" Siddârtha said,
་་
"Who turn your tender faces to the sun,
Glad of the light, and grateful with sweet breath
Of fragrance and these robes of reverence donned,
Silver and gold and purple, · - none of ye
Miss perfect living, none of ye despoil
-
Your happy beauty.
་་
"Who turn your tender faces to the sun,
Glad of the light, and grateful with sweet breath
Of fragrance and these robes of reverence donned,
Silver and gold and purple, · - none of ye
Miss perfect living, none of ye despoil
-
Your happy beauty.
Warner - World's Best Literature - v02 - Aqu to Bag
His
leisure gave opportunity for literary work, however, and he availed
himself of it by producing several historical treatises and his inter-
esting Reminiscences of My Public Life. ' One of the first acts of
Frederick William IV. , after his accession, was to restore Arndt to
his professorship at Bonn. He took a lively interest in the events of
1848, and belonged to the deputation that offered the imperial crown
to the King of Prussia. He continued in the hope and the advocacy
of German unity, though he did not live to see it realized. The
ninetieth birthday of "Father Arndt," as he was fondly called by
his countrymen, was celebrated with general rejoicing throughout
Germany. He died shortly afterward, on January 29th, 1860.
Arndt's importance as a poet is due to the stirring scenes of his
earlier life and the political needs of Germany. He was no genius.
He was not even a deep scholar. His only great work is his war-
songs and patriotic ballads. Germany honors his manly character
and patriotic zeal in that stormy period of Liberation which led
through many apparent defeats to the united Empire of to-day.
The best German biographies are that of Schenkel (1869), W.
Baur (1882), and Langenberg (1869); the latter in 1878 edited 'Arndt's
Letters to a Friend. ' J. R. Seeley's 'Life and Adventures of E. M.
Arndt (1879) is founded on the latter's 'Reminiscences of My Public
Life. '
WHAT IS THE GERMAN'S FATHERLAND?
WHAT is the German's fatherland?
WHA
Is it Prussia, or the Swabian's land?
Is it where the grape glows on the Rhine?
Where sea-gulls skim the Baltic's brine ?
Oh no! more grand
Must be the German's fatherland!
What is the German's fatherland?
Bavaria, or the Styrian's land?
## p. 815 (#233) ############################################
ERNST MORITZ ARNDT
815
Is it where the Master's cattle graze ?
Is it the Mark where forges blaze?
Oh no! more grand
Must be the German's fatherland!
What is the German's fatherland?
Westphalia? Pomerania's strand?
Where the sand drifts along the shore?
Or where the Danube's surges roar?
Oh no! more grand
Must be the German's fatherland!
What is the German's fatherland?
Now name for me that mighty land!
Is it Switzerland? or Tyrols, tell;
The land and people pleased me well!
Oh no! more grand
Must be the German's fatherland!
What is the German's fatherland?
Now name for me that mighty land!
Ah! Austria surely it must be,
So rich in fame and victory.
Oh no! more grand
Must be the German's fatherland!
What is the German's fatherland?
Tell me the name of that great land!
Is it the land which princely hate
Tore from the Emperor and the State?
Oh no! more grand
Must be the German's fatherland!
What is the German's fatherland?
Now name at last that mighty land!
"Where'er resounds the German tongue,
Where'er its hymns to God are sung! "
That is the land,
Brave German, that thy fatherland!
That is the German's fatherland!
Where binds like oak the claspèd hand,
Where truth shines clearly from the eyes,
And in the heart affection lies.
Be this the land,
Brave German, this thy fatherland!
## p. 816 (#234) ############################################
816
ERNST MORITZ ARNDT
That is the German's fatherland!
Where scorn shall foreign triflers brand,
Where all are foes whose deeds offend,
Where every noble soul's a friend:
Be this the land,
All Germany shall be the land!
All Germany that land shall be:
Watch o'er it, God, and grant that we,
With German hearts, in deed and thought,
May love it truly as we ought.
Be this the land,
All Germany shall be the land!
THE SONG OF THE FIELD-MARSHAL
HAT'S the blast from the trumpets? Hussars, to the
fray!
WHAT'S
The field-marshal* rides in the rolling mellay;
So gay on his mettlesome war-horse he goes,
So fierce waves his glittering sword at his foes.
And here are the Germans: juchheirassassa!
The Germans are joyful: they're shouting hurrah!
Oh, see as he comes how his piercing eyes gleam!
Oh, see how behind him his snowy locks stream!
So fresh blooms his age, like a well-ripened wine,
He may well as the battle-field's autocrat shine.
And here are the Germans: juchheirassassa!
The Germans are joyful: they're shouting hurrah!
It was he, when his country in ruin was laid,
Who sternly to heaven uplifted his blade,
And swore on the brand, with a heart burning high,
To show Frenchmen the trade that the Prussians could ply.
And here are the Germans: juchheirassassa!
The Germans are joyful: they're shouting hurrah!
That oath he has kept. When the battle-cry rang,
Hey! how the gray youth to the saddle upsprang!
He made a sweep-dance for the French in the room,
And swept the land clean with a steel-ended broom.
And here are the Germans: juchheirassassa!
The Germans are joyful: they're shouting hurrah!
* Blücher.
## p. 817 (#235) ############################################
ERNST MORITZ ARNDT
817
At Lützen, in the meadow, he kept up such a strife,
That many thousand Frenchmen there yielded up their life;
That thousands ran headlong for very life's sake,
And thousands are sleeping who never will wake.
And here are the Germans: juchheirassassa!
The Germans are joyful: they're shouting hurrah!
On the water, at Katzbach, his oath was in trim:
He taught in a moment the Frenchmen to swim.
Farewell, Frenchmen; fly to the Baltic to save!
You mob without breeches, catch whales for your grave.
And here are the Germans: juchheirassassa!
The Germans are joyful: they're shouting hurrah!
At Wartburg, on the Elbe, how he cleared him a path!
Neither fortress nor town barred the French from his wrath;
Like hares o'er the field they all scuttled away,
While behind them the hero rang out his Huzza!
And here are the Germans: juchheirassassa!
The Germans are joyful: they're shouting hurrah!
At Leipzig-O glorious fight on the plain! -
French luck and French might strove against him in vain;
There beaten and stiff lay the foe in their blood,
And there dear old Blücher a field-marshal stood.
And here are the Germans: juchheirassassa!
The Germans are joyful: they're shouting hurrah!
Then sound, blaring trumpets! Hussars, charge once more!
Ride, field-marshal, ride like the wind in the roar!
To the Rhine, over Rhine, in your triumph advance!
Brave sword of our country, right on into France!
And here are the Germans: juchheirassassa!
The Germans are joyful; they're shouting hurrah!
PATRIOTIC SONG
G
OD, who gave iron, purposed ne'er
That man should be a slave:
Therefore the sabre, sword, and spear
In his right hand He gave.
Therefore He gave him fiery mood,
Fierce speech, and free-born breath,
That he might fearlessly the feud
Maintain through life and death.
11-52
## p. 818 (#236) ############################################
818
ERNST MORITZ ARNDT
Therefore will we what God did say,
With honest truth, maintain,
And ne'er a fellow-creature slay,
A tyrant's pay to gain!
But he shall fall by stroke of brand
Who fights for sin and shame,
And not inherit German land
With men of German name.
O Germany, bright fatherland!
O German love, so true!
Thou sacred land, thou beauteous land,
We swear to thee anew!
Outlawed, each knave and coward shall
The crow and raven feed;
But we will to the battle all-
Revenge shall be our meed.
Flash forth, flash forth, whatever can,
To bright and flaming life!
Now all ye Germans, man for man,
Forth to the holy strife!
Your hands lift upward to the sky-
Your heart shall upward soar—
And man for man, let each one cry,
Our slavery is o'er!
Let sound, let sound, whatever can,
Trumpet and fife and drum.
This day our sabres, man for man,
To stain with blood we come:
With hangman's and with Frenchmen's blood,
O glorious day of ire,
That to all Germans soundeth good-
Day of our great desire!
Let wave, let wave, whatever can,
Standard and banner wave!
Here will we purpose, man for man,
To grace a hero's grave.
Advance, ye brave ranks, hardily-
Your banners wave on high;
We'll gain us freedom's victory,
Or freedom's death we'll die!
-
## p. 819 (#237) ############################################
819
•
EDWIN ARNOLD
(1832-)
HE favorite and now venerable English poet, Edwin Arnold,
showed his skill in smooth and lucid verse early in life. In
1852, when twenty years of age, he won the Newdigate
Prize at Oxford for a poem, 'The Feast of Belshazzar. ' Two years
later, after graduation with honors, he was named second master of
Edward the Sixth's School at Birmingham; and, a few years subse-
quent, principal of the Government Sanskrit College at Poona, in
India. In 1856 he published Griselda, a Tragedy'; and after his
return to London in 1861, translations from the Greek of Herodotus
and the Sanskrit of the Indian classic 'Hitopadeça,' the latter under
the name of 'The Book of Good Counsels. ' There followed from his
pen Education in India'; 'A History of the Administration in India
under the Late Marquis of Dalhousie (1862-64); and 'The Poets of
Greece,' a collection of fine passages (1869). In addition to his other
labors he has been one of the editors-in-chief of the London Daily
Telegraph.
Saturated with the Orient, familiar with every aspect of its civ-
ilization, moral and religious life, history and feeling, Sir Edwin's
literary work has attested his knowledge in a large number of
smaller poetical productions, and a group of religious epics of long
and impressive extent. Chiefest among them ranks that on the life
and teachings of Buddha, 'The Light of Asia; or, The Great Renun-
ciation' (1879). It has passed through more than eighty editions in
this country, and almost as many in England. In recognition of this
work Mr. Arnold was decorated by the King of Siam with the Order
of the White Elephant. Two years after its appearance he published
'Mahabharata,' 'Indian Idylls,' and in 1883, 'Pearls of the Faith; or,
Islam's Rosary Being the Ninety-nine Beautiful Names of Allah,
with Comments in Verse from Various Oriental Sources. ' In 1886
the Sultan conferred on him the Imperial Order of Osmanli, and in
1888 he was created Knight Commander of the Indian Empire by
Queen Victoria. 'Sa'di in the Garden; or, The Book of Love'
(1888), a poem turning on a part of the 'Bôstâni' of the Persian
poet Sa'di, brought Sir Edwin the Order of the Lion and Sun from
the Shah of Persia. In 1888 he published also 'Poems National and
Non-Oriental. ' Since then he has written 'The Light of the World';
'Potiphar's Wife, and Other Poems' (1892); 'The Iliad and Odyssey
of Asia,' and in prose, 'India Revisited' (1891); 'Seas and Lands';
## p. 820 (#238) ############################################
820
EDWIN ARNOLD
'Japonica,' which treats of life and things Japanese; and 'Adzuma,
the Japanese Wife: a Play in Four Acts' (1893). During his travels
in Japan the Emperor decorated him with the Order of the Rising
Sun. In 1893 Sir Edwin was chosen President of the Birmingham
and Midland Institute. His latest volume, The Tenth Muse and
Other Poems,' appeared in 1895.
