Book The Eighth

A broad mead spreads by swift Kohana's bank

At Nagara; five days shall bring a man

In ox-wain thither from Benares’ shrines

Eastward and northward journeying. The horns

Of white Himala look upon the place,

Which all the year is glad with blooms and girt

By groves made green from that bright streamlet's wave.

Soft are its slopes and cool its fragrant shades,

And holy all the spirit of the spot

Unto this time: the breath of eve comes hushed

Over the tangled thickets, and high heaps

Of carved red stones cloven by root and stem

Of creeping fig, and clad with waving veil

Of leaf and grass. The still snake glistens forth

From crumbled work of lac and cedar-beams

To coil his folds there on deep-graven slabs;

The lizard dwells and darts o'er painted floors

Where kings have paced; the grey fox litters safe

Under the broken thrones; only the peaks,

And stream, and sloping lawns, and gentle air

Abide unchanged. All else, like all fair shows

Of life, are fled — for this is where it stood,

The city of Suddhodana, the hill

Whereon, upon an eve of gold and blue

At sinking sun Lord Buddha set himself

To teach the Law in hearing of his own.

Lo! ye shall read it in the Sacred Books

How, being met in that glad pleasaunce-place —

A garden in old days with hanging walks,

Fountains, and tanks, and rose-banked terraces

Girdled by gay pavilions and the sweep

Of stately palace-fronts — the Master sate

Eminent, worshipped, all the earnest throng

Catching the opening of his lips to learn

That wisdom which hath made our Asia mild;

Whereto four hundred crores of living souls

Witness this day. Upon the King's right hand

He sate, and round were ranged the Sakya Lords

Ananda, Devadatta — all the Court.

Behind stood Seriyut and Mugallan, chiefs

Of the calm brethren in the yellow garb,

A goodly company. Between his knees

Rahula smiled with wondering childish eyes

Bent on the awful face, while at his feet

Sate sweet Yasodhara, her heartaches gone,

Foreseeing that fair love which doth not feed

On fleeting sense, that life which knows no age,

That blessed last of deaths when Death is dead,

His victory and hers. Wherefore she laid

Her hand upon his hands, folding around

Her silver shoulder-cloth his yellow robe,

Nearest in all the world to him whose words

The Three Worlds waited for. I cannot tell

A small part of the splendid lore which broke

From Buddha's lips: I am a late-come scribe

Who love the Master and his love of men,

And tell this legend, knowing he was wise,

But have not wit to speak beyond the books;

And time hath blurred their script and ancient sense,

Which once was new and mighty, moving all.

A little of that large discourse I know

Which Buddha spake on the soft Indian eve.

Also I know it writ that they who heard

Were more — lakhs more — crores more — than could be seen,

For all the Devas and the Dead thronged there,

Till Heaven was emptied to the seventh zone

And uttermost dark Hells opened their bars;

Also the daylight lingered past its time

In rose-leaf radiance on the watching peaks,

So that it seemed night listened in the glens,

And noon upon the mountains; yea! they write,

The evening stood between them like some maid

Celestial, love-struck, rapt; the smooth-rolled clouds

Her braided hair; the studded stars the pearls

And diamonds of her coronal; the moon

Her forehead jewel, and the deepening dark

Her woven garments.‘ T was her close-held breath

Which came in scented sighs across the lawns

While our Lord taught, and, while he taught, who heard —

Though he were stranger in the land, or slave,

High caste or low, come of the Aryan blood,

Or Mlech or Jungle-dweller — seemed to hear

What tongue his fellows talked. Nay, outside those

Who crowded by the river, great and small,

The birds and beasts and creeping things —‘ t is writ —

Had sense of Buddha's vast embracing love

And took the promise of his piteous speech;

So that their lives — prisoned in shape of ape,

Tiger, or deer, shagged bear, jackal, or wolf,

Foul-feeding kite, pearled dove, or peacock gemmed,

Squat toad, or speckled serpent, lizard, bat,

Yea, or of fish fanning the river waves —

Touched meekly at the skirts of brotherhood

With man who hath less innocence than these;

And in mute gladness knew their bondage broke

Whilst Buddha spake these things before the King:

Om, Amitaya! measure not with words

Th’ Immeasurable; nor sink the string of thought

Into the Fathomless. Who asks doth err,

Who answers, errs. Say nought!

