THE YOUTH OF BUDDHA. 



From " The; Light of Asia." 



. . . . In mid-play the boy would oft-times pause, 

 Letting the deer pass free; would oft-times yield 

 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 shades 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 Himala'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 Siddartha 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. 



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