Sorrowful dwelt the King Suddh?dana
All those long years among the S?kya Lords
Lacking the speech and presence of his Son;
Sorrowful sate the sweet Yas?dhara
All those long years, knowing no joy of life,
Widowed of him her living Liege and Prince
And ever, on the news of some recluse
Seen far away by pasturing camel-men
Or traders threading devious paths for gain,
Messengers from the King had gone and come
Bringing account of many a holy sage
Lonely and lost to home; but nought of him
The crown of white Kapilavastu’s line,
The glory of her monarch and his hope,
The heart’s content of sweet Yas?dhara,
Far-wandered now, forgetful, changed, or dead.
But on a day in the Wasanta-time,
When silver sprays swing on the mango-trees
And all the earth is clad with garb of spring,
The Princess sate by that bright garden-stream
Whose gliding glass, bordered with lotus-cups,
Mirrored so often in the bliss gone by
Their clinging hands and meeting lips. Her lids
Were wan with tears, her tender cheeks had thinned
Her lips’ delicious curves were drawn with grief;
The lustrous glory of her hair was hid —
Close-bound as widows use; no ornament
She wore, nor any jewel clasped the cloth —
Coarse, and of mourning-white — crossed on her breast.
Slow moved and painfully those small fine feet
Which had the roe’s gait and the rose-leaf’s fall
In old years at the loving voice of him.
Her eyes, those lamps of love, — which were as if
Sunlight should shine from out the deepest dark,
Illumining Night’s peace with Daytime’s glow
Unlighted now, and roving aimlessly,
Scarce marked the clustering signs of coming Spring
So the silk lashes drooped over their orbs.
In one hand was a girdle thick with pearls,
Sidd?rtha’s — treasured since that night he fled —
(Ah, bitter Night! mother of weeping days
When was fond Love so pitiless to love
Save that this scorned to limit love by life?)
The other led her little son, a boy
Divinely fair, the pledge Sidd?rtha left —
Named Rahula — now seven years old, who tripped
Gladsome beside his mother, light of heart
To see the spring-blooms burgeon o’er the world.
So while they lingered by the lotus-pools
And, lightly laughing, Rahula flung rice
To feed the blue and purple fish; and she
With sad eyes watched the swiftly-flying cranes,
Sighing, “Oh! creatures of the wandering wing,
If I ye shall light where my dear Lord is hid,
Say that Yas?dhara lives nigh to death
For one word of his mouth, one touch of him!”
So, as they played and sighed — mother and child —
Came some among the damsels of the Court
Saying, “Great Princess! there have entered in
At the south gate merchants of Hastinp?r
Tripusha called and Bhalluk, men of worth,
Long travelled from the loud sea’s edge, who bring
Marvellous lovely webs pictured with gold,
Waved blades of gilded steel, wrought bowls in brass,
Cut ivories, spice, simples, and unknown birds,
Treasures of far-off peoples; but they bring
That which doth beggar these, for He is seen
Thy Lord, — our Lord, — the hope of all the land
Sidd?rtha! they have seen him face to face,
Yea, and have worshipped him with knees and brows,
And offered offerings; for he is become
All which was shown, a teacher of the wise,
World-honored, holy, wonderful; a Buddh
Who doth deliver men and save all flesh
By sweetest speech and pity vast as Heaven:
And, lo! he journeyeth hither these do say.”
Then — while the glad blood bounded in her veins
As Gunga leaps when first the mountain snows
Melt at her springs — uprose Yas?dhara
And clapped her palms, and laughed, with brimming tears
Beading her lashes. “Oh! call quick,” she cried,
“These merchants to my purdah, for mine ears
Thirst like parched throats to drink their blessed news.
Go bring them in, — but if their tale be true,
Say I will fill their girdles with much gold,
With gems that Kings shall envy: come ye too,
My girls, for ye shall have guerdon of this
If there be gifts to speak my grateful heart.”
So went those merchants to the Pleasure-House,
Full softly pacing through its golden ways
With naked feet, amid the peering maids,
Much wondering at the glories of the Court.
Whom, when they came without the purdah’s folds,
A voice, tender and eager, filled and charmed
With trembling music, saying, “Ye are come
From far, fair Sirs! and ye have seen my Lord
Yea, worshipped — for he is become a Buddh,
World-honored, holy, and delivers men,
And journeyeth hither. Speak! for, if this be,
Friends are ye of my House, welcome and dear.”
Then answer made Tripusha, “We have seen
That sacred Master, Princess! we have bowed
Before his feet; for who was lost a Prince
Is found a greater than the King of kings.
Under the B?dhi-tree by Phalg
More Poetry from owed
Before his feet; for who was lost a Prince
Is found a greater than the King of kings.
Under the B?dhi-tree by Phal:
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Based on Topics: Love Poems, Life Poems, Kings & Queens Poems, Hope Poems, Home Poems, Happiness Poems, Success Poems, Sons Poems, Spring Poems, Hair Poems, Grief PoemsBased on Keywords: recluse, illumining, kya, rose-leaf, unlighted, dana, pasturing, yas, sidd, rtha, dhara