The Books teach Darkness was, at first of all,

And Brahm, sole meditating in that Night;

Look not for Brahm and the Beginning there!

Nor him, nor any light

Shall any gazer see with mortal eyes,

Or any searcher know by mortal mind,

Veil after veil will lift — but there must be

Veil upon veil behind.

Stars sweep and question not. This is enough

That life and death and joy and woe abide;

And cause and sequence, and the course of time,

And Being's ceaseless tide,

Which, ever-changing, runs, linked like a river

By ripples following ripples, fast or slow —

The same yet not the same — from far-off fountain

To where its waters flow

Into the seas. These, steaming to the Sun,

Give the lost wavelets back in cloudy fleece

To trickle down the hills, and glide again;

Having no pause or peace.

This is enough to know, the phantasms are;

The Heavens, Earths, Worlds, and changes changing them

A mighty whirling wheel of strife and stress

Which none can stay or stem.

Nought from the helpless gods by gift and hymn,

Nor bribe with blood, nor feed with fruit and cakes;

Within yourselves deliverance must be sought;

Each man his prison makes.

Each hath such lordship as the loftiest ones;

Nay, for with Powers above, around, below,

As with all flesh and whatsoever lives,

Act maketh joy and woe.

What hath been bringeth what shall be, and is,

Worse — better — last for first and first for last;

The Angels in the Heavens of Gladness reap

Fruits of a holy past.

The devils in the underworlds wear out

Deeds that were wicked in an age gone by.

Nothing endures: fair virtues waste with time,

Foul sins grow purged thereby.

Who toiled a slave may come anew a Prince

For gentle worthiness and merit won;

Who ruled a King may wander earth in rags

For things done and undone.

Higher than Indra's ye may lift your lot,

And sink it lower than the worm or gnat;

The end of many myriad lives is this,

The end of myriads that.

Only, while turns this wheel invisible,

No pause, no peace, no staying-place can be;

Who mounts will fall, who falls may mount; the spokes

Go round unceasingly!

If ye lay bound upon the wheel of change,

And no way were of breaking from the chain,

The Heart of boundless Being is a curse,

The Soul of Things fell Pain.

Ye are not bound! the Soul of Things is sweet,

The Heart of Being is celestial rest;

Stronger than woe is will: that which was Good

Doth pass to Better — Best.

I, Buddh, who wept with all my brothers’ tears,

Whose heart was broken by a whole world's woe,

Laugh and am glad, for there is Liberty

Ho! ye who suffer! know

Ye suffer from yourselves. None else compels

None other holds you that ye live and die,

And whirl upon the wheel, and hug and kiss

Its spokes of agony,

Its tire of tears, its nave of nothingness.

Behold, I show you Truth! Lower than hell,

Higher than heaven, outside the utmost stars,

Farther than Brahm doth dwell,

Before beginning, and without an end,

As space eternal and as surety sure,

Is fixed a Power divine which moves to good,

Only its laws endure.

This is its touch upon the blossomed rose,

The fashion of its hand shaped lotus-leaves;

In dark soil and the silence of the seeds

The robe of Spring it weaves;

That is its painting on the glorious clouds,

And these its emeralds on the peacock's train;

It hath its stations in the stars;

Its slaves in lightning, wind, and rain.

Out of the dark it wrought the heart of man,

Out of dull shells the pheasant's pencilled neck;

Ever at toil, it brings to loveliness

All ancient wrath and wreck.

The grey eggs in the golden sun-bird's nest

Its treasures are, the bees’ six-sided cell

Its honey-pot; the ant wots of its ways,

The white doves know them well.

It spreadeth forth for flight the eagle's wings

What time she beareth home her prey; it sends

The she-wolf to her cubs; for unloved things

It findeth food and friends.

It is not marred nor stayed in any use,

All liketh it; the sweet white milk it brings

To mothers’ breasts; it brings the white drops, too,

Wherewith the young snake stings.

The ordered music of the marching orbs

It makes in viewless canopy of sky;

In deep abyss of earth it hides up gold,

Sards, sapphires, lazuli.

Ever and ever bringing secrets forth,

It sitteth in the green of forest-glades

Nursing strange seedlings at the cedar's root,

Devising leaves, blooms, blades.

It slayeth and it saveth, nowise moved

Except unto the working out of doom;

Its threads are Love and Life; and Death and Pain

The shuttles of its loom.

