BOOK V.
Now mighty Mara, spirit of the air,
The prince of darkness, ruling worlds below,
Had watched for Buddha all these weary years,
Seeking to lead his steady steps astray
By many wiles his wicked wit devised,
Lest he at length should find the living light
And rescue millions from his dark domains.
Now, showing him the kingdoms of the world.
He offered him the Chakravartin's crown;
Now, opening seas of knowledge, shoreless, vast,
Knowledge of ages past and yet to come,
Knowledge of nature and the hidden laws
That guide her changes, guide the roiling spheres,
Sakwal on sakwal,[1] boundless, infinite,
Yet ever moving on in harmony,
He thought to puff his spirit up with pride
Till he should quite forget a suffering world,
In sin and sorrow groping blindly on.
But when he saw that lust of power moved not,
And thirst for knowledge turned him not aside
From earnest search after the living light,
From tender love for every living thing,
He sent the tempters Doubt and dark Despair.
And as he watched for final victory
He saw that light flash through the silent cave,
And heard the Buddha breathe that earnest prayer,
And fled amazed, nor dared to look behind.
For though to Buddha all his way seemed dark,
His wily enemy could see a Power,
A mighty Power, that ever hovered near,
A present help in every time of need,
When sinking souls seek earnestly for aid.
He fled, indeed, as flies the prowling wolf,
Alarmed at watch-dog's bark or shepherd's voice,
While seeking entrance to the slumbering fold,
But soon returns with soft and stealthy step,
With keenest scent snuffing the passing breeze,
With ears erect catching each slightest sound,
With glaring eyes watching each moving thing,
With hungry jaws, skulking about the fold
Till coming dawn drives him to seek his lair.
So Mara fled, and so he soon returned,
And thus he watched the Buddha's every step;
Saw him with gentleness quell haughty power;
Saw him with tenderness raise up the weak;
Heard him before the Brahmans and the king
Denounce those bloody rites ordained by him;
Heard him declare the deadly work of Sin,
His own prime minister and eldest-born;
Heard him proclaim the mighty power of Love
To cleanse the life and make the flinty heart
As soft as sinews of the new-born babe.
And when he saw whither he bent his steps,
He sent three wrinkled hags, deformed and foul,
The willing agents of his wicked will—
Life-wasting Idleness, the thief of time;
Lascivious Lust, whose very touch defiles,
Poisoning the blood, polluting all within;
And greedy Gluttony, most gross of all,
Whose ravening maw forever asks for more—
To that delightful garden near his way,
To tempt the Master, their true forms concealed—
For who so gross that such coarse hags could tempt?—
But clothed instead in youthful beauty's grace.
And now he saw him pass unmoved by lust,
Nor yet with cold, self-righteous pride puffed up,
But breathing pity from his inmost soul
E'en for the ministers of vice themselves.
Defeated, not discouraged, still he thought
To try one last device, for well he knew
That Buddha's steps approached the sacred tree
Where light would dawn and all his power would end.
Upon a seat beside the shaded path,
A seeming aged Brahman, Mara sat,
And when the prince approached, his tempter rose,
Saluting him with gentle stateliness,
Saluted in return with equal grace.
"Whither away, my son?" the tempter said,
"If you to Gaya now direct your steps,
Perhaps your youth may cheer my lonely age."
"I go to seek for light," the prince replied,
"But where it matters not, so light be found."
But Mara answered him: "Your search is vain.
Why seek to know more than the Vedas teach?
Why seek to learn more than the teachers know?
But such is youth; the rosy tints of dawn
Tinge all his thoughts. 'Excelsior!' he cries,
And fain would scale the unsubstantial clouds
To find a light that knows no night, no change;
We Brahmans chant our hymns in solemn wise,
The vulgar listen with profoundest awe;
But still our muffled heart-throbs beat the march
Onward, forever onward, to the grave,
When one ahead cries, 'Lo! I see a light!'
And others clutch his garments, following on.
Till all in starless darkness disappear,
There may be day beyond this starless night,
There may be life beyond this dark profound—
But who has ever seen that changeless day?
What steps have e'er retraced that silent road?
Fables there are, hallowed by hoary age,
Fables and ancient creeds, that men have made
To give them power with ignorance and fear;
Fables of gods with human passions filled:
Fables of men who walked and talked with gods;
Fables of kalpas passed, when Brahma slept
And all created things were wrapped in flames,
And then the floods descended, chaos reigned,
The world a waste of waters, and the heavens
A sunless void, until again he wakes,
And sun and moon and stars resume their rounds,
Oceans receding show the mountain-tops,
And then the hills and spreading plains—
Strange fables all, that crafty men have feigned.
Why waste your time pursuing such vain dreams—
As some benighted travelers chase false lights
To lose themselves in bogs and fens at last?
But read instead in Nature's open book
How light from darkness grew by slow degrees;
How crawling worms grew into light-winged birds,
Acquiring sweetest notes and gayest plumes;
How lowly ferns grew into lofty palms;
How men have made themselves from chattering apes;[2]
How, even from protoplasm to highest bard,
Selecting and rejecting, mind has grown,
Until at length all secrets are unlocked,
And man himself now stands pre-eminent,
Maker and master of his own great self,
To sneer at all his lisping childlike past
And laugh at all his fathers had revered."
The prince with gentle earnestness replied:
"Full well I know how blindly we grope on
In doubt and fear and ignorance profound,
The wisdom of the past a book now sealed.
But why despise what ages have revered?
As some rude plowman casts on rubbish-heaps
The rusty casket that his share reveals,
Not knowing that within it are concealed
Most precious gems, to make him rich indeed,
The hand that hid them from the robber, cold,
The key that locked this rusty casket, lost.
The past was wise, else whence that wondrous tongue[3]
That we call sacred, which the learned speak,
Now passing out of use as too refined
For this rude age, too smooth for our rough tongues,
Too rich and delicate for our coarse thoughts.
Why should such men make fables so absurd
Unless within their rough outside is stored
Some precious truth from profanation hid?
Revere your own, revile no other faith,
Lest with the casket you reject the gems,
Or with rough hulls reject the living seed.
Doubtless in nature changes have been wrought
That speak of ages in the distant past,
Whose contemplation fills the mind with awe.
The smooth-worn pebbles on the highest hills
Speak of an ocean sweeping o'er their tops;
The giant palms, now changed to solid rocks,
Speak of the wonders of a buried world.
Why seek to solve the riddle nature puts,
Of whence and why, with theories and dreams?
The crawling worm proclaims its Maker's power;
The singing bird proclaims its Maker's skill;
The mind of man proclaims a greater Mind,
Whose will makes world, whose thoughts are living acts.
Our every heart-throb speaks of present power,
Preserving, recreating, day by day.
Better confess how little we can know,
Better with feet unshod and humble awe
Approach this living Power to ask for aid."
And as he spoke the devas filled the air,
Unseen, unheard of men, and sweetly sung:
"Hail, prince of peace! hail, harbinger of day!
The darkness vanishes, the light appears."
But Mara heard, and silent slunk away,
The o'erwrought prince fell prostrate on the ground
And lay entranced, while devas hovered near,
Watching each heart-throb, breathing that sweet calm
Its guardian angel gives the sleeping child.
