[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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 Sammàt, 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
179
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 of life,
Attaining blest Nirvàna. So they came
Into the Palace-porch, Suddh dana
With brows unknit drinking the mighty words,
And in his own hand carrying Buddha s bowl,
Whilst a new light brightened the lovely eyes
Of sweet Yas dhara and sunned her tears;
And that night entered they the Way of Peace.
180
Book The Eighth
broad mead spreads by swift Kohàna s bank
At Nagara; five days shall bring a man
AIn ox-wain thither from Benares shrines
Eastward and northward journeying. The horns
Of white Himàla 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 thicks, and high heaps
Of carved red stones cloven by root and stem
Of creeping fig, and clad with weaving 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
181
Of life, are fled for this is where it stood,
The city of Suddh dana, 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 pleasuance-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
Watching the opening of his lips to learn
That wisdom which hath made our Asia mild;
Whereto four hundred& of living souls
Witness this day. Upon the King s right hand
He sate, and round were ranged the Sàkya 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 Yas dhara, her heartaches gone,
Foreseeing that fair love which doth not feed
182
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;
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]