It maketh and unmaketh, mending all;

What it hath wrought is better than hath been;

Slow grows the splendid pattern that it plans

Its wistful hands between.

This is its work upon the things ye see,

The unseen things are more; men's hearts and minds,

The thoughts of peoples and their ways and wills,

Those, too, the great Law binds.

Unseen it helpeth ye with faithful hands,

Unheard it speaketh stronger than the storm.

Pity and Love are man's because long stress

Moulded blind mass to form.

It will not be contemned of any one;

Who thwarts it loses, and who serves it gains;

The hidden good it pays with peace and bliss,

The hidden ill with pains.

It seeth everywhere and marketh all

Do right — it recompenseth! do one wrong —

The equal retribution must be made,

Though DHARMA tarry long.

It knows not wrath nor pardon; utter-true

Its measures mete, its faultless balance weighs;

Times are as nought, tomorrow it will judge,

Or after many days.

By this the slayer's knife did stab himself;

The unjust judge hath lost his own defender;

The false tongue dooms its lie; the creeping thief

And spoiler rob, to render.

Such is the Law which moves to righteousness,

Which none at last can turn aside or stay;

The heart of it is Love, the end of it

Is Peace and Consummation sweet. Obey!

The Books say well, my Brothers! each man's life

The outcome of his former living is;

The bygone wrongs bring forth sorrows and woes

The bygone right breeds bliss.

That which ye sow ye reap. See yonder fields

The sesamum was sesamum, the corn

Was corn. The Silence and the Darkness knew!

So is a man's fate born.

He cometh, reaper of the things he sowed,

Sesamum, corn, so much cast in past birth;

And so much weed and poison-stuff, which mar

Him and the aching earth.

If he shall labour rightly, rooting these,

And planting wholesome seedlings where they grew,

Fruitful and fair and clean the ground shall be,

And rich the harvest due.

If he who liveth, learning whence woe springs,

Endureth patiently, striving to pay

His utmost debt for ancient evils done

In Love and Truth alway;

If making none to lack, he throughly purge

The lie and lust of self forth from his blood;

Suffering all meekly, rendering for offence

Nothing but grace and good;

If he shall day by day dwell merciful,

Holy and just and kind and true; and rend

Desire from where it clings with bleeding roots,

Till love of life have end:

He — dying — leaveth as the sum of him

A life-count closed, whose ills are dead and quit,

Whose good is quick and mighty, far and near,

So that fruits follow it.

No need hath such to live as ye name life;

That which began in him when he began

Is finished: he hath wrought the purpose through

Of what did make him Man.

Never shall yearnings torture him, nor sins

Stain him, nor ache of earthly joys and woes

Invade his safe eternal peace; nor deaths

And lives recur. He goes

Unto NIRVANA! He is one with life

Yet lives not. He is blest, ceasing to be.

OM, MANI PADME, OM! the Dewdrop slips

Into the shining sea!

This is the doctrine of the KARMA. Learn!

Only when all the dross of sin is quit,

Only when life dies like a white flame spent

Death dies along with it.

Say not “I am,” “I was,” or “I shall be,”

Think not ye pass from house to house of flesh

Like travelers who remember and forget,

Ill-lodged or well-lodged. Fresh

Issues upon the Universe that sum

Which is the lattermost of lives.

It makes Its habitation as the worm spins silk

And dwells therein. It takes

Function and substance as the snake's egg hatched

Takes scale and fang; as feathered reedseeds fly

O'er rock and loam and sand, until they find

Their marsh and multiply.

Also it issues forth to help or hurt.

When Death the bitter murderer doth smite,

Red roams the unpurged fragment of him, driven

On wings of plague and blight.

But when the mild and just die, sweet airs breathe;

The world grows richer, as if desert-stream

Should sink away to sparkle up again

Purer, with broader gleam.

So merit won winneth the happier age

Which by demerit halteth short of end;

Yet must this Law of Love reign King of all

Before the Kalpas end.

What lets?— Brothers? the Darkness lets! which breeds

Ignorance, mazed whereby ye take these shows

For true, and thirst to have, and, having, cling

To lusts which work you woes.

Ye that will tread the Middle Road, whose course

Bright Reason traces and soft

Quiet smoothes; Ye who will take the high Nirvana-way,

List the Four Noble Truths.

