Bret Harte's beautiful poem, "Sell Patchin," and also an article on the "Horses of the Plains," in _The Century_, January, 1889.

BOOK II.

She pa.s.sed along, and then the king and prince With their attendants wheeled in line and moved Down to the royal stand, each to his place.