'The Light of Asia,' the most successful of his works, attracted
instant attention on its appearance, as a novelty of rich Indian local
color. In substance it is a graceful and dramatic paraphrase of the
mass of more or less legendary tales of the life and spiritual career of
the Buddha, Prince Gautama, and a summary of the principles of the
great religious system originating with him. It is lavishly embel-
lished with Indian allusions, and expresses incidentally the very
spirit of the East. In numerous cantos, proceeding from episode to
episode of its mystical hero's career, its effect is that of a loftily
ethical, picturesque, and fascinating biography, in highly polished
verse. The metre selected is a graceful and dignified one, especially
associated with 'Paradise Lost' and other of the foremost classics of
English verse. Sir Edwin says of the poem in his preface, "I have
sought, by the medium of an imaginary Buddhist votary, to depict
the life and character and indicate the philosophy of that noble hero
and reformer, Prince Gautama of India, the founder of Buddhism;"
and the poet has admirably, if most flatteringly, succeeded. The
poem has been printed in innumerable cheap editions as well as
those de luxe; and while it has been criticized as too complaisant
a study of even primitive Buddhism, it is beyond doubt a lyrical
tract of eminent utility as well as seductive charm.
THIS
THE YOUTH OF BUDDHA
From The Light of Asia'
HIS reverence
Lord Buddha kept to all his schoolmasters,
Albeit beyond their learning taught; in speech
Right gentle, yet so wise; princely of mien,
Yet softly mannered; modest, deferent,
And tender-hearted, though of fearless blood:
No bolder horseman in the youthful band
E'er rode in gay chase of the shy gazelles;
No keener driver of the chariot
In mimic contest scoured the palace courts:
Yet in mid-play the boy would oft-times pause,
Letting the deer pass free; would oft-times yield
## p. 821 (#239) ############################################
EDWIN ARNOLD
821
His half-won race because the laboring steeds
Fetched painful breath; or if his princely mates
Saddened to lose, or if some wistful dream
Swept o'er his thoughts. And ever with the years
Waxed this compassionateness of our Lord,
Even as a great tree grows from two soft leaves
To spread its shade afar; but hardly yet
Knew the young child of sorrow, pain, or tears,
Save as strange names for things not felt by kings,
Nor ever to be felt. But it befell
In the royal garden on a day of spring,
A flock of wild swans passed, voyaging north
To their nest-places on Himâla's breast.
Calling in love-notes down their snowy line
The bright birds flew, by fond love piloted;
And Devadatta, cousin of the Prince,
Pointed his bow, and loosed a willful shaft
Which found the wide wing of the foremost swan
Broad-spread to glide upon the free blue road,
So that it fell, the bitter arrow fixed,
Bright scarlet blood-gouts staining the pure plumes.
Which seeing, Prince Siddârtha took the bird
Tenderly up, rested it in his lap,-
Sitting with knees crossed, as Lord Buddha sits,-
And, soothing with a touch the wild thing's fright,
Composed its ruffled vans, calmed its quick heart,
Caressed it into peace with light kind palms
As soft as plantain leaves an hour unrolled;
And while the left hand held, the right hand drew
The cruel steel forth from the wound, and laid
Cool leaves and healing honey on the smart.
Yet all so little knew the boy of pain,
That curiously into his wrist he pressed
The arrow's barb, and winced to feel it sting,
And turned with tears to soothe his bird again.
Then some one came who said, "My Prince hath shot
A swan, which fell among the roses here;
He bids me pray you send it. Will you send? "
"Nay," quoth Siddartha: "If the bird were dead,
To send it to the slayer might be well,
But the swan lives; my cousin hath but killed
The godlike speed which throbbed in this white wing. "
And Devadatta answered, "The wild thing,
Living or dead, is his who fetched it down;
## p. 822 (#240) ############################################
822
EDWIN ARNOLD
'Twas no man's in the clouds, but fallen 'tis mine.
Give me my prize, fair cousin. " Then our Lord
Laid the swan's neck beside his own smooth cheek
And gravely spake: "Say no! the bird is mine,
The first of myriad things which shall be mine
By right of mercy and love's lordliness.
For now I know, by what within me stirs,
That I shall teach compassion unto men
And be a speechless world's interpreter,
Abating this accursed flood of woe,
Not man's alone; but if the Prince disputes,
Let him submit this matter to the wise
And we will wait their word. " So was it done;
In full divan the business had debate,
And many thought this thing and many that,
Till there arose an unknown priest who said,
"If life be aught, the savior of a life
Owns more the living thing than he can own
Who sought to slay; the slayer spoils and wastes,
The cherisher sustains: give him the bird. "
-
Which judgment all found just; but when the King
Sought out the sage for honor, he was gone;
And some one saw a hooded snake glide forth.
The gods come oft-times thus! So our Lord Buddha
Began his works of mercy.
Yet not more
Knew he as yet of grief than that one bird's,
Which, being healed, went joyous to its kind.
But on another day the King said, "Come,
Sweet son! and see the pleasaunce of the spring,
And how the fruitful earth is wooed to yield
Its riches to the reaper; how my realm—
Which shall be thine when the pile flames for me-
Feeds all its mouths and keeps the King's chest filled.
Fair is the season with new leaves, bright blooms,
Green grass, and cries of plow-time. " So they rode
Into a land of wells and gardens, where,
All up and down the rich red loam, the steers
Strained their strong shoulders in the creaking yoke,
Dragging the plows; the fat soil rose and rolled
In smooth dark waves back from the plow; who drove
Planted both feet upon the leaping share
To make the furrow deep; among the palms
## p. 823 (#241) ############################################
EDWIN ARNOLD
823
The tinkle of the rippling water rang,
And where it ran the glad earth 'broidered it
With balsams and the spears of lemon-grass.
Elsewhere were sowers who went forth to sow;
And all the jungle laughed with nesting-songs,
And all the thickets rustled with small life
Of lizard, bee, beetle, and creeping things,
Pleased at the springtime. In the mango-sprays
The sunbirds flashed; alone at his green forge
Toiled the loud coppersmith; bee-eaters hawked,
Chasing the purple butterflies; beneath,
Striped squirrels raced, the mynas perked and picked,
The nine brown sisters chattered in the thorn,
The pied fish-tiger hung above the pool,
The egrets stalked among the buffaloes,
The kites sailed circles in the golden air;
About the painted temple peacocks flew,
The blue doves cooed from every well, far off
The village drums beat for some marriage feast;
All things spoke peace and plenty, and the Prince
Saw and rejoiced. But, looking deep, he saw
The thorns which grow upon this rose of life:
How the swart peasant sweated for his wage,
Toiling for leave to live; and how he urged
The great-eyed oxen through the flaming hours,
Goading their velvet flanks: then marked he, too,
How lizard fed on ant, and snake on him,
And kite on both; and how the fish-hawk robbed
The fish-tiger of that which it had seized;
The shrike chasing the bulbul, which did chase
The jeweled butterflies; till everywhere
Each slew a slayer and in turn was slain,
Life living upon death. So the fair show
Veiled one vast, savage, grim conspiracy
Of mutual murder, from the worm to man,
Who himself kills his fellow; seeing which
The hungry plowman and his laboring kine,
Their dewlaps blistered with the bitter yoke,
The rage to live which makes all living strife—
The Prince Siddartha sighed. "Is this," he said,
"That happy earth they brought me forth to see?
How salt with sweat the peasant's bread! how hard
The oxen's service! in the brake how fierce
The war of weak and strong! i' th' air what plots!
## p. 824 (#242) ############################################
824
EDWIN ARNOLD
No refuge e'en in water. Go aside
A space, and let me muse on what ye show. "
So saying, the good Lord Buddha seated him
Under a jambu-tree, with ankles crossed,
As holy statues sit, and first began
To meditate this deep disease of life,
What its far source and whence its remedy.
So vast a pity filled him, such wide love
For living things, such passion to heal pain,
That by their stress his princely spirit passed
To ecstasy, and, purged from mortal taint
Of sense and self, the boy attained thereat
Dhyâna, first step of "the Path. "
THE PURE SACRIFICE OF BUDDHA
From The Light of Asia'
NWARD he passed,
Ο
Exceeding sorrowful, seeing how men
Fear so to die they are afraid to fear,
Lust so to live they dare not love their life,
But plague it with fierce penances, belike
To please the gods who grudge pleasure to man;
Belike to balk hell by self-kindled hells;
Belike in holy madness, hoping soul
May break the better through their wasted flesh.
"O flowerets of the field!
" Siddârtha said,
་་
"Who turn your tender faces to the sun,
Glad of the light, and grateful with sweet breath
Of fragrance and these robes of reverence donned,
Silver and gold and purple, · - none of ye
Miss perfect living, none of ye despoil
-
Your happy beauty. O ye palms! which rise
Eager to pierce the sky and drink the wind
Blown from Malaya and the cool blue seas;
What secret know ye that ye grow content,
From time of tender shoot to time of fruit,
Murmuring such sun-songs from your feathered crowns?
Ye too, who dwell so merry in the trees,
Quick-darting parrots, bee-birds, bulbuls, doves, -
None of ye hate your life, none of ye deem
To strain to better by foregoing needs!
