Laid in both palms, the lovely Princess leaned
With heaving bosom and fast falling tears.
Thrice with her lips she touched Siddârtha's hand,
And at the third kiss moaned, 'Awake, my Lord!
Give me the comfort of thy speech!' Then he —
'What is it with thee, O my life?' but still

She moaned anew before the words would come;
Then spake, ‘Alas, my Prince! I sank to sleep
Most happy, for the babe I bear of thee
Quickened this eve, and at my heart there beat
That double pulse of life and joy and love
Whose happy music lulled me, but aho!
In slumber I beheld three sights of dread,
With thought whereof my heart is throbbing yet.
I saw a white bull with wide branching horns,
A lord of pastures, pacing through the streets,
Bearing upon his front a gem which shone
As if some star had dropped to glitter there,
Or like the kantha-stone the great snake keeps
To make bright daylight underneath the earth.
Slow through the streets toward the gates he paced,
And none could stay him, though there came a voice
From Indra's temple, "If ye stay him not,

The glory of the city goeth forth."

Yet none could stay him. Then I wept aloud,
And locked my arms about his neck, and strove,
And bade them bar the gates; but that ox-king
Bellowed, and, lightly tossing free his crest,
Broke from my clasp, and bursting through the bars,
Trampled the warders down and passed away.
The next strange dream was this: Four Presences
Splendid, with shining eyes, so beautiful

They seemed the Regents of the Earth who dwell
On Mount Sumeru, lighting from the sky
With retinue of countless heavenly ones,
Swift swept unto our city, where I saw

The golden flag of Indra on the gate
Flutter and fall; and lo! there rose instead
A glorious banner, all the folds whereof
Rippled with flashing fire of rubies sown
Thick on the silver threads, the rays wherefrom
Set forth new words and weighty sentences
Whose message made all living creatures glad;
And from the east the wind of sunrise blew
With tender waft, opening those jewelled scrolls
So that all flesh might read; and wondrous blooms -
Plucked in what clime I know not - fell in showers,
Colored as none are colored in our groves.'

Then spake the Prince: All this, my lotus-flower! Was good to see.'

'Ay, Lord,' the Princess said,

'Save that it ended with a voice of fear

Crying, "The time is nigh! the time is nigh!" Thereat the third dream came; for when I sought Thy side, sweet Lord! ah, on our bed there lay An unpressed pillow and an empty robe

Nothing of thee but those ! — nothing of thee,
Who art my life and light, my king, my world!
And sleeping still I rose, and sleeping saw
Thy belt of pearls, tied here below my breasts,
Change to a stinging snake; my ankle-rings
Fall off, my golden bangles part and fall;
The jasmines in my hair wither to dust;
While this our bridal-couch sank to the ground,
And something rent the crimson purdah down;
Then far away I heard the white bull low,
And far away the embroidered banner flap,
And once again that cry, "The time is come!"
But with that cry—which shakes my spirit still —
I woke! O prince! what may such visions mean

Except I die, or worse than any death
Thou shouldst forsake me or be taken?'

Sweet

As the last smile of sunset was the look
Siddartha bent upon his weeping wife.
'Comfort thee, dear!' he said, 'if comfort lives
In changeless love; for though thy dreams may be
Shadows of things to come, and though the gods
Are shaken in their seats, and though the world
Stands nigh, perchance, to know some way of help,
Yet, whatsoever fall to thee and me,

Be sure I loved and love Yasôdhara.

Thou knowest how I muse these many moons,
Seeking to save the sad earth I have seen;

And when the time comes, that which will be will.
But if my soul yearns sore for souls unknown,
And if I grieve for griefs which are not mine,
Judge how my high-winged thoughts must hover here
O'er all these lives that share and sweeten mine
So dear! and thine the dearest, gentlest, best,
And nearest. Ah, thou mother of my babe!
Whose body mixed with mine for this fair hope,
When most my spirit wanders, ranging round
The lands and seas as full of ruth for men

As the far-flying dove is full of ruth

For her twin nestlings ever it has come

Home with glad wing and passionate plumes to thee,

Who art the sweetness of my kind best seen,

The utmost of their good, the tenderest

Of all their tenderness, mine most of all.

Therefore, whatever after this betide,

Bethink thee of that lordly bull which lowed,
That jewelled banner in thy dream which waved
Its folds departing, and of this be sure,
Always I loved and always love thee well,

And what I sought for all sought most for thee.

But thou, take comfort; and, if sorrow falls,
Take comfort still in deeming there may be
A way of peace on earth by woes of ours;
And have with this embrace what faithful love
Can think of thanks or frame for benison

Too little, seeing love's strong self is weak-
Yet kiss me on the mouth, and drink these words
From heart to heart therewith, that thou mayst know -
What others will not-that I loved thee most
Because I loved so well all living souls.

Now, princess! rest, for I will rise and watch.'

Then in her tears she slept, but sleeping sighed –
As if that vision passed again — 'The time!
The time is come!' Whereat Siddârtha turned,
And, lo! the moon shone by the Crab! the stars
In that same silver order long foretold

Stood ranged to say, 'This is the night! - choose thou of greatness or the way of good:

The way
To reign a king of kings, or wander lone,

Crownless and homeless, that the world be helped.'

Moreover, with the whispers of the gloom
Came to his ears again that warning song,
As when the Devas spoke upon the wind:
And surely gods were round about the place
Watching our Lord, who watched the shining stars.

'I will depart,' he spake; the hour is come!
Thy tender lips, dear sleeper, summon me
To that which saves the earth but sunders us;
And in the silence of yon sky I read
My fated message flashing. Unto this
Came I, and unto this all nights and days
Have led me; for I will not have that crown
Which may be mine: I lay aside those realms
Which wait the gleaming of my naked sword:

My chariot shall not roll with bloody wheels
From victory to victory, till earth

Wears the red record of my name. I choose
To tread its paths with patient, stainless feet,
Making its dust my bed, its loneliest wastes
My dwelling, and its meanest things my mates :
Clad in no prouder garb than outcasts wear,
Fed with no meats save what the charitable
Give of their will, sheltered by no more pomp
Than the dim cave lends or the jungle-bush.
This will I do because the woful cry
Of life and all flesh living cometh up
Into my ears, and all my soul is full
Of pity for the sickness of this world;
Which I will heal, if healing may be found
By uttermost renouncing and strong strife.
For which of all the great and lesser gods
Have power or pity? Who hath seen them—who?
What have they wrought to help their worshippers?
How hath it steaded man to pray, and pay
Tithes of the corn and oil, to chant the charms,
To slay the shrieking sacrifice, to rear

The stately fane, to feed the priests, and call

On Vishnu, Shiva, Surya, who save

None not the worthiest

- from the griefs that teach Those litanies of flattery and fear Ascending day by day, like wasted smoke? Hath any of my brothers 'scaped thereby The aches of life, the stings of love and loss, The fiery fever and the ague-shake, The slow, dull sinking into withered age, The horrible dark death – and what beyond Waits till the whirling wheel comes up again, And new lives bring new sorrows to be borne, New generations for the new desires

Which have their end in the old mockeries?