The First Truth is of Sorrow. Be not mocked!

Life which ye prize is long-drawn agony:

Only its pains abide; its pleasures are

As birds which light and fly,

Ache of the birth, ache of the helpless days,

Ache of hot youth and ache of manhood's prime;

Ache of the chill grey years and choking death,

These fill your piteous time.

Sweet is fond Love, but funeral-flames must kiss

The breasts which pillow and the lips which cling;

Gallant is warlike Might, but vultures pick

The joints of chief and King.

Beauteous is Earth, but all its forest-broods

Plot mutual slaughter, hungering to live;

Of sapphire are the skies, but when men cry

Famished, no drops they give.

Ask of the sick, the mourners, ask of him

Who tottereth on his staff, lone and forlorn,

“Liketh thee life?” — these say the babe is wise

That weepeth, being born.

The Second Truth is Sorrow's Cause. What grief

Springs of itself and springs not of Desire?

Senses and things perceived mingle and light

Passion's quick spark of fire:

So flameth Trishna, lust and thirst of things.

Eager ye cleave to shadows, dote on dreams.

A false Self in the midst ye plant, and make

A world around which seems;

Blind to the height beyond, deaf to the sound

Of sweet airs breathed from far past Indra's sky;

Dumb to the summons of the true life kept

For him who false puts by.

So grow the strifes and lusts which make earth's war,

So grieve poor cheated hearts and flow salt tears;

So wag the passions, envies, angers, hates;

So years chase blood-stained years

With wild red feet. So, where the grain should grow,

Spreads the biran-weed with its evil root

And poisonous blossoms; hardly good seeds find

Soil where to fall and shoot;

And drugged with poisonous drink the soul departs,

And fierce with thirst to drink Karma returns;

Sense-struck again the sodden self begins,

And new deceits it earns

The Third is Sorrow's Ceasing. This is peace —

To conquer love of self and lust of life,

To tear deep-rooted passion from the breast,

To still the inward strife;

For love, to clasp Eternal Beauty close;

For glory, to be lord of self; for pleasure,

To live beyond the gods; for countless wealth,

To lay up lasting treasure

Of perfect service rendered, duties done

In charity, soft speech, and stainless days

These riches shall not fade away in life,

Nor any death dispraise.

Then Sorrow ends, for Life and Death have ceased;

How should lamps flicker when their oil is spent?

The old sad count is clear, the new is clean;

Thus hath a man content.

The Fourth Truth is The Way. It openeth wide,

Plain for all feet to tread, easy and near,

The Noble Eightfold Path; it goeth straight

To peace and refuge. Hear!

Manifold tracks lead to yon sister-peaks

Around whose snows the gilded clouds are curled

By steep or gentle slopes the climber comes

Where breaks that other world.

Strong limbs may dare the rugged road which storms,

Soaring and perilous, the mountain's breast;

The weak must wind from slower ledge to ledge

With many a place of rest.

So is the Eightfold Path which brings to peace;

By lower or by upper heights it goes.

The firm soul hastes, the feeble tarries. All

Will reach the sunlit snows.

The First good Level is Right Doctrine.

Walk In fear of Dharma, shunning all offence;

In heed of Karma, which doth make man's fate;

In lordship over sense.

The Second is Right Purpose. Have good-will

To all that lives, letting unkindness die

And greed and wrath; so that your lives be made

Like soft airs passing by.

The Third is Right Discourse. Govern the lips

As they were palace-doors, the King within;

Tranquil and fair and courteous be all words

Which from that presence win.

The Fourth is Right Behavior. Let each act

Assoil a fault or help a merit grow;

Like threads of silver seen through crystal beads

Let love through good deeds show.

Four higher roadways be. Only those feet

May tread them which have done with earthly things —

Right Purity, Right Thought, Right Loneliness,

Right Rapture. Spread no wings

For sunward flight, thou soul with unplumed vans

Sweet is the lower air and safe, and known

The homely levels: only strong ones leave

The nest each makes his own.

Dear is the love, I know, of Wife and Child;

Pleasant the friends and pastimes of your years;

Fruitful of good Life's gentle charities;

False, though firm-set, its fears.

Live — ye who must — such lives as live on these;

Make golden stair-ways of your weakness; rise

By daily sojourn with those phantasies

To lovelier verities.