But man, who slays ye-being lord-is wise,
## p. 825 (#243) ############################################
EDWIN ARNOLD
825
And wisdom, nursed on blood, cometh thus forth
In self-tormentings! "
While the Master spake
Blew down the mount the dust of pattering feet,
White goats and black sheep winding slow their way
With many a lingering nibble at the tufts,
And wanderings from the path, where water gleamed
Or wild figs hung. But always as they strayed
The herdsman cried, or slung his sling, and kept
The silly crowd still moving to the plain.
A ewe with couplets in the flock there was:
Some hurt had lamed one lamb, which toiled behind
Bleeding, while in the front its fellow skipped,
And the vexed dam hither and thither ran,
Fearful to lose this little one or that;
Which when our Lord did mark, full tenderly
He took the limping lamb upon his neck,
Saying, "Poor wooly mother, be at peace!
Whither thou goest I will bear thy care;
'Twere all as good to ease one beast of grief
As sit and watch the sorrows of the world
In yonder caverns with the priests who pray. ”
"But," spake he of the herdsmen, "wherefore, friends!
Drive ye the flocks adown under high noon,
Since 'tis at evening that men fold their sheep? "
And answer gave the peasants:- "We are sent
To fetch a sacrifice of goats fivescore,
And fivescore sheep, the which our Lord the King
Slayeth this night in worship of his gods. "
Then said the Master, "I will also go! "
So paced he patiently, bearing the lamb.
Beside the herdsmen in the dust and sun,
The wistful ewe low bleating at his feet.
Whom, when they came unto the river-side,
A woman-dove-eyed, young, with tearful face
And lifted hands-saluted, bending low:-
"Lord! thou art he," she said, "who yesterday
Had pity on me in the fig grove here,
Where I live lone and reared my child; but he,
Straying amid the blossoms, found a snake,
Which twined about his wrist, while he did laugh
And teased the quick forked tongue and opened mouth
## p. 826 (#244) ############################################
826
EDWIN ARNOLD
Of that cold playmate. But alas! ere long
He turned so pale and still, I could not think
Why he should cease to play, and let my breast
Fall from his lips. And one said, 'He is sick
Of poison; and another, 'He will die. '
But I, who could not lose my precious boy,
Prayed of them physic, which might bring the light
Back to his eyes; it was so very small,
That kiss-mark of the serpent, and I think
It could not hate him, gracious as he was,
Nor hurt him in his sport. And some one said,
'There is a holy man upon the hill-
Lo! now he passeth in the yellow robe;
Ask of the Rishi if there be a cure
For that which ails thy son. ' Whereon I came
Trembling to thee, whose brow is like a god's,
And wept and drew the face-cloth from my babe,
Praying thee tell what simples might be good.
And thou, great sir! didst spurn me not, but gaze
With gentle eyes and touch with patient hand;
Then draw the face-cloth back, saying to me,
'Yea! little sister, there is that might heal
Thee first, and him, if thou couldst fetch the thing:
For they who seek physicians bring to them
What is ordained. Therefore, I pray thee, find
Black mustard-seed, a tola; only mark
Thou take it not from any hand or house
Where father, mother, child, or slave hath died;
It shall be well if thou canst find such seed. '
Thus didst thou speak, my lord! "
The Master smiled
Exceeding tenderly. "Yea! I spake thus,
Dear Kisagôtami! But didst thou find
The seed? "
"I went, Lord, clasping to my breast
The babe, grown colder, asking at each hut,-
Here in the jungle and toward the town,—
'I pray you, give me mustard, of your grace,
A tola-black;' and each who had it gave,
For all the poor are piteous to the poor:
But when I asked, 'In my friend's household here
Hath any peradventure ever died—
Husband or wife, or child, or slave? ' they said:-
—
## p. 827 (#245) ############################################
EDWIN ARNOLD
827
'O sister! what is this you ask? the dead
Are very many and the living few! '
So, with sad thanks, I gave the mustard back,
And prayed of others, but the others said,
'Here is the seed, but we have lost our slave! '
'Here is the seed, but our good man is dead! '
'Here is some seed, but he that sowed it died
Between the rain-time and the harvesting! '
Ah, sir! I could not find a single house
Where there was mustard-seed and none had died!
Therefore I left my child-who would not suck
Nor smile-beneath the wild vines by the stream,
To seek thy face and kiss thy feet, and pray
Where I might find this seed and find no death,
If now, indeed, my baby be not dead,
As I do fear, and as they said to me. "
"My sister! thou hast found," the Master said,
"Searching for what none finds, that bitter balm
I had to give thee. He thou lovedst slept
Dead on thy bosom yesterday; to-day
Thou know'st the whole wide world weeps with thy woe;
The grief which all hearts share grows less for one.
Lo! I would pour my blood if it could stay
Thy tears, and win the secret of that curse
Which makes sweet love our anguish, and which drives
O'er flowers and pastures to the sacrifice —
As these dumb beasts are driven-men their lords.
I seek that secret: bury thou thy child! "
So entered they the city side by side,
The herdsmen and the Prince, what time the sun
Gilded slow Sona's distant stream, and threw
Long shadows down the street and through the gate
Where the King's men kept watch. But when these saw
Our Lord bearing the lamb, the guards stood back,
The market-people drew their wains aside,
In the bazaar buyers and sellers stayed
The war of tongues to gaze on that mild face;
The smith, with lifted hammer in his hand,
Forgot to strike; the weaver left his web,
The scribe his scroll, the money-changer lost
His count of cowries; from the unwatched rice
Shiva's white bull fed free; the wasted milk
Ran o'er the lota while the milkers watched
## p. 828 (#246) ############################################
828
EDWIN ARNOLD
The passage of our Lord moving so meek,
With yet so beautiful a majesty.
But most the women gathering in the doors
Asked, "Who is this that brings the sacrifice
So graceful and peace-giving as he goes?
What is his caste? whence hath he eyes so sweet?
Can he be Sâkra or the Devaraj ? »
And others said, "It is the holy man
Who dwelleth with the Rishis on the hill. "
But the Lord paced, in meditation lost,
Thinking, "Alas! for all my sheep which have
No shepherd; wandering in the night with none
To guide them; bleating blindly toward the knife.
Of Death, as these dumb beasts which are their kin. "
Then some one told the King, "There cometh here
A holy hermit, bringing down the flock
Which thou didst bid to crown the sacrifice. "
The King stood in his hall of offering;
On either hand the white-robed Brahmans ranged
Muttered their mantras, feeding still the fire
Which roared upon the midmost altar. There
From scented woods flickered bright tongues of flame,
Hissing and curling as they licked the gifts
Of ghee and spices and the Soma juice,
The joy of Indra. Round about the pile
A slow, thick, scarlet streamlet smoked and ran,
Sucked by the sand, but ever rolling down,
The blood of bleating victims. One such lay,
A spotted goat, long-horned, its head bound back.
With munja grass; at its stretched throat the knife
Pressed by a priest, who murmured, "This, dread gods,
Of many yajnas cometh as the crown
From Bimbasâra: take ye joy to see
The spirted blood, and pleasure in the scent
Of rich flesh roasting 'mid the fragrant flames;
Let the King's sins be laid upon this goat,
And let the fire consume them burning it,
For now I strike. "
But Buddha softly said,
"Let him not strike, great King! " and therewith loosed
The victim's bonds, none staying him, so great
His presence was. Then, craving leave, he spake
## p. 829 (#247) ############################################
EDWIN ARNOLD
829
Of life, which all can take, but none can give,
Life, which all creatures love and strive to keep,
Wonderful, dear and pleasant unto each,
Even to the meanest; yea, a boon to all
Where pity is, for pity makes the world
Soft to the weak and noble for the strong.
Unto the dumb lips of his flock he lent
Sad, pleading words, showing how man, who prays
For mercy to the 'gods, is merciless,
Being as god to those; albeit all life
Is linked and kin, and what we slay have given
Meek tribute of the milk and wool, and set
Fast trust upon the hands which murder them.
Also he spake of what the holy books
Do surely teach, how that at death some sink
To bird and beast, and these rise up to man
In wanderings of the spark which grows purged flame.
So were the sacrifice new sin, if so
The fated passage of a soul be stayed.
Nor, spake he, shall one wash his spirit clean
By blood; nor gladden gods, being good, with blood;
Nor bribe them, being evil; nay, nor lay
Upon the brow of innocent bound beasts
One hair's weight of that answer all must give
For all things done amiss or wrongfully,
Alone, each for himself, reckoning with that
The fixed arithmetic of the universe,
Which meteth good for good and ill or ill,
Measure for measure, unto deeds, words, thoughts;
Watchful, aware, implacable, unmoved;
Making all futures fruits of all the pasts.
Thus spake he, breathing words so piteous
With such high lordliness of ruth and right,
The priests drew back their garments o'er the hands
Crimsoned with slaughter, and the King came near,
Standing with clasped palms reverencing Buddha;
While still our Lord went on, teaching how fair
This earth were if all living things be linked
In friendliness of common use of foods,
Bloodless and pure; the golden grain, bright fruits,
Sweet herbs which grow for all, the waters wan,
Sufficient drinks and meats. Which, when these heard,
The might of gentleness so conquered them,
The priests themselves scattered their altar-flames
## p. 830 (#248) ############################################
830
EDWIN ARNOLD
And flung away the steel of sacrifice;
And through the land next day passed a decree
Proclaimed by criers, and in this wise graved
On rock and column:-" Thus the King's will is:
There hath been slaughter for the sacrifice
And slaying for the meat, but henceforth none
Shall spill the blood of life nor taste of flesh,
Seeing that knowledge grows, and life is one,
And mercy cometh to the merciful. "
So ran the edict, and from those days forth
Sweet peace hath spread between all living kind,
Man and the beasts which serve him, and the birds,
Of all those banks of Gunga where our Lord
Taught with his saintly pity and soft speech.
THE FAITHFULNESS OF YUDHISTHIRA
From The Great Journey,' in the Mahâbhârata
THE
HENCEFORTH alone the long-armed monarch strode,
Not looking back, - nay, not for Bhima's sake,-
But walking with his face set for the mount;
And the hound followed him, only the hound.
-
After the deathly sands, the Mount; and lo!
Sâkra shone forth, the God, filling the earth
And heavens with thunder of his chariot-wheels.
"Ascend," he said, "with me, Pritha's great son! "
But Yudhisthira answered, sore at heart
For those his kinsfolk, fallen on the way:-
"O Thousand-eyed, O Lord of all the gods,
Give that my brothers come with me, who fell!
