The Dawn and the Day Part 7

But when the officers would drive the flock With staves and slings and loud and angry cries, They only scattered them among the rocks, And Buddha bade the shepherd call his own, As love can lead where force in vain would drive.

He called; they knew his voice and followed him, Dumb innocents, down to the slaughter led, While Buddha kissed the child, and followed them, With those so late made insolent by power, Now dumb as if led out to punishment.

Meanwhile the temple-gates wide open stood, And when the king, in royal purple robed, And decked with gems, attended by his court, To clash of cymbals, sound of sh.e.l.l and drum, Through streets swept clean and sprinkled with perfumes, Adorned with flags, and filled with shouting crowds, Drew near the sacred shrine, a greater came, Through unswept ways, where dwelt the toiling poor, Huddled in wretched huts, breathing foul air, Living in fetid filth and poverty-- No childhood's joys, youth prematurely old, Manhood a painful struggle but to live, And age a weary shifting of the scene; While all the people drew aside to gaze Upon his gentle but majestic face, Beaming with tender, all-embracing love.

And when the king and royal train dismount, 'Mid prostrate people and the stately priests, On fragrant flowers that carpeted his way, And mount the lofty steps to reach the shrine, Siddartha came, upon the other side, 'Mid stalls for victims, sheds for sacred wood, And rude attendants on the pompous rites, Who seized a goat, the patriarch of the flock, And bound him firm with sacred munja gra.s.s, And bore aloft, while Buddha followed where A priest before the blazing altar stood With glittering knife, and others fed the fires, While clouds of incense from the altar rose, Sweeter than Araby the blest can yield, And white-robed Brahmans chant their sacred hymns.

And there before that ancient shrine they met, The king, the priests, the hermit from the hill, When one, an aged Brahman, raised his hands, And praying, lifted up his voice and cried: "O hear! great Indra, from thy lofty throne On Meru's holy mountain, high in heaven.

Let every good the king has ever done With this sweet incense mingled rise to thee; And every secret, every open sin Be laid upon this goat, to sink from sight, Drunk by the earth with his hot spouting blood, Or on this altar with his flesh be burned."

And all the Brahman choir responsive cried: "Long live the king! now let the victim die!"

But Buddha said: "Let him not strike, O king!

For how can G.o.d, being good, delight in blood?

And how can blood wash out the stains of sin, And change the fixed eternal law of life That good from good, evil from evil flows?"

This said, he stooped and loosed the panting goat, None staying him, so great his presence was.

And then with loving tenderness he taught How sin works out its own sure punishment; How like corroding rust and eating moth It wastes the very substance of the soul; Like poisoned blood it surely, drop by drop, Pollutes the very fountain of the life; Like deadly drug it changes into stone The living fibres of a loving heart; Like fell disease, it breeds within the veins The living agents of a living death; And as in gardens overgrown with weeds, Nothing but patient labor, day by day, Uprooting cherished evils one by one, Watering its soil with penitential tears, Can fit the soul to grow that precious seed, Which taking root, spreads out a grateful shade Where gentle thoughts like singing birds may lodge, Where pure desires like fragrant flowers may bloom, And loving acts like ripened fruits may hang.

Then, chiding not, with earnest words he urged Humanity to man, kindness to beasts, Pure words, kind acts, in all our daily walks.

As better than the blood of lambs and goats.

Better than incense or the chanted hymn, To cleanse the heart and please the powers above, And fill the world with harmony and peace, Till p.r.i.c.ked in heart, the priest let fall his knife; The Brahmans listening, ceased to chant their hymns; The king drank in his words with eager ears; And from that day no altar dripped with blood, But flowers instead breathed forth their sweet perfumes.

And when that troubled day drew near its close, Joy filled once more that shepherd's humble home, From door to door his simple story flew, And when the king entered his palace gates, New thoughts were surging in his wakened soul.

But though the beasts have lairs, the birds have nests, Buddha had not whereon to lay his head, Not even a mountain-cave to call his home; And forth he fared, heedless about his way-- For every way was now alike to him.

Heedless of food, his alms-bowl hung unused.

While all the people stood aside with awe, And to their children pointed out the man Who plead the shepherd's cause before the king.

At length he pa.s.sed the city's western gate, And crossed the little plain circling its walls.