The night has passed, the day-star fades from sight,
And morning's softest tint of rose and gold
Tinges the east and tips the mountain-tops.
The silent village stirs with waking life,
The bleat of goats and low of distant herds,
The song of birds and crow of jungle-cocks
Breathe softest music through the dewy air.
And now two girls,[4] just grown to womanhood,
The lovely daughters of the village lord,
Trapusha one, and one Balika called,
Up with the dawn, trip lightly o'er the grass,
Bringing rich curds and rice picked grain by grain,
A willing offering to their guardian god—
Who dwelt, as all the simple folk believed,
Beneath an aged bodhi-tree that stood
Beside the path and near where Buddha lay—
To ask such husbands as their fancies paint,
Gentle and strong, and noble, true and brave;
And having left their gifts and made their vows,
With timid steps the maidens stole away.
But while the outer world is filled with life.
That inner world from whence this life proceeds,
Concealed from sight by matter's blinding folds,
Whose coarser currents fill with wondrous power
The nervous fluid of the universe
Which darts through nature's frame, from star to star,
From cloud to cloud, filling the world with awe;
Now harnessed to our use, a patient drudge,
Heedless of time or space, bears human thought
From land to land and through the ocean's depths;
And bears the softest tones of human speech
Faster than light, farther than ocean sounds;
And whirls the clattering car through crowded streets,
And floods with light the haunts of prowling thieves—
That inner world, whose very life is love,
Pure love, and perfect, infinite, intense,
That world is now astir. A rift appears
In those dark clouds that rise from sinful souls
And hide from us its clear celestial light,
And clouds of messengers from that bright world,
Whom they called devas and we angels call,
Rush to that rift to rescue and to save.
The wind from their bright wings fanned Buddha's soul,
The love from their sweet spirits warmed his heart.
He starts from sleep, but rising, scarcely knows
If he had seen a vision while awake,
Or, sunk in sleep, had dreamed a heavenly dream.
From that pure presence all his tempters fled.
The calm of conflict ended filled his soul,
And led by unseen hands he forward passed
To where the sacred fig-tree long had grown,
Beneath whose shade the village altar stood,
Where simple folk would place their willing gifts,
And ask the aid their simple wants required,
Believing all the life above, around,
The life within themselves, must surely come
From living powers that ever hovered near.
Here lay the food Sagata's daughters brought,
The choicest products of his herds and fields,
This grateful food met nature's every need,
Diffused a healthful glow through all his frame,
And all the body's eager yearnings stilled.
Seven days he sat, and ate no more nor drank,
Yet hungered not, nor burned with parching thirst,
For heavenly manna fed his hungry soul—
Its wants were satisfied, the body's ceased.
Seven days he sat, in sweet internal peace
Waiting for light, and sure that light would come,
When seeming scales fell from his inner sight,
His spirit's eyes were opened and he saw
Not far away, but near, within, above,
As dwells the soul within this mortal frame,
A world within this workday world of ours,
The living soul of all material things.
Eastward he saw a never-setting Sun,
Whose light is truth, the light of all the worlds,
Whose heat is tender, all-embracing love,
The inmost Life of everything that lives,
The mighty Prototype and primal Cause
Of all the suns that light this universe,
From ours, full-orbed, that tints the glowing east
And paints the west a thousand varied shades,
To that far distant little twinkling star
That seems no larger than the glow-worm's lamp,
Itself a sun to light such worlds as ours;
And round about Him clouds of living light,
Bright clouds of cherubim and seraphim,
Who sing His praise and execute His will—
Not idly singing, as the foolish feign,
But voicing forth their joy they work and sing;
Doing His will, their works sound forth His praise.
On every side were fields of living green,
With gardens, groves and gently rising hills,
Where crystal streams of living waters flow,
And dim with distance Meru's lofty heights.
No desert sands, no mountains crowned with ice,
For here the scorching simoom never blows,
Nor wintry winds, that pierce and freeze and kill,
But gentle breezes breathing sweet perfumes;
No weeds, no thorns, no bitter poisonous fruits,
No noxious reptiles and no prowling beasts;
For in this world of innocence and love
No evil thoughts give birth to evil things,
But many birds of every varied plume
Delight the ear with sweetest melody;
And many flowers of every varied tint
Fill all the air with odors rich and sweet;
And many fruits, suited to every taste,
Hang ripe and ready that who will may eat—
A world of life, with all its lights and shades,
The bright original of our sad world
Without its sin and storms, its thorns and tears.
No Lethe's sluggish waters lave its shores,
Nor solemn shades, of poet's fancy bred,
Sit idly here to boast of battles past,
Nor wailing ghosts wring here their shadowy hands
For lack of honor to their cast-off dust;
But living men, in human bodies clothed—
Not bodies made of matter, dull and coarse,
Dust from the dust and soon to dust returned,
But living bodies, clothing living souls,
Bodies responsive to the spirit's will,
Clothing in acts the spirit's inmost thoughts—
Dwell here in many mansions, large and fair,
Stretching beyond the keenest vision's hen,
With room for each and more than room for all,
Forever filling and yet never full.
Not clogged by matter, fast as fleetest birds,
Wishing to go, they go; to come, they come.
No helpless infancy or palsied age,
But all in early manhood's youthful bloom,
The old grown young, the child to man's estate.
Gentle they seemed as they passed to and fro,
Gentle and strong, with every manly grace;
Busy as bees in summer's sunny hours,
In works of usefulness and acts of love;
No pinching poverty or grasping greed,
Gladly receiving, they more gladly give,
Sharing in peace the bounties free to all.
As lost in wonder and delight he gazed,
He saw approaching from a pleasant grove
Two noble youths, yet full of gentleness,
Attending one from sole to crown a queen,
With every charm of fresh and blooming youth
And every grace of early womanhood,
Her face the mirror of her gentle soul,
Her flowing robes finer than softest silk,
That as she moved seemed woven of the light;
Not borne by clumsy wings, or labored steps,
She glided on as if her will had wings
That bore her willing body where she wished.
As she approached, close by her side he saw,
As through a veil or thin transparent mist,
The form and features of the aged king,
Older and frailer by six troubled years
Than when they parted, yet his very face,
Whom she was watching with the tenderest care.
And nearer seen each seeming youth was two,
As when at first in Eden's happy shade
Our primal parents ere the tempter came
Were twain, and yet but one, so on they come,
Hand joined in hand, heart beating close to heart,
One will their guide and sharing every thought,
Beaming with tender, all-embracing love,
Whom God had joined and death had failed to part.
What need of words to introduce his guests?
Love knows her own, the mother greets her son.
Her parents and the king's, who long had watched
Their common offspring with a constant care,
Inspiring hope and breathing inward peace
When secret foes assailed on every side,
Now saw him burst the clouds that veiled their view
And stand triumphant full before their eyes.
O happy meeting! joy profound, complete!
Soul greeting soul, heart speaking straight to heart,
While countless happy faces hovered near
And song's of joy sound through Nirvana's heights.
At length, the transports of first meeting past,
More of this new-found world he wished to see,
More of its peace and joy he wished to know.