Not without them is Swarga sweet to me.
She, too, the dear and kind and queenly, — she
Whose perfect virtue Paradise must crown,
Grant her to come with us! Dost thou grant this? "
-
—
-
The God replied: "In heaven thou shalt see
Thy kinsman and the Queen - these will attain
And Krishna. Grieve no longer for thy dead,
Thou chief of men! their mortal covering stripped,
These have their places: but to thee the gods
Allot an unknown grace; Thou shalt go up,
Living and in thy form, to the immortal homes. "
## p. 831 (#249) ############################################
EDWIN ARNOLD
831
But the King answered:-"O thou Wisest One,
Who know'st what was, and is, and is to be,
Still one more grace! This hound hath ate with me,
Followed me, loved me: must I leave him now? »
"Monarch. " spake Indra. "thou art now as we,
Deathless, divine; thou art become a god;
Glory and power and gifts celestial,
And all the joys of heaven are thine for aye:
What hath a beast with these? Leave here thy hound. "
Yet Yudhisthira answered:-"O Most High,
O, Thousand-eyed and wisest! can it be
That one exalted should seem pitiless?
Nay, let me lose such glory: for its sake
I cannot leave one living thing I loved. "
Then sternly Indra spake:-"He is unclean,
And into Swarga such shall enter not.
The Krodhavasha's wrath destroys the fruits
Of sacrifice, if dogs defile the fire.
Bethink thee, Dharmaraj; quit now this beast!
That which is seemly is not hard of heart. "
Still he replied: "'Tis written that to spurn
A suppliant equals in offense to slay
A twice-born; wherefore, not for Swarga's bliss
Quit I, Mahendra, this poor clinging dog,-
So without any hope or friend save me,
So wistful, fawning for my faithfulness;
So agonized to die, unless I help
Who among men was called steadfast and just. "
-
Quoth Indra:-"Nay, the altar-flame is foul
Where a dog passeth; angry angels sweep
The ascending smoke aside, and all the fruits
Of offering, and the merit of the prayer
Of him whom a hound toucheth. Leave it here!
He that will enter heaven must enter pure.
Why didst thou quit thy brethren on the way,
And Krishna, and the dear-loved Draupadí,
Attaining, firm and glorious, to this Mount
Through perfect deeds, to linger for a brute?
Hath Yudhisthira vanquished self, to melt
With one poor passion at the door of bliss?
-
## p. 832 (#250) ############################################
832
EDWIN ARNOLD
Stay'st thou for this, who didst not stay for them,-
Draupadí, Bhima? »
But the King yet spake :-
"Tis known that none can hurt or help the dead.
They, the delightful ones, who sank and died,
Following my footsteps, could not live again
Though I had turned, therefore I did not turn;
But could help profit, I had stayed to help.
There be four sins, O Sâkra, grievous sins:
The first is making suppliants despair,
The second is to slay a nursing wife,
The third is spoiling Brahmans' goods by force,
The fourth is injuring an ancient friend.
These four I deem not direr than the crime,
If one, in coming forth from woe to weal,
Abandon any meanest comrade then. "
―――
Straight as he spake, brightly great Indra smiled;
Vanished the hound, and in its stead stood there
The Lord of Death and Justice, Dharma's self!
Sweet were the words which fell from those dread lips,
Precious the lovely praise:-"O thou true King,
Thou that dost bring to harvest the good seed
Of Pandu's righteousness; thou that hast ruth
As he before, on all which lives! -O son!
I tried thee in the Dwaita wood, what time
They smote thy brothers, bringing water; then
Thou prayedst for Nakula's life-tender and just-
Nor Bhima's nor Arjuna's, true to both,
To Madri as to Kunti, to both queens.
Hear thou my word! Because thou didst not mount
This car divine, lest the poor hound be shent
Who looked to thee, lo! there is none in heaven
Shall sit above thee, King! - Bhârata's son!
Enter thou now to the eternal joys,
Living and in thy form. Justice and Love
Welcome thee, Monarch! thou shalt throne with us. "
## p. 833 (#251) ############################################
EDWIN ARNOLD
833
HE AND SHE
"SHE
HE is dead! " they said to him: «< come away;
Kiss her and leave her,- thy love is clay! "
They smoothed her tresses of dark-brown hair;
On her forehead of stone they laid it fair;
Over her eyes that gazed too much
They drew the lids with a gentle touch;
With a tender touch they closed up well
The sweet thin lips that had secrets to tell;
About her brows and beautiful face
They tied her veil and her marriage lace,
And drew on her white feet her white-silk shoes,
Which were the whitest no eye could choose,—
And over her bosom they crossed her hands,
"Come away! " they said, "God understands. "
And there was silence, and nothing there
But silence, and scents of eglantere,
And jasmine, and roses and rosemary;
And they said, "As a lady should lie, lies she. "
And they held their breath till they left the room,
With a shudder, to glance at its stillness and gloom.
But he who loved her too well to dread
The sweet, the stately, the beautiful dead,
He lit his lamp, and took the key
And turned it-alone again, he and she.
He and she; but she would not speak,
Though he kissed, in the old place, the quiet cheek.
He and she; yet she would not smile,
Though he called her the name she loved erewhile.
He and she; still she did not move
To any passionate whisper of love.
Then he said, "Cold lips and breasts without breath,
Is there no voice, no language of death,
"Dumb to the ear and still to the sense,
But to heart and to soul distinct, intense?
11-53
## p. 834 (#252) ############################################
834
EDWIN ARNOLD
"See, now; I will listen with soul, not ear:
What was the secret of dying, dear?
"Was it the infinite wonder of all
That you ever could let life's flower fall?
"Or was it a greater marvel to feel
The perfect calm o'er the agony steal?
"Was the miracle greater to find how deep
Beyond all dreams sank downward that sleep?
"Did life roll back its record dear,
And show, as they say it does, past things clear?
"And was it the innermost heart of the bliss
To find out so, what a wisdom love is?
"O perfect dead! O dead most dear!
I hold the breath of my soul to hear.
"I listen as deep as to horrible hell,
As high as to heaven, and you do not tell.
"There must be pleasure in dying, sweet,
To make you so placid from head to feet!
"I would tell you, darling, if I were dead,
And 'twere your hot tears upon my brow shed, -
-
"I would say, though the Angel of Death had laid
His sword on my lips to keep it unsaid,
"You should not ask vainly, with streaming eyes,
Which of all deaths was the chiefest surprise.
"The very strangest and suddenest thing
Of all the surprises that dying must bring. "
Ah, foolish world! O most kind dead!
Though he told me, who will believe it was said?
Who will believe that he heard her say,
With the sweet, soft voice, in the dear old way,
"The utmost wonder is this, I hear
And see you, and love you, and kiss you, dear;
"And am your angel, who was your bride,
And know that though dead, I have never died. "
## p. 835 (#253) ############################################
EDWIN ARNOLD
835
AFTER DEATH
From Pearls of the Faith'
He made life-and He takes it—but instead
Gives more: praise the Restorer, Al-Mu'hid!
E who died at Azan sends
This to comfort faithful friends:-
HE
Faithful friends! it lies, I know,
Pale and white and cold as snow;
And ye say, "Abdullah's dead! "
Weeping at my feet and head.
I can see your falling tears,
I can hear your cries and prayers,
Yet I smile and whisper this:-
"I am not that thing you kiss;
Cease your tears and let it lie:
It was mine, it is not I. "
Sweet friends! what the women lave
For its last bed in the grave
Is a tent which I am quitting,
Is a garment no more fitting,
Is a cage from which at last
Like a hawk my soul hath passed.
Love the inmate, not the room;
The wearer, not the garb; the plume
Of the falcon, not the bars
Which kept him from the splendid stars.
Loving friends! be wise, and dry
Straightway every weeping eye:
What ye lift upon the bier
Is not worth a wistful tear.
'Tis an empty sea-shell, one
Out of which the pearl is gone.
The shell is broken, it lies there;
The pearl, the all, the soul, is here.
'Tis an earthen jar whose lid
Allah sealed, the while it hid
That treasure of His treasury,
A mind which loved Him: let it lie!
Let the shard be earth's once more,
Since the gold shines in His store!
## p. 836 (#254) ############################################
836
EDWIN ARNOLD
Allah Mu'hid, Allah most good!
Now Thy grace is understood:
Now my heart no longer wonders
What Al-Barsakh is, which sunders
Life from death, and death from Heaven:
Nor the "Paradises Seven "
Which the happy dead inherit;
Nor those "birds" which bear each spirit
Toward the Throne, "green birds and white. "
Radiant, glorious, swift their flight!
Now the long, long darkness ends.
Yet ye wail, my foolish friends,
While the man whom ye call "dead"
In unbroken bliss instead
Lives, and loves you: lost, 'tis true
By any light which shines for you;
But in light ye cannot see
Of unfulfilled felicity.
And enlarging Paradise;
Lives the life that never dies.
Farewell, friends! Yet not farewell;
Where I am, ye, too, shall dwell.
I am gone before your face
A heart-beat's time, a gray ant's pace.
When ye come where I have stepped,
Ye will marvel why ye wept;
Ye will know, by true love taught,
That here is all, and there is naught.
Weep awhile, if ye are fain,—
Sunshine still must follow rain!
Only not at death, for death-
Now I see is that first breath
Which our souls draw when we enter
Life, that is of all life centre.
Know ye Allah's law is love,
Viewed from Allah's Throne above;
Be ye firm of trust, and come
Faithful onward to your home!
"La Allah illa Allah! Yea,
Mu'hid! Restorer! Sovereign! " say!
He who died at Azan gave
This to those that made his grave.
## p. 837 (#255) ############################################
EDWIN ARNOLD
837
SOLOMON AND THE ANT
From Pearls of the Faith'
Say Ar-Raheen! call Him «Compassionate,»
For He is pitiful to small and great.
T'S
s written that the serving angels stand
Beside God's throne, ten myriads on each hand,
Waiting, with wings outstretched and watchful eyes,
To do their Master's heavenly embassies.
Quicker than thought His high commands they read,
Swifter than light to execute them speed;
Bearing the word of power from star to star,
Some hither and some thither, near and far.