Circled itself by five bold hills that rise, A rugged, rampart and an outer wall.

Two outer gates this mountain rampart had, The one a narrow valley opening west Toward Gaya, through the red Barabar hills.

Through which the rapid Phalgu swiftly glides, Down from the Vindhya mountains far away, Then gently winds around this fruitful plain, Its surface green with floating lotus leaves.

And bright with lotus blossoms, blue and white, O'erhung with drooping trees and trailing vines, Till through the eastern gate it hastens on, To lose itself in Gunga's sacred stream.

Toward Gaya now Siddartha bent his steps, Distant the journey of a single day As men marked distance in those ancient times, No longer heeded in this headlong age, When we count moments by the miles we pa.s.s; And one may see the sun sink out of sight.

Behind great banks of gray and wintry clouds, While feathery snowflakes fill the frosty air, And after quiet sleep may wake next day To see it bathe green fields with floods of light, And dry the sparkling dew from opening flowers, And hear the joyful burst of vernal song, And breathe the balmy air of opening spring.

And as he went, weary and faint and sad, The valley opening showed a pleasant grove, Where many trees mingled their grateful shade, And many blossoms blended sweet perfumes; And there, under a drooping vakul-tree, A bower of roses and sweet jasmine vines, Within a couch, without a banquet spread, While near a fountain with its falling spray Ruffled the surface of a shining pool, Whose liquid cadence mingled with the songs Of many birds concealed among the trees.

And there three seeming sister graces were,[2]

Fair as young Venus rising from the sea, The one in seeming childlike innocence Bathed in the pool, while her low liquid laugh Rung sweet and clear; and one her vina tuned, And as she played, the other lightly danced, Clapping her hands, tinkling her silver bells, Whose gauzy silken garments seemed to show Rather than hide her slender, graceful limbs.

And she who played the vina sweetly sang;

"Come to our bower and take your rest-- Life is a weary road at best.

Eat, for your board is richly spread; Drink, for your wine is sparkling red; Rest, for the weary day is past; Sleep, for the shadows gather fast.

Tune not your vina-strings too high, Strained they will break and the music die.

Come to our bower and take your rest-- Life is a weary road at best."

But Buddha, full of pity, pa.s.sing said: "Alas, poor soul! flitting a little while Like painted b.u.t.terflies before the lamp That soon will burn your wings; like silly doves, Calling the cruel kite to seize and kill; Displaying lights to be the robber's guide; Enticing men to wrong, who soon despise.

Ah! poor, perverted, cold and cruel world!

Delights of love become the lures of l.u.s.t, The joys of heaven changed into fires of h.e.l.l."

[1]I am aware there are many who think that Buddha did not believe in prayer, which Arnold puts into his own mouth in these words, which sound like the clanking of chains in a prison-vault:

"Pray not! the darkness will not brighten! Ask Nought from Silence, for it cannot speak!"

Buddha did teach that mere prayers without any effort to overcome our evils is of no more use than for a merchant to pray the farther bank of a swollen stream to come to him without seeking any means to cross, which merely differs in words from the declaration of St. James that faith without works is dead; but if he ever taught that the earnest yearning of a soul for help, which is the essence of prayer, is no aid in the struggle for a higher life, then my whole reading has been at fault, and the whole Buddhist worship has been a departure from the teachings of its founder.

[2]Mara dispatched three pleasure-girls from the north quarter to come and tempt him. Their names were Tanha, Rati and Ranga. Fa Hian (Beal), p. 120.

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, sh.o.r.eless, 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 l.u.s.t 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 pa.s.sing 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 b.l.o.o.d.y 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 l.u.s.t, 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 coa.r.s.e hags could tempt?-- But clothed instead in youthful beauty's grace.

And now he saw him pa.s.s unmoved by l.u.s.t, 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 m.u.f.fled 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 h.o.a.ry age, Fables and ancient creeds, that men have made To give them power with ignorance and fear; Fables of G.o.ds with human pa.s.sions filled: Fables of men who walked and talked with G.o.ds; Fables of kalpas pa.s.sed, 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 pa.s.sing out of use as too refined For this rude age, too smooth for our rough tongues, Too rich and delicate for our coa.r.s.e 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.