Led by his loving guides, enwrapt he saw
Such scenes of beauty passing human speech,
Such scenes of peace and joy past human thought,
That he who sings must tune a heavenly lyre
And seraphs touch his lips with living fire.
My unanointed lips will not presume
To try such lofty themes, glad if I gain
A distant prospect of the promised land,
And catch some glimpses through the gates ajar.
Long time he wandered through these blissful scenes,
Time measured by succession of delights,
Till wearied by excess of very joy
Both soul and body sunk in tranquil sleep.
He slept while hosts of devas sweetly sung:
"Hail, great physician! savior, lover, friend!
Joy of the worlds, guide to Nirvana, hail!"
From whose bright presence Mara's myriads fled.
But Mara's self, subtlest of all, fled not,
But putting on a seeming yogi's form,
Wasted, as if by fasts, to skin and bone,
On one foot standing, rooted to the ground,
The other raised against his fleshless thigh,
Hands stretched aloft till joints had lost their use,
And clinched so close, as if in firm resolve,
The nails had grown quite through the festering palms,[5]
His tattered robes, as if worn out by age,
Hanging like moss from trees decayed and dead,
While birds were nesting in his tangled hair.
And thus disguised the subtle Mara stood,
And when the master roused him from his sleep
His tempter cried in seeming ecstasy:
"O! happy wakening! joy succeeding grief!
Peace after trouble! rest that knows no end!
Life after death! Nirvana found at last!
Here let us wait till wasted by decay
The body's worn-out fetters drop away."
"Much suffering-brother," Buddha answered him,
"The weary traveler, wandering through the night
In doubt and darkness, gladly sees the dawn.
The storm-tossed sailor on the troubled sea,
Wearied and drenched, with joy re-enters port.
But other nights succeed that happy dawn,
And other seas may toss that sailor's bark.
But he who sees Nirvana's sacred Sun,
And in Nirvana's haven furls his sails,
No more shall wander through the starless night,
No more shall battle with the winds and waves.
O joy of joys! our eyes have seen that Sun!
Our sails have almost reached that sheltering port,
But shall we, joyful at our own escape,
Leave our poor brothers battling with the storm,
Sails rent, barks leaking, helm and compass lost,
No light to guide, no hope to cheer them on?"
"Each for himself must seek, as we have sought,"
The tempter said, "and each must climb alone
The rugged path our weary feet have trod.
No royal road leads to Nirvana's rest;
No royal captain guides his army there.
Why leave the heights with so much labor gained?
Why plunge in darkness we have just escaped?
Men will not heed the message we may bring.
The great will scorn, the rabble will deride,[6]
And cry 'He hath a devil and is mad.'"
"True," answered Buddha, "each must seek to find;
Each for himself must leave the downward road;
Each for himself must choose the narrow path
That leads to purity and peace and life.
But helping hands will aid those struggling up;
A warning voice may check those hasting down.
Men are like lilies in yon shining pool:
Some sunk in evil grovel in the dust,
Loving like swine to wallow in the mire—
Like those that grow within its silent depths,
Scarce raised above its black and oozy bed;
While some love good, and seek the purest light,
Breathing sweet fragrance from their gentle lives—
Like those that rise above its glassy face,
Sparkling with dewdrops, royally arrayed,
Drinking the brightness of the morning sun,
Distilling odors through the balmy air;
But countless multitudes grope blindly on,
Shut out from light and crushed by cruel castes,
Willing to learn, whom none will deign to teach,
Willing to rise, whom none will deign to guide,
Who from the cradle to the silent grave,
Helpless and hopeless, only toil and weep—
Like those that on the stagnant waters float,
Smothered with leaves, covered with ropy slime,
That from the rosy dawn to dewy eve
Scarce catch one glimmer of the glorious sun.
The good scarce need, the bad will scorn, my aid;
But these poor souls will gladly welcome help.
Welcome to me the scorn of rich and great,
Welcome the Brahman's proud and cold disdain,
Welcome revilings from the rabble rout,
If I can lead some groping souls to light—
If I can give some weary spirits rest.
Farewell, my brother, you have earned release—
Rest here in peace. I go to aid the poor."
And as he spoke a flash of lurid light
Shot through the air, and Buddha stood alone—
Alone! to teach the warring nations peace!
Alone! to lead a groping world to light!
Alone! to give the heavy-laden rest!
[1]A sakwal was a sun with its system of worlds, which the ancient Hindoos believed extended one beyond another through infinite space. It indicates great advance in astronomical knowledge when such a complex idea, now universally received as true, as that the fixed stars are suns with systems of worlds like ours, could be expressed in a single word.
[2]It may seem like an anachronism to put the very words of the modern agnostic into the mouth of Buddha's tempter, but these men are merely threshing over old straw. The sneer of Epicurus curled the lip of Voltaire, and now merely breaks out into a broad laugh on the good-natured face of Ingersoll.
[3]The Sanscrit, the most perfect of all languages, and the mother of Greek and of all the languages of the Aryan races, now spread over the world, had gone out of use in Buddha's time, and the Pali, one of its earliest offspring, was used by the great teacher and his people.
[4]Arnold follows the tradition, that there was but one, whom he makes a young wife, without any authority so far as I can learn. I prefer to follow the Chinese pilgrim, Fa Hian, who was on the ground with every means of knowing, who makes them two young girls, and named as above.
[5]Bishop Heber says he saw a recluse whose hands had been clinched so close and so long that the nails had actually grown through the hands as here described.
[6]The last temptation of Buddha was to keep his light to himself under the fear that men would reject his message.
BOOK VI.
Seven days had passed since first he saw the light,
Seven days of deep, ecstatic peace and joy,
Of open vision of that blissful world,
Of sweet communion with those dwelling there.
But having tasted, seen and felt the joys
Of that bright world where love is all in all,
Filling each heart, inspiring every thought,
Guiding each will and prompting every act,
He yearned to see the other, darker side
Of that bright picture, where the wars and hates,
The lust, the greed, the cruelty and crime
That fill the world with pain and want and woe
Have found their dwelling-place and final goal.
Quicker than eagles soaring toward the sun
Till but a speck against the azure vault
Swoop down upon their unsuspecting prey,
Quicker than watch-fires on the mountain-top
Send warnings to the dwellers in the plain,
Led by his guides he reached Nirvana's verge,
Whence he beheld a broad and pleasant plain,
Spread with a carpet of the richest green
And decked with flowers of every varied tint,
Whose blended odors fill the balmy air,
Where trees, pleasant to sight and good for food,
In rich abundance and spontaneous grow.
A living stream, as purest crystal clear,
With gentle murmurs wound along the plain,
Its surface bright with fairer lotus-flowers
Than mortal eye on earth had ever seen,
While on its banks were cool, umbrageous groves
Whose drooping branches spicy breezes stir,
A singing bird in every waving bough,
Whose joyful notes the soul of music shed.
A mighty multitude, beyond the power
Of men to number, moved about the plain;
Some, seeming strangers, wander through the groves
And pluck the flowers or eat the luscious fruits;
Some, seeming visitors from better worlds,
Here wait and watch as for expected guests;
While angel devas, clothed in innocence,
Whose faces beam with wisdom, glow with love,
With loving welcomes greet each coming guest,
With loving counsels aid, instruct and guide.