And unto these naught is too high or low,
Too mean or mighty, if He wills it so;
Neither is any creature, great or small,
Beyond His pity, which embraceth all,
Because His eye beholdeth all which are;
Sees without search, and counteth without care.
Nor lies the babe nearer the nursing-place
Than Allah's smallest child to Allah's grace;
Nor any ocean rolls so vast that He
Forgets one wave of all that restless sea.
leisure gave opportunity for literary work, however, and he availed
himself of it by producing several historical treatises and his inter-
esting Reminiscences of My Public Life. ' One of the first acts of
Frederick William IV. , after his accession, was to restore Arndt to
his professorship at Bonn. He took a lively interest in the events of
1848, and belonged to the deputation that offered the imperial crown
to the King of Prussia. He continued in the hope and the advocacy
of German unity, though he did not live to see it realized. The
ninetieth birthday of "Father Arndt," as he was fondly called by
his countrymen, was celebrated with general rejoicing throughout
Germany. He died shortly afterward, on January 29th, 1860.
Arndt's importance as a poet is due to the stirring scenes of his
earlier life and the political needs of Germany. He was no genius.
He was not even a deep scholar. His only great work is his war-
songs and patriotic ballads. Germany honors his manly character
and patriotic zeal in that stormy period of Liberation which led
through many apparent defeats to the united Empire of to-day.
The best German biographies are that of Schenkel (1869), W.
Baur (1882), and Langenberg (1869); the latter in 1878 edited 'Arndt's
Letters to a Friend. ' J. R. Seeley's 'Life and Adventures of E. M.
Arndt (1879) is founded on the latter's 'Reminiscences of My Public
Life. '
WHAT IS THE GERMAN'S FATHERLAND?
WHAT is the German's fatherland?
WHA
Is it Prussia, or the Swabian's land?
Is it where the grape glows on the Rhine?
Where sea-gulls skim the Baltic's brine ?
Oh no! more grand
Must be the German's fatherland!
What is the German's fatherland?
Bavaria, or the Styrian's land?
## p. 815 (#233) ############################################
ERNST MORITZ ARNDT
815
Is it where the Master's cattle graze ?
Is it the Mark where forges blaze?
Oh no! more grand
Must be the German's fatherland!
What is the German's fatherland?
Westphalia? Pomerania's strand?
Where the sand drifts along the shore?
Or where the Danube's surges roar?
Oh no! more grand
Must be the German's fatherland!
What is the German's fatherland?
Now name for me that mighty land!
Is it Switzerland? or Tyrols, tell;
The land and people pleased me well!
Oh no! more grand
Must be the German's fatherland!
What is the German's fatherland?
Now name for me that mighty land!
Ah! Austria surely it must be,
So rich in fame and victory.
Oh no! more grand
Must be the German's fatherland!
What is the German's fatherland?
Tell me the name of that great land!
Is it the land which princely hate
Tore from the Emperor and the State?
Oh no! more grand
Must be the German's fatherland!
What is the German's fatherland?
Now name at last that mighty land!
"Where'er resounds the German tongue,
Where'er its hymns to God are sung! "
That is the land,
Brave German, that thy fatherland!
That is the German's fatherland!
Where binds like oak the claspèd hand,
Where truth shines clearly from the eyes,
And in the heart affection lies.
Be this the land,
Brave German, this thy fatherland!
## p. 816 (#234) ############################################
816
ERNST MORITZ ARNDT
That is the German's fatherland!
Where scorn shall foreign triflers brand,
Where all are foes whose deeds offend,
Where every noble soul's a friend:
Be this the land,
All Germany shall be the land!
All Germany that land shall be:
Watch o'er it, God, and grant that we,
With German hearts, in deed and thought,
May love it truly as we ought.
Be this the land,
All Germany shall be the land!
THE SONG OF THE FIELD-MARSHAL
HAT'S the blast from the trumpets? Hussars, to the
fray!
WHAT'S
The field-marshal* rides in the rolling mellay;
So gay on his mettlesome war-horse he goes,
So fierce waves his glittering sword at his foes.
And here are the Germans: juchheirassassa!
The Germans are joyful: they're shouting hurrah!
Oh, see as he comes how his piercing eyes gleam!
Oh, see how behind him his snowy locks stream!
So fresh blooms his age, like a well-ripened wine,
He may well as the battle-field's autocrat shine.
And here are the Germans: juchheirassassa!
The Germans are joyful: they're shouting hurrah!
It was he, when his country in ruin was laid,
Who sternly to heaven uplifted his blade,
And swore on the brand, with a heart burning high,
To show Frenchmen the trade that the Prussians could ply.
And here are the Germans: juchheirassassa!
The Germans are joyful: they're shouting hurrah!
That oath he has kept. When the battle-cry rang,
Hey! how the gray youth to the saddle upsprang!
He made a sweep-dance for the French in the room,
And swept the land clean with a steel-ended broom.
And here are the Germans: juchheirassassa!
The Germans are joyful: they're shouting hurrah!
* Blücher.
## p. 817 (#235) ############################################
ERNST MORITZ ARNDT
817
At Lützen, in the meadow, he kept up such a strife,
That many thousand Frenchmen there yielded up their life;
That thousands ran headlong for very life's sake,
And thousands are sleeping who never will wake.
And here are the Germans: juchheirassassa!
The Germans are joyful: they're shouting hurrah!
On the water, at Katzbach, his oath was in trim:
He taught in a moment the Frenchmen to swim.
Farewell, Frenchmen; fly to the Baltic to save!
You mob without breeches, catch whales for your grave.
And here are the Germans: juchheirassassa!
The Germans are joyful: they're shouting hurrah!
At Wartburg, on the Elbe, how he cleared him a path!
Neither fortress nor town barred the French from his wrath;
Like hares o'er the field they all scuttled away,
While behind them the hero rang out his Huzza!
And here are the Germans: juchheirassassa!
The Germans are joyful: they're shouting hurrah!
At Leipzig-O glorious fight on the plain! -
French luck and French might strove against him in vain;
There beaten and stiff lay the foe in their blood,
And there dear old Blücher a field-marshal stood.
And here are the Germans: juchheirassassa!
The Germans are joyful: they're shouting hurrah!
Then sound, blaring trumpets! Hussars, charge once more!
Ride, field-marshal, ride like the wind in the roar!
To the Rhine, over Rhine, in your triumph advance!
Brave sword of our country, right on into France!
And here are the Germans: juchheirassassa!
The Germans are joyful; they're shouting hurrah!
PATRIOTIC SONG
G
OD, who gave iron, purposed ne'er
That man should be a slave:
Therefore the sabre, sword, and spear
In his right hand He gave.
Therefore He gave him fiery mood,
Fierce speech, and free-born breath,
That he might fearlessly the feud
Maintain through life and death.
11-52
## p. 818 (#236) ############################################
818
ERNST MORITZ ARNDT
Therefore will we what God did say,
With honest truth, maintain,
And ne'er a fellow-creature slay,
A tyrant's pay to gain!
But he shall fall by stroke of brand
Who fights for sin and shame,
And not inherit German land
With men of German name.
O Germany, bright fatherland!
O German love, so true!
Thou sacred land, thou beauteous land,
We swear to thee anew!
Outlawed, each knave and coward shall
The crow and raven feed;
But we will to the battle all-
Revenge shall be our meed.
Flash forth, flash forth, whatever can,
To bright and flaming life!
Now all ye Germans, man for man,
Forth to the holy strife!
Your hands lift upward to the sky-
Your heart shall upward soar—
And man for man, let each one cry,
Our slavery is o'er!
Let sound, let sound, whatever can,
Trumpet and fife and drum.
This day our sabres, man for man,
To stain with blood we come:
With hangman's and with Frenchmen's blood,
O glorious day of ire,
That to all Germans soundeth good-
Day of our great desire!
Let wave, let wave, whatever can,
Standard and banner wave!
Here will we purpose, man for man,
To grace a hero's grave.
Advance, ye brave ranks, hardily-
Your banners wave on high;
We'll gain us freedom's victory,
Or freedom's death we'll die!
-
## p. 819 (#237) ############################################
819
•
EDWIN ARNOLD
(1832-)
HE favorite and now venerable English poet, Edwin Arnold,
showed his skill in smooth and lucid verse early in life. In
1852, when twenty years of age, he won the Newdigate
Prize at Oxford for a poem, 'The Feast of Belshazzar. ' Two years
later, after graduation with honors, he was named second master of
Edward the Sixth's School at Birmingham; and, a few years subse-
quent, principal of the Government Sanskrit College at Poona, in
India. In 1856 he published Griselda, a Tragedy'; and after his
return to London in 1861, translations from the Greek of Herodotus
and the Sanskrit of the Indian classic 'Hitopadeça,' the latter under
the name of 'The Book of Good Counsels. ' There followed from his
pen Education in India'; 'A History of the Administration in India
under the Late Marquis of Dalhousie (1862-64); and 'The Poets of
Greece,' a collection of fine passages (1869). In addition to his other
labors he has been one of the editors-in-chief of the London Daily
Telegraph.
Saturated with the Orient, familiar with every aspect of its civ-
ilization, moral and religious life, history and feeling, Sir Edwin's
literary work has attested his knowledge in a large number of
smaller poetical productions, and a group of religious epics of long
and impressive extent. Chiefest among them ranks that on the life
and teachings of Buddha, 'The Light of Asia; or, The Great Renun-
ciation' (1879). It has passed through more than eighty editions in
this country, and almost as many in England. In recognition of this
work Mr. Arnold was decorated by the King of Siam with the Order
of the White Elephant. Two years after its appearance he published
'Mahabharata,' 'Indian Idylls,' and in 1883, 'Pearls of the Faith; or,
Islam's Rosary Being the Ninety-nine Beautiful Names of Allah,
with Comments in Verse from Various Oriental Sources. ' In 1886
the Sultan conferred on him the Imperial Order of Osmanli, and in
1888 he was created Knight Commander of the Indian Empire by
Queen Victoria. 'Sa'di in the Garden; or, The Book of Love'
(1888), a poem turning on a part of the 'Bôstâni' of the Persian
poet Sa'di, brought Sir Edwin the Order of the Lion and Sun from
the Shah of Persia. In 1888 he published also 'Poems National and
Non-Oriental. ' Since then he has written 'The Light of the World';
'Potiphar's Wife, and Other Poems' (1892); 'The Iliad and Odyssey
of Asia,' and in prose, 'India Revisited' (1891); 'Seas and Lands';
## p. 820 (#238) ############################################
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EDWIN ARNOLD
'Japonica,' which treats of life and things Japanese; and 'Adzuma,
the Japanese Wife: a Play in Four Acts' (1893). During his travels
in Japan the Emperor decorated him with the Order of the Rising
Sun. In 1893 Sir Edwin was chosen President of the Birmingham
and Midland Institute. His latest volume, The Tenth Muse and
Other Poems,' appeared in 1895.
'The Light of Asia,' the most successful of his works, attracted
instant attention on its appearance, as a novelty of rich Indian local
color. In substance it is a graceful and dramatic paraphrase of the
mass of more or less legendary tales of the life and spiritual career of
the Buddha, Prince Gautama, and a summary of the principles of the
great religious system originating with him. It is lavishly embel-
lished with Indian allusions, and expresses incidentally the very
spirit of the East. In numerous cantos, proceeding from episode to
episode of its mystical hero's career, its effect is that of a loftily
ethical, picturesque, and fascinating biography, in highly polished
verse. The metre selected is a graceful and dignified one, especially
associated with 'Paradise Lost' and other of the foremost classics of
English verse. Sir Edwin says of the poem in his preface, "I have
sought, by the medium of an imaginary Buddhist votary, to depict
the life and character and indicate the philosophy of that noble hero
and reformer, Prince Gautama of India, the founder of Buddhism;"
and the poet has admirably, if most flatteringly, succeeded. The
poem has been printed in innumerable cheap editions as well as
those de luxe; and while it has been criticized as too complaisant
a study of even primitive Buddhism, it is beyond doubt a lyrical
tract of eminent utility as well as seductive charm.
THIS
THE YOUTH OF BUDDHA
From The Light of Asia'
HIS reverence
Lord Buddha kept to all his schoolmasters,
Albeit beyond their learning taught; in speech
Right gentle, yet so wise; princely of mien,
Yet softly mannered; modest, deferent,
And tender-hearted, though of fearless blood:
No bolder horseman in the youthful band
E'er rode in gay chase of the shy gazelles;
No keener driver of the chariot
In mimic contest scoured the palace courts:
Yet in mid-play the boy would oft-times pause,
Letting the deer pass free; would oft-times yield
## p. 821 (#239) ############################################
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821
His half-won race because the laboring steeds
Fetched painful breath; or if his princely mates
Saddened to lose, or if some wistful dream
Swept o'er his thoughts. And ever with the years
Waxed this compassionateness of our Lord,
Even as a great tree grows from two soft leaves
To spread its shade afar; but hardly yet
Knew the young child of sorrow, pain, or tears,
Save as strange names for things not felt by kings,
Nor ever to be felt. But it befell
In the royal garden on a day of spring,
A flock of wild swans passed, voyaging north
To their nest-places on Himâla's breast.
Calling in love-notes down their snowy line
The bright birds flew, by fond love piloted;
And Devadatta, cousin of the Prince,
Pointed his bow, and loosed a willful shaft
Which found the wide wing of the foremost swan
Broad-spread to glide upon the free blue road,
So that it fell, the bitter arrow fixed,
Bright scarlet blood-gouts staining the pure plumes.
Which seeing, Prince Siddârtha took the bird
Tenderly up, rested it in his lap,-
Sitting with knees crossed, as Lord Buddha sits,-
And, soothing with a touch the wild thing's fright,
Composed its ruffled vans, calmed its quick heart,
Caressed it into peace with light kind palms
As soft as plantain leaves an hour unrolled;
And while the left hand held, the right hand drew
The cruel steel forth from the wound, and laid
Cool leaves and healing honey on the smart.
Yet all so little knew the boy of pain,
That curiously into his wrist he pressed
The arrow's barb, and winced to feel it sting,
And turned with tears to soothe his bird again.
Then some one came who said, "My Prince hath shot
A swan, which fell among the roses here;
He bids me pray you send it. Will you send? "
"Nay," quoth Siddartha: "If the bird were dead,
To send it to the slayer might be well,
But the swan lives; my cousin hath but killed
The godlike speed which throbbed in this white wing. "
And Devadatta answered, "The wild thing,
Living or dead, is his who fetched it down;
## p. 822 (#240) ############################################
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EDWIN ARNOLD
'Twas no man's in the clouds, but fallen 'tis mine.
Give me my prize, fair cousin. " Then our Lord
Laid the swan's neck beside his own smooth cheek
And gravely spake: "Say no! the bird is mine,
The first of myriad things which shall be mine
By right of mercy and love's lordliness.
For now I know, by what within me stirs,
That I shall teach compassion unto men
And be a speechless world's interpreter,
Abating this accursed flood of woe,
Not man's alone; but if the Prince disputes,
Let him submit this matter to the wise
And we will wait their word. " So was it done;
In full divan the business had debate,
And many thought this thing and many that,
Till there arose an unknown priest who said,
"If life be aught, the savior of a life
Owns more the living thing than he can own
Who sought to slay; the slayer spoils and wastes,
The cherisher sustains: give him the bird. "
-
Which judgment all found just; but when the King
Sought out the sage for honor, he was gone;
And some one saw a hooded snake glide forth.
The gods come oft-times thus! So our Lord Buddha
Began his works of mercy.
Yet not more
Knew he as yet of grief than that one bird's,
Which, being healed, went joyous to its kind.
But on another day the King said, "Come,
Sweet son! and see the pleasaunce of the spring,
And how the fruitful earth is wooed to yield
Its riches to the reaper; how my realm—
Which shall be thine when the pile flames for me-
Feeds all its mouths and keeps the King's chest filled.
Fair is the season with new leaves, bright blooms,
Green grass, and cries of plow-time. " So they rode
Into a land of wells and gardens, where,
All up and down the rich red loam, the steers
Strained their strong shoulders in the creaking yoke,
Dragging the plows; the fat soil rose and rolled
In smooth dark waves back from the plow; who drove
Planted both feet upon the leaping share
To make the furrow deep; among the palms
## p. 823 (#241) ############################################
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823
The tinkle of the rippling water rang,
And where it ran the glad earth 'broidered it
With balsams and the spears of lemon-grass.
Elsewhere were sowers who went forth to sow;
And all the jungle laughed with nesting-songs,
And all the thickets rustled with small life
Of lizard, bee, beetle, and creeping things,
Pleased at the springtime. In the mango-sprays
The sunbirds flashed; alone at his green forge
Toiled the loud coppersmith; bee-eaters hawked,
Chasing the purple butterflies; beneath,
Striped squirrels raced, the mynas perked and picked,
The nine brown sisters chattered in the thorn,
The pied fish-tiger hung above the pool,
The egrets stalked among the buffaloes,
The kites sailed circles in the golden air;
About the painted temple peacocks flew,
The blue doves cooed from every well, far off
The village drums beat for some marriage feast;
All things spoke peace and plenty, and the Prince
Saw and rejoiced. But, looking deep, he saw
The thorns which grow upon this rose of life:
How the swart peasant sweated for his wage,
Toiling for leave to live; and how he urged
The great-eyed oxen through the flaming hours,
Goading their velvet flanks: then marked he, too,
How lizard fed on ant, and snake on him,
And kite on both; and how the fish-hawk robbed
The fish-tiger of that which it had seized;
The shrike chasing the bulbul, which did chase
The jeweled butterflies; till everywhere
Each slew a slayer and in turn was slain,
Life living upon death. So the fair show
Veiled one vast, savage, grim conspiracy
Of mutual murder, from the worm to man,
Who himself kills his fellow; seeing which
The hungry plowman and his laboring kine,
Their dewlaps blistered with the bitter yoke,
The rage to live which makes all living strife—
The Prince Siddartha sighed. "Is this," he said,
"That happy earth they brought me forth to see?
How salt with sweat the peasant's bread! how hard
The oxen's service! in the brake how fierce
The war of weak and strong! i' th' air what plots!
## p. 824 (#242) ############################################
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EDWIN ARNOLD
No refuge e'en in water. Go aside
A space, and let me muse on what ye show. "
So saying, the good Lord Buddha seated him
Under a jambu-tree, with ankles crossed,
As holy statues sit, and first began
To meditate this deep disease of life,
What its far source and whence its remedy.
So vast a pity filled him, such wide love
For living things, such passion to heal pain,
That by their stress his princely spirit passed
To ecstasy, and, purged from mortal taint
Of sense and self, the boy attained thereat
Dhyâna, first step of "the Path. "
THE PURE SACRIFICE OF BUDDHA
From The Light of Asia'
NWARD he passed,
Ο
Exceeding sorrowful, seeing how men
Fear so to die they are afraid to fear,
Lust so to live they dare not love their life,
But plague it with fierce penances, belike
To please the gods who grudge pleasure to man;
Belike to balk hell by self-kindled hells;
Belike in holy madness, hoping soul
May break the better through their wasted flesh.
"O flowerets of the field!
" Siddârtha said,
་་
"Who turn your tender faces to the sun,
Glad of the light, and grateful with sweet breath
Of fragrance and these robes of reverence donned,
Silver and gold and purple, · - none of ye
Miss perfect living, none of ye despoil
-
Your happy beauty. O ye palms! which rise
Eager to pierce the sky and drink the wind
Blown from Malaya and the cool blue seas;
What secret know ye that ye grow content,
From time of tender shoot to time of fruit,
Murmuring such sun-songs from your feathered crowns?
Ye too, who dwell so merry in the trees,
Quick-darting parrots, bee-birds, bulbuls, doves, -
None of ye hate your life, none of ye deem
To strain to better by foregoing needs!
But man, who slays ye-being lord-is wise,
## p. 825 (#243) ############################################
EDWIN ARNOLD
825
And wisdom, nursed on blood, cometh thus forth
In self-tormentings! "
While the Master spake
Blew down the mount the dust of pattering feet,
White goats and black sheep winding slow their way
With many a lingering nibble at the tufts,
And wanderings from the path, where water gleamed
Or wild figs hung. But always as they strayed
The herdsman cried, or slung his sling, and kept
The silly crowd still moving to the plain.