And as he looked, the countless, restless throng
Seemed ever changing, ever moving on,
So that this plain, comparing great to small,
Seemed like a station near some royal town,
Greater than London or old Babylon,
Where all the roads from some vast empire meet,
And many caravans or sweeping trains
Bring and remove the ever-changing throng.
This plain a valley bordered, deep and still,
The very valley of his fearful dream
Seen from the other side, whose rising mists
Were all aglow with ever-changing light,
Like passing clouds above the setting sun,
Through which as through a glass he darkly saw
Unnumbered funeral-trains, in sable clad,
To solemn music and with measured tread
Bearing their dead to countless funeral-piles,
As thick as heaps that through the livelong day
With patient toil the sturdy woodmen rear,
While clearing forests for the golden grain,
And set aflame when evening's shades descend,
Filling the glowing woods with floods of light
And ghostly shadows: So these funeral-piles
Send up their curling smoke and crackling flames.
There eager flames devour an infant's flesh;
Here loving arms that risen infant clasp;
There loud laments bewail a loved one lost;
Here joyful welcomes greet that loved one found.
And there he saw a pompous funeral-train,
Bearing a body clothed in robes of state,
To blare of trumpet, sound of shell and drum,
While many mourners bow in silent grief,
And widows, orphans raise a loud lament
As for a father, a protector lost;
And as the flames lick up the fragrant oils,
And whirl and hiss around that wasting form,
An eager watcher from a better world
Welcomes her husband to her open arms,
The cumbrous load of pomp and power cast off,
While waiting devas and the happy throng
His power protected and his bounty blessed
With joy conduct his unaccustomed steps
Onward and upward, to those blissful seats
Where all his stores of duties well performed,
Of power well used and wealth in kindness given,
Were garnered up beyond the reach of thieves,
Where moths ne'er eat and rust can ne'er corrupt.
Another train draws near a funeral-pile,
Of aloes, sandal-wood and cassia built,
And drenched with every incense-breathing oil,
And draped with silks and rich with rarest flowers,
Where grim officials clothed in robes of state
Placed one in royal purple, decked with gems,
Whose word had been a trembling nation's law,
Whose angry nod was death to high or low.
No mourners gather round this costly pile;
The people shrink in terror from the sight.
But sullen soldiers there keep watch and ward
While eager flames consume those nerveless hands
So often raised to threaten or command,
Suck out those eyes that filled the court with fear,
And only left of all this royal pomp
A little dust the winds may blow away.
But here that selfsame monarch comes in view,
For royal purple clothed in filthy rags,
And lusterless that crown of priceless gems;
Those eyes, whose bend so lately awed the world,
Blinking and bleared and blinded by the light;
Those hands, that late a royal scepter bore,
Shaking with fear and dripping all with blood.
And as he looked that some should give him place
And lead him to a seat for monarchs fit,
He only saw a group of innocents
His hands had slain, now clothed in spotless white,
From whom he fled as if by furies chased,
Fled from those groves and gardens of delight,
Fled on and down a broad and beaten road
By many trod, and toward a desert waste
With distance dim, and gloomy, grim and vast,
Where piercing thorns and leafless briars grow,
And dead sea-apples, ashes to the taste,
Where loathsome reptiles crawl and hiss and sting,
And birds of night and bat-winged dragons fly,
Where beetling cliffs seem threatening instant fall,
And opening chasms seem yawning to devour,
And sulphurous seas were swept with lurid flames
That seethe and boil from hidden fires below.
Again he saw, beyond that silent vale,
One frail and old, without a rich man's gate
Laid down to die beneath a peepul-tree,
And parched with thirst and pierced with sudden pain,
A root his pillow and the earth his bed;
Alone he met the King of terrors there;
Whose wasting body, cumbering now the ground,
Chandalas cast upon the passing stream
To float and fester in the fiery sun,
Till whirled by eddies, caught by roots, it lay
A prey for vultures and for fishes food.
That selfsame day a dart of deadly pain
Shot through that rich man's hard, unfeeling heart,
That laid him low, beyond the power to save,
E'en while his servants cast without his gates
That poor old man, who came to beg him spare
His roof-tree, where his fathers all had died,
His hearth, the shrine of all his inmost joys,
His little home, to every heart so dear;
And in due season tongues of hissing flames
That rich man's robes like snowflakes whirled in air,
And curled his crackling skin, consumed his flesh,
And sucked the marrow from his whitened bones.
But here these two their places seem to change.
That rich man's houses, lands, and flocks and herds,
His servants, rich apparel, stores of gold,
And all he loved and lived for left behind,
The friends that nature gave him turned to foes,
Dependents whom his greed had wronged and crushed
Shrinking away as from a deadly foe;
No generous wish, no gentle, tender, thought
To hide his nakedness, his shriveled soul
Stood stark and bare, the gaze of passers-by;
Nothing within to draw him on and up,
He slinks away, and wanders on and down,
Till in the desert, groveling in the dust,
He digs and burrows, seeking treasures there—
While that poor man, as we count poverty,
Is rich in all that makes the spirit's wealth,
His heart so pure that thoughts of guile
And evil purpose find no lodgment there;
His life so innocent that bitter words
And evil-speaking ne'er escape his lips;
The little that he had he freely shared,
And wished it more that more he might have given;
Now rich in soul—for here a crust of bread
In kindness shared, a cup of water given,
Is worth far more than all Potosi's mines,
And Araby's perfumes and India's silks,
And all the cattle on a thousand hills—
And clothed as with a robe of innocence
The devas welcome him, his troubles passed,
The conflict ended and the triumph gained.
And there two Brahmans press their funeral-pile,
And sink to dust amid the whirling flames.
Each from his lisping infancy had heard
That Brahmans were a high and holy caste,
Too high and holy for the common touch,
And each had learned the Vedas' sacred lore.
But here they parted. One was cold and proud,
Drawing away from all the humbler castes
As made to toil, and only fit to serve.
The other found within those sacred books
That all were brothers, made of common clay,
And filled with life from one eternal source,
While Brahmans only elder brothers were,
With greater light to be his brother's guide,
With greater strength to give his brother aid;
That he alone a real Brahman was
Who had a Brahman's spirit, not his blood.
With patient toil from youth to hoary age
He taught the ignorant and helped the weak.
And now they come where all external pomp
And rank and caste and creed are nothing worth.
But when that proud and haughty Brahman saw
Poor Sudras and Chandalas clothed in white,
He swept away with proud and haughty scorn,
Swept on and down where heartless selfishness
Alone can find congenial company.
The other, full of joy, his brothers met,
And in sweet harmony they journeyed on
Where higher joys await the pure in heart.
And there he saw all ranks and grades and castes,
Chandala, Sudra, warrior, Brahman, prince,
The wise and ignorant, the strong and weak,
In all the stages of our mortal round
From lisping; infancy to palsied age,
By all the ways to human frailty known,
Enter that vale of shadows, deep and still,
Leaving behind their pomp and power and wealth,
Leaving their rags and wretchedness and want,
And cast-off bodies, dust to dust returned,
By flames consumed or moldering to decay,
While here the real character appeared,
All shows, hypocrisies and shams cast off,
So that a life of gentleness and love
Shines through the face and molds the outer form
To living beauty, blooming not to fade,
While every act of cruelty and crime
Seems like a gangrened ever-widening wound,
Wasting the very substance of the soul,
Marring its beauty, eating out its strength.