A ewe with couplets in the flock there was:
Some hurt had lamed one lamb, which toiled behind
Bleeding, while in the front its fellow skipped,
And the vexed dam hither and thither ran,
Fearful to lose this little one or that;
Which when our Lord did mark, full tenderly
He took the limping lamb upon his neck,
Saying, "Poor wooly mother, be at peace!
Whither thou goest I will bear thy care;
'Twere all as good to ease one beast of grief
As sit and watch the sorrows of the world
In yonder caverns with the priests who pray. ”
"But," spake he of the herdsmen, "wherefore, friends!
Drive ye the flocks adown under high noon,
Since 'tis at evening that men fold their sheep? "
And answer gave the peasants:- "We are sent
To fetch a sacrifice of goats fivescore,
And fivescore sheep, the which our Lord the King
Slayeth this night in worship of his gods. "
Then said the Master, "I will also go! "
So paced he patiently, bearing the lamb.
Beside the herdsmen in the dust and sun,
The wistful ewe low bleating at his feet.
Whom, when they came unto the river-side,
A woman-dove-eyed, young, with tearful face
And lifted hands-saluted, bending low:-
"Lord! thou art he," she said, "who yesterday
Had pity on me in the fig grove here,
Where I live lone and reared my child; but he,
Straying amid the blossoms, found a snake,
Which twined about his wrist, while he did laugh
And teased the quick forked tongue and opened mouth
## p. 826 (#244) ############################################
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EDWIN ARNOLD
Of that cold playmate. But alas! ere long
He turned so pale and still, I could not think
Why he should cease to play, and let my breast
Fall from his lips. And one said, 'He is sick
Of poison; and another, 'He will die. '
But I, who could not lose my precious boy,
Prayed of them physic, which might bring the light
Back to his eyes; it was so very small,
That kiss-mark of the serpent, and I think
It could not hate him, gracious as he was,
Nor hurt him in his sport. And some one said,
'There is a holy man upon the hill-
Lo! now he passeth in the yellow robe;
Ask of the Rishi if there be a cure
For that which ails thy son. ' Whereon I came
Trembling to thee, whose brow is like a god's,
And wept and drew the face-cloth from my babe,
Praying thee tell what simples might be good.
And thou, great sir! didst spurn me not, but gaze
With gentle eyes and touch with patient hand;
Then draw the face-cloth back, saying to me,
'Yea! little sister, there is that might heal
Thee first, and him, if thou couldst fetch the thing:
For they who seek physicians bring to them
What is ordained. Therefore, I pray thee, find
Black mustard-seed, a tola; only mark
Thou take it not from any hand or house
Where father, mother, child, or slave hath died;
It shall be well if thou canst find such seed. '
Thus didst thou speak, my lord! "
The Master smiled
Exceeding tenderly. "Yea! I spake thus,
Dear Kisagôtami! But didst thou find
The seed? "
"I went, Lord, clasping to my breast
The babe, grown colder, asking at each hut,-
Here in the jungle and toward the town,—
'I pray you, give me mustard, of your grace,
A tola-black;' and each who had it gave,
For all the poor are piteous to the poor:
But when I asked, 'In my friend's household here
Hath any peradventure ever died—
Husband or wife, or child, or slave? ' they said:-
—
## p. 827 (#245) ############################################
EDWIN ARNOLD
827
'O sister! what is this you ask? the dead
Are very many and the living few! '
So, with sad thanks, I gave the mustard back,
And prayed of others, but the others said,
'Here is the seed, but we have lost our slave! '
'Here is the seed, but our good man is dead! '
'Here is some seed, but he that sowed it died
Between the rain-time and the harvesting! '
Ah, sir! I could not find a single house
Where there was mustard-seed and none had died!
Therefore I left my child-who would not suck
Nor smile-beneath the wild vines by the stream,
To seek thy face and kiss thy feet, and pray
Where I might find this seed and find no death,
If now, indeed, my baby be not dead,
As I do fear, and as they said to me. "
"My sister! thou hast found," the Master said,
"Searching for what none finds, that bitter balm
I had to give thee. He thou lovedst slept
Dead on thy bosom yesterday; to-day
Thou know'st the whole wide world weeps with thy woe;
The grief which all hearts share grows less for one.
Lo! I would pour my blood if it could stay
Thy tears, and win the secret of that curse
Which makes sweet love our anguish, and which drives
O'er flowers and pastures to the sacrifice —
As these dumb beasts are driven-men their lords.
I seek that secret: bury thou thy child! "
So entered they the city side by side,
The herdsmen and the Prince, what time the sun
Gilded slow Sona's distant stream, and threw
Long shadows down the street and through the gate
Where the King's men kept watch. But when these saw
Our Lord bearing the lamb, the guards stood back,
The market-people drew their wains aside,
In the bazaar buyers and sellers stayed
The war of tongues to gaze on that mild face;
The smith, with lifted hammer in his hand,
Forgot to strike; the weaver left his web,
The scribe his scroll, the money-changer lost
His count of cowries; from the unwatched rice
Shiva's white bull fed free; the wasted milk
Ran o'er the lota while the milkers watched
## p. 828 (#246) ############################################
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EDWIN ARNOLD
The passage of our Lord moving so meek,
With yet so beautiful a majesty.
But most the women gathering in the doors
Asked, "Who is this that brings the sacrifice
So graceful and peace-giving as he goes?
What is his caste? whence hath he eyes so sweet?
Can he be Sâkra or the Devaraj ? »
And others said, "It is the holy man
Who dwelleth with the Rishis on the hill. "
But the Lord paced, in meditation lost,
Thinking, "Alas! for all my sheep which have
No shepherd; wandering in the night with none
To guide them; bleating blindly toward the knife.
Of Death, as these dumb beasts which are their kin. "
Then some one told the King, "There cometh here
A holy hermit, bringing down the flock
Which thou didst bid to crown the sacrifice. "
The King stood in his hall of offering;
On either hand the white-robed Brahmans ranged
Muttered their mantras, feeding still the fire
Which roared upon the midmost altar. There
From scented woods flickered bright tongues of flame,
Hissing and curling as they licked the gifts
Of ghee and spices and the Soma juice,
The joy of Indra. Round about the pile
A slow, thick, scarlet streamlet smoked and ran,
Sucked by the sand, but ever rolling down,
The blood of bleating victims. One such lay,
A spotted goat, long-horned, its head bound back.
With munja grass; at its stretched throat the knife
Pressed by a priest, who murmured, "This, dread gods,
Of many yajnas cometh as the crown
From Bimbasâra: take ye joy to see
The spirted blood, and pleasure in the scent
Of rich flesh roasting 'mid the fragrant flames;
Let the King's sins be laid upon this goat,
And let the fire consume them burning it,
For now I strike. "
But Buddha softly said,
"Let him not strike, great King! " and therewith loosed
The victim's bonds, none staying him, so great
His presence was. Then, craving leave, he spake
## p. 829 (#247) ############################################
EDWIN ARNOLD
829
Of life, which all can take, but none can give,
Life, which all creatures love and strive to keep,
Wonderful, dear and pleasant unto each,
Even to the meanest; yea, a boon to all
Where pity is, for pity makes the world
Soft to the weak and noble for the strong.
Unto the dumb lips of his flock he lent
Sad, pleading words, showing how man, who prays
For mercy to the 'gods, is merciless,
Being as god to those; albeit all life
Is linked and kin, and what we slay have given
Meek tribute of the milk and wool, and set
Fast trust upon the hands which murder them.
Also he spake of what the holy books
Do surely teach, how that at death some sink
To bird and beast, and these rise up to man
In wanderings of the spark which grows purged flame.
So were the sacrifice new sin, if so
The fated passage of a soul be stayed.
Nor, spake he, shall one wash his spirit clean
By blood; nor gladden gods, being good, with blood;
Nor bribe them, being evil; nay, nor lay
Upon the brow of innocent bound beasts
One hair's weight of that answer all must give
For all things done amiss or wrongfully,
Alone, each for himself, reckoning with that
The fixed arithmetic of the universe,
Which meteth good for good and ill or ill,
Measure for measure, unto deeds, words, thoughts;
Watchful, aware, implacable, unmoved;
Making all futures fruits of all the pasts.
Thus spake he, breathing words so piteous
With such high lordliness of ruth and right,
The priests drew back their garments o'er the hands
Crimsoned with slaughter, and the King came near,
Standing with clasped palms reverencing Buddha;
While still our Lord went on, teaching how fair
This earth were if all living things be linked
In friendliness of common use of foods,
Bloodless and pure; the golden grain, bright fruits,
Sweet herbs which grow for all, the waters wan,
Sufficient drinks and meats. Which, when these heard,
The might of gentleness so conquered them,
The priests themselves scattered their altar-flames
## p. 830 (#248) ############################################
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EDWIN ARNOLD
And flung away the steel of sacrifice;
And through the land next day passed a decree
Proclaimed by criers, and in this wise graved
On rock and column:-" Thus the King's will is:
There hath been slaughter for the sacrifice
And slaying for the meat, but henceforth none
Shall spill the blood of life nor taste of flesh,
Seeing that knowledge grows, and life is one,
And mercy cometh to the merciful. "
So ran the edict, and from those days forth
Sweet peace hath spread between all living kind,
Man and the beasts which serve him, and the birds,
Of all those banks of Gunga where our Lord
Taught with his saintly pity and soft speech.
THE FAITHFULNESS OF YUDHISTHIRA
From The Great Journey,' in the Mahâbhârata
THE
HENCEFORTH alone the long-armed monarch strode,
Not looking back, - nay, not for Bhima's sake,-
But walking with his face set for the mount;
And the hound followed him, only the hound.
-
After the deathly sands, the Mount; and lo!
Sâkra shone forth, the God, filling the earth
And heavens with thunder of his chariot-wheels.
"Ascend," he said, "with me, Pritha's great son! "
But Yudhisthira answered, sore at heart
For those his kinsfolk, fallen on the way:-
"O Thousand-eyed, O Lord of all the gods,
Give that my brothers come with me, who fell!
Not without them is Swarga sweet to me.
She, too, the dear and kind and queenly, — she
Whose perfect virtue Paradise must crown,
Grant her to come with us! Dost thou grant this? "
-
—
-
The God replied: "In heaven thou shalt see
Thy kinsman and the Queen - these will attain
And Krishna. Grieve no longer for thy dead,
Thou chief of men! their mortal covering stripped,
These have their places: but to thee the gods
Allot an unknown grace; Thou shalt go up,
Living and in thy form, to the immortal homes. "
## p. 831 (#249) ############################################
EDWIN ARNOLD
831
But the King answered:-"O thou Wisest One,
Who know'st what was, and is, and is to be,
Still one more grace! This hound hath ate with me,
Followed me, loved me: must I leave him now? »
"Monarch. " spake Indra. "thou art now as we,
Deathless, divine; thou art become a god;
Glory and power and gifts celestial,
And all the joys of heaven are thine for aye:
What hath a beast with these? Leave here thy hound. "
Yet Yudhisthira answered:-"O Most High,
O, Thousand-eyed and wisest! can it be
That one exalted should seem pitiless?
Nay, let me lose such glory: for its sake
I cannot leave one living thing I loved. "
Then sternly Indra spake:-"He is unclean,
And into Swarga such shall enter not.
The Krodhavasha's wrath destroys the fruits
Of sacrifice, if dogs defile the fire.
Bethink thee, Dharmaraj; quit now this beast!
That which is seemly is not hard of heart. "
Still he replied: "'Tis written that to spurn
A suppliant equals in offense to slay
A twice-born; wherefore, not for Swarga's bliss
Quit I, Mahendra, this poor clinging dog,-
So without any hope or friend save me,
So wistful, fawning for my faithfulness;
So agonized to die, unless I help
Who among men was called steadfast and just. "
-
Quoth Indra:-"Nay, the altar-flame is foul
Where a dog passeth; angry angels sweep
The ascending smoke aside, and all the fruits
Of offering, and the merit of the prayer
Of him whom a hound toucheth. Leave it here!
He that will enter heaven must enter pure.
Why didst thou quit thy brethren on the way,
And Krishna, and the dear-loved Draupadí,
Attaining, firm and glorious, to this Mount
Through perfect deeds, to linger for a brute?
Hath Yudhisthira vanquished self, to melt
With one poor passion at the door of bliss?
-
## p. 832 (#250) ############################################
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EDWIN ARNOLD
Stay'st thou for this, who didst not stay for them,-
Draupadí, Bhima? »
But the King yet spake :-
"Tis known that none can hurt or help the dead.
They, the delightful ones, who sank and died,
Following my footsteps, could not live again
Though I had turned, therefore I did not turn;
But could help profit, I had stayed to help.
There be four sins, O Sâkra, grievous sins:
The first is making suppliants despair,
The second is to slay a nursing wife,
The third is spoiling Brahmans' goods by force,
The fourth is injuring an ancient friend.
These four I deem not direr than the crime,
If one, in coming forth from woe to weal,
Abandon any meanest comrade then. "
―――
Straight as he spake, brightly great Indra smiled;
Vanished the hound, and in its stead stood there
The Lord of Death and Justice, Dharma's self!
Sweet were the words which fell from those dread lips,
Precious the lovely praise:-"O thou true King,
Thou that dost bring to harvest the good seed
Of Pandu's righteousness; thou that hast ruth
As he before, on all which lives! -O son!
I tried thee in the Dwaita wood, what time
They smote thy brothers, bringing water; then
Thou prayedst for Nakula's life-tender and just-
Nor Bhima's nor Arjuna's, true to both,
To Madri as to Kunti, to both queens.
Hear thou my word! Because thou didst not mount
This car divine, lest the poor hound be shent
Who looked to thee, lo! there is none in heaven
Shall sit above thee, King! - Bhârata's son!
Enter thou now to the eternal joys,
Living and in thy form. Justice and Love
Welcome thee, Monarch! thou shalt throne with us. "
## p. 833 (#251) ############################################
EDWIN ARNOLD
833
HE AND SHE
"SHE
HE is dead! " they said to him: «< come away;
Kiss her and leave her,- thy love is clay! "
They smoothed her tresses of dark-brown hair;
On her forehead of stone they laid it fair;
Over her eyes that gazed too much
They drew the lids with a gentle touch;
With a tender touch they closed up well
The sweet thin lips that had secrets to tell;
About her brows and beautiful face
They tied her veil and her marriage lace,
And drew on her white feet her white-silk shoes,
Which were the whitest no eye could choose,—
And over her bosom they crossed her hands,
"Come away! " they said, "God understands. "
And there was silence, and nothing there
But silence, and scents of eglantere,
And jasmine, and roses and rosemary;
And they said, "As a lady should lie, lies she. "
And they held their breath till they left the room,
With a shudder, to glance at its stillness and gloom.
But he who loved her too well to dread
The sweet, the stately, the beautiful dead,
He lit his lamp, and took the key
And turned it-alone again, he and she.
He and she; but she would not speak,
Though he kissed, in the old place, the quiet cheek.
He and she; yet she would not smile,
Though he called her the name she loved erewhile.
He and she; still she did not move
To any passionate whisper of love.
Then he said, "Cold lips and breasts without breath,
Is there no voice, no language of death,
"Dumb to the ear and still to the sense,
But to heart and to soul distinct, intense?
11-53
## p. 834 (#252) ############################################
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EDWIN ARNOLD
"See, now; I will listen with soul, not ear:
What was the secret of dying, dear?
"Was it the infinite wonder of all
That you ever could let life's flower fall?
"Or was it a greater marvel to feel
The perfect calm o'er the agony steal?
"Was the miracle greater to find how deep
Beyond all dreams sank downward that sleep?
"Did life roll back its record dear,
And show, as they say it does, past things clear?
"And was it the innermost heart of the bliss
To find out so, what a wisdom love is?
"O perfect dead! O dead most dear!
I hold the breath of my soul to hear.
"I listen as deep as to horrible hell,
As high as to heaven, and you do not tell.
"There must be pleasure in dying, sweet,
To make you so placid from head to feet!
"I would tell you, darling, if I were dead,
And 'twere your hot tears upon my brow shed, -
-
"I would say, though the Angel of Death had laid
His sword on my lips to keep it unsaid,
"You should not ask vainly, with streaming eyes,
Which of all deaths was the chiefest surprise.
"The very strangest and suddenest thing
Of all the surprises that dying must bring. "
Ah, foolish world! O most kind dead!
Though he told me, who will believe it was said?
Who will believe that he heard her say,
With the sweet, soft voice, in the dear old way,
"The utmost wonder is this, I hear
And see you, and love you, and kiss you, dear;
"And am your angel, who was your bride,
And know that though dead, I have never died. "
## p. 835 (#253) ############################################
EDWIN ARNOLD
835
AFTER DEATH
From Pearls of the Faith'
He made life-and He takes it—but instead
Gives more: praise the Restorer, Al-Mu'hid!
E who died at Azan sends
This to comfort faithful friends:-
HE
Faithful friends! it lies, I know,
Pale and white and cold as snow;
And ye say, "Abdullah's dead! "
Weeping at my feet and head.
I can see your falling tears,
I can hear your cries and prayers,
Yet I smile and whisper this:-
"I am not that thing you kiss;
Cease your tears and let it lie:
It was mine, it is not I. "
Sweet friends! what the women lave
For its last bed in the grave
Is a tent which I am quitting,
Is a garment no more fitting,
Is a cage from which at last
Like a hawk my soul hath passed.
Love the inmate, not the room;
The wearer, not the garb; the plume
Of the falcon, not the bars
Which kept him from the splendid stars.
Loving friends! be wise, and dry
Straightway every weeping eye:
What ye lift upon the bier
Is not worth a wistful tear.
'Tis an empty sea-shell, one
Out of which the pearl is gone.
The shell is broken, it lies there;
The pearl, the all, the soul, is here.
'Tis an earthen jar whose lid
Allah sealed, the while it hid
That treasure of His treasury,
A mind which loved Him: let it lie!
Let the shard be earth's once more,
Since the gold shines in His store!
## p. 836 (#254) ############################################
836
EDWIN ARNOLD
Allah Mu'hid, Allah most good!
Now Thy grace is understood:
Now my heart no longer wonders
What Al-Barsakh is, which sunders
Life from death, and death from Heaven:
Nor the "Paradises Seven "
Which the happy dead inherit;
Nor those "birds" which bear each spirit
Toward the Throne, "green birds and white. "
Radiant, glorious, swift their flight!
Now the long, long darkness ends.
Yet ye wail, my foolish friends,
While the man whom ye call "dead"
In unbroken bliss instead
Lives, and loves you: lost, 'tis true
By any light which shines for you;
But in light ye cannot see
Of unfulfilled felicity.
And enlarging Paradise;
Lives the life that never dies.
Farewell, friends! Yet not farewell;
Where I am, ye, too, shall dwell.
I am gone before your face
A heart-beat's time, a gray ant's pace.
When ye come where I have stepped,
Ye will marvel why ye wept;
Ye will know, by true love taught,
That here is all, and there is naught.
Weep awhile, if ye are fain,—
Sunshine still must follow rain!
Only not at death, for death-
Now I see is that first breath
Which our souls draw when we enter
Life, that is of all life centre.
Know ye Allah's law is love,
Viewed from Allah's Throne above;
Be ye firm of trust, and come
Faithful onward to your home!
"La Allah illa Allah! Yea,
Mu'hid! Restorer! Sovereign! " say!
He who died at Azan gave
This to those that made his grave.
## p. 837 (#255) ############################################
EDWIN ARNOLD
837
SOLOMON AND THE ANT
From Pearls of the Faith'
Say Ar-Raheen! call Him «Compassionate,»
For He is pitiful to small and great.
T'S
s written that the serving angels stand
Beside God's throne, ten myriads on each hand,
Waiting, with wings outstretched and watchful eyes,
To do their Master's heavenly embassies.
Quicker than thought His high commands they read,
Swifter than light to execute them speed;
Bearing the word of power from star to star,
Some hither and some thither, near and far.
And unto these naught is too high or low,
Too mean or mighty, if He wills it so;
Neither is any creature, great or small,
Beyond His pity, which embraceth all,
Because His eye beholdeth all which are;
Sees without search, and counteth without care.
Nor lies the babe nearer the nursing-place
Than Allah's smallest child to Allah's grace;
Nor any ocean rolls so vast that He
Forgets one wave of all that restless sea.