And here arrived, the good, in little groups
Together drawn by inward sympathy,
And led by devas, take the upward way
To those sweet fields his opened eyes had seen,
Those ever-widening mansions of delight;
While those poor souls—O sad and fearful sight!—
The very well-springs of the life corrupt,
Shrink from the light and shun the pure and good,
Fly from the devas, who with perfect love
Would gladly soothe their anguish, ease their pain,
Fly on and down that broad and beaten road,
Till in the distance in the darkness lost.
Lost! lost! and must it be forever lost?
The gentle Buddha's all-embracing love
Shrunk from the thought, but rather sought relief
In that most ancient faith by sages taught,
That these poor souls at length may find escape,
The grasping in the gross and greedy swine,
The cunning in the sly and prowling fox,
The cruel in some ravening beast of prey;
While those less hardened, less depraved, may gain
Rebirth in men, degraded, groveling, base.[1]
But here in sadness let us drop the veil,
Hoping that He whose ways are not like ours,
Whose love embraces all His handiwork,
Who in beginnings sees the final end,
May find some way to save these sinful souls
Consistent with His fixed eternal law
That good from good, evil from evil flows.
Here Buddha saw the mystery of life
At last unfolded to its hidden depths.
He saw that selfishness was sorrow's root,
And ignorance its dense and deadly shade;
He saw that selfishness bred lust and hate,
Deformed the features, and defiled the soul
And closed its windows to those waves of love
That flow perennial from Nirvana's Sun.
He saw that groveling lusts and base desires
Like noxious weeds unchecked luxurious grow,
Making a tangled jungle of the soul,
Where no good seed can find a place to root,
Where noble purposes and pure desires
And gentle thoughts wither and fade and die
Like flowers beneath the deadly upas-tree.
He saw that selfishness bred grasping greed,
And made the miser, made the prowling thief,
And bred hypocrisy, pretense, deceit,
And made the bigot, made the faithless priest,
Bred anger, cruelty, and thirst for blood,
And made the tyrant, stained the murderer's knife,
And filled the world with war and want and woe,
And filled the dismal regions of the lost
With fiery flames of passions never quenched,
With sounds of discord, sounds of clanking chains,
With cries of anguish, howls of bitter hate,
Yet saw that man was free—not bound and chained[2]
Helpless and hopeless to a whirling wheel,
Rolled on resistless by some cruel power,
Regardless of their cries and prayers and tears—
Free to resist those gross and groveling lusts,
Free to obey Nirvana's law of love,
The law of order—primal, highest law—
Which guides the great Artificer himself,
Who weaves the garments of the joyful spring,
Who paints the glories of the passing clouds,
Who tunes the music of the rolling spheres,
Guided by love in all His mighty works,
Filling with love the humblest willing heart.
He saw that love softens and sweetens life,
And stills the passions, soothes the troubled breast,
Fills homes with joy and gives the nations peace,
A sovereign balm for all the spirit's wounds,
The living fountain of Nirvana's bliss;
For here before his eyes were countless souls,
Born to the sorrows of a sinful world,
With burdens bowed, by cares and griefs oppressed,
Who felt for others' sorrows as their own,
Who lent a helping hand to those in need,
Returning good for evil, love for hate,
Whose garments now were white as spotless wool,
Whose faces beamed with gentleness and love,
As onward, upward, devas guide their steps,
Nirvana's happy mansions full in view.
He saw the noble eightfold path that mounts
From life's low levels to Nirvana's heights.
Not by steep grades the strong alone can climb,
But by such steps as feeblest limbs may take.
He saw that day by day and step by step,
By lusts resisted and by evil shunned,
By acts of love and daily duties done,
Soothing some heartache, helping those in need,
Smoothing life's journey for a brother's feet,
Guarding the lips from harsh and bitter words,
Guarding the heart from gross and selfish thoughts,
Guarding the hands from every evil act,
Brahman or Sudra, high or low, may rise
Till heaven's bright mansions open to the view,
And heaven's warm sunshine brightens all the way;
While neither hecatombs of victims slain,
Nor clouds of incense wafted to the skies,
Nor chanted hymns, nor prayers to all the gods,
Can raise a soul that clings to groveling lusts.
He saw the cause of sorrow, and its cure.
He saw that waves of love surround the soul
As waves of sunlight fill the outer world,
While selfishness, the subtle alchemist
Concealed within, changes that love to hate,
Forges the links of karma's fatal chain,
Of passions, envies, lusts to bind the soul,
And weaves his webs of falsehood and deceit
To close its windows to the living light,
Changing its mansion to its prison-house,
Where it must lay self-chained and self-condemned;
While DHARMA, TRUTH, the LAW, the LIVING WORD,
Brushes away those deftly woven webs,
Opens its windows to the living light,
Reveals the architect of all its ills,
Scatters the timbers of its prison-house,[3]
And snaps in twain those bitter, galling chains
So that the soul once more may stand erect,
Victor of self, no more to be enslaved,
And live in charity and gentle peace,
Bearing all meekly, loving those who hate;
And when at last the fated stream is reached,
With lightened boat to reach the other shore.
And here he found the light he long had sought,
Gilding at once Nirvana's blissful heights
And lighting life's sequestered, lowly vales—
A light whose inner life is perfect love,
A love whose outer form is living light,
Nirvana's Sun, the Light of all the worlds,[4]
Heart of the universe, whose mighty pulse
Gives heaven, the worlds and even hell their life,
Maker and Father of all living things
Matreya's[5] self, the Lover, Saviour, Guide,
The last, the greatest Buddha, who must rule
As Lord of all before the kalpa's end.
The way of life—the noble eightfold path,
The way of truth, the Dharma-pada—found,
With joy he bade his loving guides farewell,
With joy he turned from all those blissful scenes.
And when the rosy dawn next tinged the east,
And morning's burst of song had waked the day,
With staff and bowl he left the sacred tree—
Where pilgrims, passing pathless mountain-heights,
And desert sands, and ocean's stormy waves,
From every nation, speaking every tongue,
Should come in after-times to breathe their vows—
Beginning on that day his pilgrimage
Of five and forty years from place to place,
Breaking the cruel chains of caste and creed,
Teaching the law of love, the way of life.
[1]The later Buddhists make much of the doctrine of metempsychosis, but in the undoubted sayings and Sutras or sermons of Buddha I find no mention of it except in this way as the last hope of those who persist through life in evil, while the good after death reach the other shore, or Nirvana, where there is no more birth or death.
[2]This great and fundamental truth, lying as the basis of human action and responsibility, was recognized by Homer, who makes Jupiter say:
"Perverse mankind, whose wills created free,
Charge all their woes to absolute decree."
Odyssey, Book I, lines 41 and 42
[3]After examining the attempted explanations of that remarkable passage, the original of which is given at the end of the sixth book of Arnold's "Light of Asia," I am satisfied this is its true interpretation. It is not the death of the body, for he lived forty-five years afterwards, much less the annihilation of the soul, as some have imagined, but the conquest of the passions and gross and selfish desires which make human life a prison, the very object and end of the highest Christian teaching's and aspirations.
[4] "Know then that heaven and earth's compacted frame,
And flowing waters, and the starry flame,
And both the radiant lights, one common soul
Inspires and feeds and animates the whole."
Dryden's Virgil, Book VI, line 360.
[5]Buddha predicted that Matreya (Love incarnate) would be his successor (see Beal's Fa Hian, page 137, note 2, and page 162; also Hardy's Manual, page 386, and Oldenburgh's Buddhism, page 386), who was to come at the end of five hundred years at the end of his Dharma (see Buddhism and Christianity, Lillie, page 2).
It is a remarkable fact that this successor is the most common object of worship among Buddhists, so that the most advanced Buddhists and the most earnest Christians have the same object of worship under different names.
BOOK VII.
Alone on his great mission going forth,
Down Phalgu's valley he retraced his steps,
Down past the seat where subtle Mara sat,
And past the fountain where the siren sang,
And past the city, through the fruitful fields
And gardens he had traversed day by day
For six long years, led by a strong desire
To show his Brahman teachers his new light.
But ah! the change a little time had wrought!
A new-made stupa held their gathered dust,
While they had gone where all see eye to eye,
The darkness vanished and the river crossed.
Then turning sadly from this hallowed spot—
Hallowed by strivings for a higher life
More than by dust this little mound contained—
He sought beneath the spreading banyan-tree
His five companions, whom he lately left
Sad at his own departure from the way
The sacred Vedas and the fathers taught.
They too had gone, to Varanassi[1] gone,
High seat and centre of all sacred lore.
The day was well-nigh spent; his cave was near,
Where he had spent so many weary years,
And as he thither turned and upward climbed,
The shepherd's little child who watched the flock
His love had rescued from the bloody knife,
Upon a rock that rose above his path
Saw him pass by, and ran with eagerness
To bear the news. Joy filled that humble home.
They owed him all. The best they had they brought,
And offered it with loving gratitude.
The master ate, and as he ate he taught
These simple souls the great, the living truth
That love is more than costly sacrifice;
That daily duties done are highest praise;
That when life's duties end its sorrows end,
And higher joys await the pure in heart.
Their eager souls drank in his living words
As those who thirst drink in the living spring.
Then reverently they kissed his garment's hem,
And home returned, while he lay down to sleep.
And sweetly as a babe the master slept—
No doubts, no darkness, and no troubled dreams.
When rosy dawn next lit the eastern sky,
And morning's grateful coolness filled the air,
The master rose and his ablutions made.
With bowl and staff in hand he took his way
Toward Varanassi, hoping there to find
The five toward whom his earnest spirit yearned.
Ten days have passed, and now the rising sun.
That hangs above the distant mountain-peaks
Is mirrored back by countless rippling waves
That dance upon the Ganges' yellow stream,
Swollen by rains and melted mountain-snows,
And glorifies the thousand sacred fanes[2]
With gilded pinnacles and spires and domes
That rise in beauty on its farther bank,
While busy multitudes glide up and down
With lightly dipping oars and swelling sails.
And pilgrims countless as those shining waves,
From far and near, from mountain, hill and plain,
With dust and travel-stained, foot-sore, heart-sick,
Here came to bathe within the sacred stream,
Here came to die upon its sacred banks,
Seeking to wash the stains of guilt away,
Seeking to lay their galling burdens down.
Scoff not at these poor heavy-laden souls!
Blindly they seek, but that all-seeing Eye
That sees the tiny sparrow when it falls,
Is watching them, His angels hover near.
Who knows what visions meet their dying gaze?
Who knows what joys await those troubled hearts?
The ancient writings say that having naught
To pay the ferryman, the churl refused
To ferry him across the swollen stream,
When he was raised and wafted through the air.
What matter whether that all-powerful Love
Which moves the worlds, and bears with all our sins,
Sent him a chariot and steeds of fire,
Or moved the heart of some poor fisherman
To bear him over for a brother's sake?
All power is His, and men can never thwart
His all-embracing purposes of love.
Now past the stream and near the sacred grove
The deer-park called, the five saw him approach.
But grieved at his departure from the way
The ancient sages taught, said with themselves
They would not rise or do him reverence.
But as he nearer came, the tender love,
The holy calm that shone upon his face,
Made them at once forget their firm resolve.
They rose together, doing reverence,
And bringing water washed his way-soiled feet,
Gave him a mat, and said as with one voice:
"Master Gautama, welcome to our grove.
Here rest your weary limbs and share our shade.
Have you escaped from karma's fatal chains
And gained clear vision—found the living light?"
"Call me not master. Profitless to you
Six years have passed," the Buddha answered them,
"In doubt and darkness groping blindly on.
But now at last the day has surely dawned.
These eyes have seen Nirvana's sacred Sun,
And found the noble eightfold path that mounts
From life's low levels, mounts from death's dark shades
To changeless day, to never-ending rest."
Then with the prophet's newly kindled zeal,
Zeal for the truth his opened eyes had seen,
Zeal for the friends whose struggles he had shared,
Softened by sympathy and tender love,
He taught how selfishness was primal cause
Of every ill to which frail flesh is heir,
The poisoned fountain whence all sorrows flow,
The loathsome worm that coils about the root
And kills the germ of every springing joy,
The subtle foe that sows by night the tares
That quickly springing choke the goodly seed
Which left to grow would fill the daily life
With balmy fragrance and with precious fruit.
He showed that selfishness was life's sole bane
And love its great and sovereign antidote.
He showed how selfishness would change the child
From laughing innocence to greedy youth
And heartless manhood, cold and cruel age,
Which past the vale and stript of all disguise
Shrinks from the good, and eager slinks away
And seeks those dismal regions of the lost
His opened eyes with sinking heart had seen.
Then showed how love its guardian angel paints
Upon the cooing infant's smiling face,
Grows into gentle youth, and manhood rich
In works of helpfulness and brotherhood,
And ripens into mellow, sweet old age,
Childhood returned with all its gentleness,
Whose funeral-pile but lights the upward way
To those sweet fields his opened eyes had seen,
Those ever-widening mansions of delight.
Enwrapt the teacher taught the living truth;
Enwrapt the hearers heard his living words;
The night unheeded winged its rapid flight,
The morning found their souls from darkness free.
Six yellow robes Benares daily saw,
Six wooden alms-bowls held for daily food,
Six meeting sneers with smiles and hate with love,
Six watchers by the pilgrim's dying bed,
Six noble souls united in the work
Of giving light and hope and help to all.
A rich and noble youth, an only son,
Had seen Gautama passing through the streets,
A holy calm upon his noble face,
Had heard him tell the pilgrims by the stream,
Gasping for breath and breathing out their lives,
Of higher life and joys that never end;
And wearied, sated by the daily round
Of pleasure, luxury and empty show
That waste his days but fail to satisfy,
Yet fearing his companions' gibes and sneers,
He sought the master in the sacred grove
When the full moon was mirrored in the stream,
The sleeping city silvered by its light;
And there he lingered, drinking in his words,
Till night was passed and day was well-nigh spent.
The father, anxious for his absent son,
Had sought him through the night from street to street
In every haunt that youthful folly seeks,
And now despairing sought the sacred grove—
Perhaps by chance, perhaps led by the light
That guides the pigeon to her distant home—
And found him there. He too the Buddha heard,
And finding light, and filled with joy, he said:
"Illustrious master, you have found the way.
You place the upturned chalice on its base.
You fill with light the sayings dark of old.
You open blinded eyes to see the truth."
At length they thought of those poor hearts at home,
Mother and sister, watching through the night—
Waiting and watching through the livelong day,
Startled at every step, at every sound,
Startled at every bier that came in view
In that great city of the stranger dead,
That city where the living come to die—
And home returned when evening's rose and gold
Had faded from the sky, and myriad lamps
Danced on the sacred stream, and moon and stars
Hung quivering in its dark and silent depths.
But day by day returned, eager to hear
More of that truth that sweetens daily life,
Yet reaches upward to eternal day.
A marriage-feast,[3] three festivals in one,
Stirs to its depths Benares' social life.
A gorgeous sunset ushers in the night,
Sunset and city mirrored in the stream.
Broad marble steps upon the river-bank
Lead to a garden where a blaze of bloom,
A hedge of rose-trees, forms the outer wall;
An aged banyan-tree,[4] whose hundred trunks
Sustain a vaulted roof of living green
Which scarce a ray of noonday's sun can pierce,
The garden's vestibule and outer court;
While trees of every varied leaf and bloom
Shade many winding walks, where fountains fall
With liquid cadence into shining pools.
Above, beyond, the stately palace stands,
Inviting in, calling to peace and rest,
As if a soul dwelt in its marble form.
The darkness thickens, when a flood of light
Fills every recess, lighting every nook;
The garden hedge a wall of mellow light,
A line of lamps along the river's bank,
With lamps in every tree and lining every walk,
While lamps thick set surround each shining pool,
Weaving with rainbow tints the falling spray.
And now the palace through the darkness shines.
A thing of beauty traced with lines of light.[5]
The guests arrive in light and graceful boats,
In gay gondolas such as Venice used,
With richest carpets, richest canopies,
And over walks with rose-leaves carpeted
Pass to the palace, whose wide open gates
Display within Benares' rank and wealth,
Proud Brahman lords and stately Brahman dames
And Brahman youth and beauty, all were there,
Of Aryan blood but bronzed by India's sun,
Not dressed like us, as very fashion-plates,
But clothed in flowing robes of softest wool
And finest silk, a harmony of shades,
Sparkling with gems, ablaze with precious stones.[6]
Three noble couples greet their gathering guests:
An aged Brahman and his aged wife,
For fifty years united in the bonds
Of wedded love, no harsh, unloving word
For all those happy years, their only fear
That death would break the bonds that bound their souls;
And next their eldest born, who sought his son,
And drank deep wisdom from the Buddha's lips,
And by his side that mother we have seen
Outwatch the night, whose sweet and earnest face
By five and twenty years of wedded love,
By five and twenty years of busy cares—
The cares of home, with all its daily joys—
Had gained that look of holy motherhood[7]
That millions worship on their bended knees
As highest emblem of eternal love;
And last that sister whose untiring love
Watched by her mother through the weary hours,
Her fair young face all trust and happiness,
Before her, rainbow-tinted hopes and joys,
Life's dark and cold and cruel side concealed,
And by her side a noble Brahman youth,
Who saw in her his every hope fulfilled.
But where is now that erring, wandering son,
The pride of all these loyal, loving hearts,
Heir to this wealth and hope of this proud house?
Seven clothed in coarsest yellow robes draw near
With heads close shorn and bare, unsandaled feet,
Alms-bowl on shoulder slung and staff in hand,
But moving with that gentle stateliness
That birth and blood, not wealth and effort, give,
All in the strength of manhood's early prime,
All heirs to wealth rejected, cast aside,
But all united in the holy cause
Of giving light and hope and help to all,
While earnest greetings from the evening's hosts
Show they are welcome and expected guests.
Startled, the stately Brahmans turn aside.
"The heir has lost his reason," whispered they,
"And joined that wandering prince who late appeared
Among the yogis in the sacred grove,
Who thinks he sees the truth by inner sight,
Who fain would teach the wise, and claims to know
More than the fathers and the Vedas teach."
But as he nearer came, his stately form,
His noble presence and his earnest face,
Beaming with gentleness and holy love,
Hushed into silence every rising sneer.
One of their number, wise in sacred lore,
Profoundly learned, in all the Vedas versed,
With courtly grace saluting Buddha, said:
"Our Brahman masters teach that many ways
Lead up to Brahma Loca, Brahma's rest,
As many roads from many distant lands
All meet before Benares' sacred shrines.
They say that he who learns the Vedas' hymns,
Performs the rites and prays the many prayers
That all the sages of the past have taught,
In Brahma's self shall be absorbed at last—
As all the streams from mountain, hill and plain,
That swell proud Gunga's broad and sacred stream,
At last shall mingle with the ocean's waves,
They say that Brahmans are a holy caste,
Of whiter skin and higher, purer blood,
From Brahma sprung, and Brahma's only heirs,
While you proclaim, if rumor speaks the truth,
That only one hard road to Brahma leads,
That every caste is pure, of common blood,
That all are brothers, all from Brahma sprung."
But Buddha, full of gentleness, replied:
"Ye call on Dyaus Pittar, Brahma, God,[8]
One God and Father, called by many names,
One God and Father, seen in many forms,
Seen in the tempest, mingling sea and sky,
The blinding sand-storm, changing day to night,
In gentle showers refreshing thirsty fields,
Seen in the sun whose rising wakes the world,
Whose setting calls a weary world to rest,
Seen in the deep o'erarching azure vault,
By day a sea of light, shining by night
With countless suns of countless worlds unseen,
Making us seem so little, God so great.
Ye say that Brahma dwells in purest light;
Ye say that Brahma's self is perfect love;
Ye pray to Brahma under many names
To give you Brahma Loca's perfect rest.[9]
Your prayers are vain unless your hearts are clean.
For how can darkness dwell with perfect light?
And how can hatred dwell with perfect love?
The slandering tongue, that stirs up strife and hate,
The grasping hand, that takes but never gives,
The lying lips, the cold and cruel heart,
Whence bitterness and wars and murders spring,
Can ne'er by prayers to Brahma Loca climb.[10]
The pure in heart alone with Brahma dwell.
Ye say that Brahmans are a holy caste,
From Brahma sprung and Brahma's only heirs;
But yet in Bactria, whence our fathers came,
And where their brothers and our kindred dwell,
No Brahman ever wore the sacred cord.
Has mighty Brahma there no son, no heir?
The Brahman mother suffers all the pangs
Kshatriyas, Sudras or the Vassas feel.
The Brahman's body, when the soul has fled,
A putrid mass, defiles the earth and air,
Vile as the Sudras or the lowest beasts.
The Brahman murderer, libertine or thief
Ye say will be reborn in lowest beast,
While some poor Sudra, full of gentleness
And pity, charity and trust and love,
May rise to Brahma Loca's perfect rest,
Why boast of caste, that seems so little worth
To raise the soul or ward off human ill?
Why pray for what we do not strive to gain?
Like merchants on the swollen Ganges' bank
Praying the farther shore to come to them,
Taking no steps, seeking no means, to cross.
Far better strive to cast out greed and hate.
Live not for self, but live for others' good.
Indulge no bitter speech, no bitter thoughts.
Help those in need; give freely what we have.
Kill not, steal not, and ever speak the truth.
Indulge no lust; taste not the maddening bowl
That deadens sense and stirs all base desires;
And live in charity and gentle peace,
Bearing all meekly, loving those who hate.
This is the way to Brahma Loca's rest.
And ye who may, come, follow after me.
Leave wealth and home and all the joys of life,
That we may aid a sad and suffering world
In sin and sorrow groping blindly on,
Becoming poor that others may be rich,
Wanderers ourselves to lead the wanderers home.
And ye who stay, ever remember this:
That hearth is Brahma's altar where love reigns,
That house is Brahma's temple where love dwells,
Ye ask, my aged friends, if death can break
The bonds that bind your souls in wedded love.
Fear not; death has no power to conquer love.
Go hand in hand till death shall claim his own,
Then hand in hand ascend Nirvana's heights,
There, hand in hand, heart beating close to heart,
Enter that life whose joys shall never end,
Perennial youth succeeding palsied age,
Mansions of bliss for this poor house of clay,
Labors of love instead of toil and tears."
He spoke, and many to each other said:
"Why hear this babbler rail at sacred things—
Our caste, our faith, our prayers and sacred hymns?"
And strode away in proud and sovereign scorn;
While some with gladness heard his solemn words,
All soon forgotten in the giddy whirl
Of daily business, daily joys and cares.
But some drank in his words with eager ears,
And asked him many questions, lingering long,
And often sought him in the sacred grove
To hear his burning words of living truth.
And day by day some noble Brahman youth
Forsook his wealth, forsook his home and friends,
And took the yellow robe and begging-bowl
To ask for alms where all had given him place,
Meeting with gentleness the rabble's gibes,
Meeting with smiles the Brahman's haughty scorn.
Thus, day by day, this school of prophets grew,
Beneath the banyan's columned, vaulted shade,
All earnest learners at the master's feet,
Until the city's busy, bustling throng
Had come to recognize the yellow robe,
The poor to know its wearer as a friend,
The sick and suffering as a comforter,
While to the dying pilgrim's glazing eyes
He seemed a messenger from higher worlds
Come down to raise his sinking spirit up
And guide his trembling steps to realms of rest.
A year has passed, and of this growing band
Sixty are rooted, grounded in the faith,
Willing to do whate'er the master bids,
Ready to go where'er the master sends,
Eager to join returning pilgrim-bands
And bear the truth to India's farthest bounds.
With joy the master saw their burning zeal,
So free from selfishness, so full of love,
And thought of all those blindly groping souls
To whom these messengers would bear the light.
"Go," said the master, "each a different way.
Go teach the common brotherhood of man.
Preach Dharma, preach the law of perfect love,
One law for high and low, for rich and poor.
Teach all to shun the cudgel and the sword,
And treat with kindness every living thing.
Teach them to shun all theft and craft and greed,
All bitter thoughts, and false and slanderous speech
That severs friends and stirs up strife and hate.
Revere your own, revile no brother's faith.
The light you see is from Nirvana's Sun,
Whose rising splendors promise perfect day.
The feeble rays that light your brother's path
Are from the selfsame Sun, by falsehoods hid,
The lingering shadows of the passing night.
Chide none with ignorance, but teach the truth
Gently, as mothers guide their infants' steps,
Lest your rude manners drive them from the way
That leads to purity and peace and rest—
As some rude swain in some sequestered vale,
Who thinks the visual line that girts him round
The world's extreme, would meet with sturdy blows
One rudely charging him with ignorance,
Yet gently led to some commanding height,
Whence he could see the Himalayan peaks,
The rolling hills and India's spreading plains,
With joyful wonder views the glorious scene.
Pause not to break the idols of the past.
Be guides and leaders, not iconoclasts.
Their broken idols shock their worshipers,
But led to light they soon forgotten lie."
One of their number, young and strong and brave,
A merchant ere he took the yellow robe,
Had crossed the frozen Himalayan heights
And found a race, alien in tongue and blood,
Gentle as children in their daily lives,
Untaught as children in all sacred things,
Living in wagons, wandering o'er the steppes,
To-day all shepherds, tending countless flocks,
To-morrow warriors, cruel as the grave,
Building huge monuments of human heads—
Fearless, resistless, with the cyclone's speed
Leaving destruction in their bloody track,
Who drove the Aryan from his native plains
To seek a home in Europe's trackless wastes.
He yearned to seek these children of the wilds,
And teach them peace and gentleness and love.[11]
"But, Purna," said the master, "they are fierce.
How will you meet their cruelty and wrath?"
Purna replied, "With gentleness and love."
"But," said the master, "they may beat and wound."
"And I will give them thanks to spare my life."
"But with slow tortures they may even kill."
"I with my latest breath will bless their names,
So soon to free me from this prison-house
And send me joyful to the other shore."
"Then," said the master, "Purna, it is well.
Armed with such patience, seek these savage tribes.
Thyself delivered, free from karma's chains
These souls enslaved; thyself consoled, console
These restless children of the desert wastes;
Thyself this peaceful haven having reached,
Guide these poor wanderers to the other shore."
With many counsels, many words of cheer,
He on their mission sent his brethren forth,
Armed with a prophet's zeal, a brother's love,
A martyr's courage, and the Christian's hope
That when life's duties end, its trials end,
And higher life awaits those faithful found.
The days pass on; and now the rising sun
Looks down on bands of pilgrims homeward bound,
Some moving north, some south, some east, some west,
Toward every part of India's vast expanse,
One clothed in orange robes with every band
To guide their kindred on the upward road.
But Purna joined the merchants he had led,
Not moved by thirst for gain, but love for man,
To seek the Tartar on his native steppes.
Meanwhile the master with diminished band
Crossing the Ganges, backward wends his way
Toward Rajagriha, and the vulture-peak
Where he had spent so many weary years,
Whither he bade the brothers gather in[12]
When summer's rains should bring the time for rest.
[1]Varanassi is an old name of Benares.
[2]It can be no exaggeration to put the number of sacred edifices that burst upon Buddha's view as he first saw the holy city, at 1,000, as Phillips Brooks puts the present number of such edifices in Benares at 5,000.
[3]In this marriage-feast three well-known incidents in the life of Buddha and his teaching's on the three occasions are united.
[4]For the best description of the banyan-tree, see Lady Dufferin's account of the old tree at their out-of-town place in "Our Viceroyal Life in India," and "Two Years in Ceylon," by C.F. Gordon Cumming.
[5]Those who saw the illuminations at Chicago during the World's fair, with lines of incandescent electric lights, can get a good idea of the great illuminations in India with innumerable oil lamps, and those who did not should read Lady Dufferin's charming description of them in "Our Viceroyal Life in India."