So shall ye pass to clearer heights and find

Easier ascents and lighter loads of sins,

And larger will to burst the bonds of sense,

Entering the Path. Who wins

To such commencement hath the First Stage touched;

He knows the Noble Truths, the Eightfold Road;

By few or many steps such shall attain

NIRVANA's blest abode.

Who standeth at the Second Stage, made free

From doubts, delusions, and the inward strife,

Lord of all lusts, quit of the priests and books,

Shall live but one more life.

Yet onward lies the Third Stage: purged and pure

Hath grown the stately spirit here, hath risen

To love all living things in perfect peace.

His life at end, life's prison

Is broken. Nay, there are who surely pass

Living and visible to utmost goal

By Fourth Stage of the Holy ones — the Buddhs —

And they of stainless soul.

Lo! like fierce foes slain by some warrior,

Ten sins along these Stages lie in dust,

The Love of Self, False Faith, and Doubt are three,

Two more, Hatred and Lust.

Who of these Five is conqueror hath trod

Three stages out of Four: yet there abide

The Love of Life on earth, Desire for Heaven,

Self-Praise, Error, and Pride.

As one who stands on yonder snowy horn

Having nought o'er him but the boundless blue,

So, these sins being slain, the man is come

NIRVANA's verge unto.

Him the Gods envy from their lower seats;

Him the Three Worlds in ruin should not shake;

All life is lived for him, all deaths are dead;

Karma will no more make

New houses. Seeking nothing, he gains all;

Foregoing self, the Universe grows “I ":

If any teach NIRVANA is to cease,

Say unto such they lie.

If any teach NIRVANA is to live,

Say unto such they err; not knowing this,

Nor what light shines beyond their broken lamps,

Nor lifeless, timeless bliss.

Enter the Path! There is no grief like Hate!

No pains like passions, no deceit like sense!

Enter the Path! far hath he gone whose foot

Treads down one fond offence.

Enter the Path! There spring the healing streams

Quenching all thirst! there bloom th’ immortal flowers

Carpeting all the way with joy! there throng,

Swiftest and sweetest hours!

More is the treasure of the Law than gems;

Sweeter than comb its sweetness; its delights

Delightful past compare. Thereby to live

Hear the Five Rules aright:—

Kill not — for Pity's sake — and lest ye slay

The meanest thing upon its upward way.

Give freely and receive, but take from none

By greed, or force, or fraud, what is his own.

Bear not false witness, slander not, nor lie;

Truth is the speech of inward purity.

Shun drugs and drinks which work the wit abuse;

Clear minds, clean bodies, need no soma juice.

Touch not thy neighbour's wife, neither commit

Sins of the flesh unlawful and unfit.

These words the Master spake of duties due

To father, mother, children, fellows, friends;

Teaching how such as may not swiftly break

The clinging chains of sense — whose feet are weak

To tread the higher road — should order so

This life of flesh that all their hither days

Pass blameless in discharge of charities

And first true footfalls in the Eightfold Path;

Living pure, reverent, patient, pitiful,

Loving all things which live even as themselves;

Because what falls for ill is fruit of ill

Wrought in the past, and what falls well of good;

And that by howsomuch the householder

Purgeth himself of self and helps the world,

By so much happier comes he to next stage,

In so much bettered being. This he spake,

As also long before, when our Lord walked

By Rajagriha in the Bamboo-Grove

For on a dawn he walked there and beheld

The householder Singala, newly bathed,

Bowing himself with bare head to the earth,

To Heaven, and all four quarters; while he threw

Rice, red and white, from both hands. “Wherefore thus

Bowest thou, Brother?” said the Lord; and he,

“It is the way, Great Sir! our fathers taught

At every dawn, before the toil begins,

To hold off evil from the sky above

And earth beneath, and all the winds which blow.”

Then the World-honoured spake: “Scatter not rice,

But offer loving thoughts and acts to all.

To parents as the East where rises light;

To teachers as the South whence rich gifts come;

To wife and children as the West where gleam

Colours of love and calm, and all days end;

To friends and kinsmen and all men as North;

To humblest living things beneath, to Saints

And Angels and the blessed Dead above

So shall all evil be shut off, and so

The six main quarters will be safely kept.”

But to his own, them of the yellow robe

They who, as wakened eagles, soar with scorn

From life's low vale, and wing towards the Sun

To these he taught the Ten Observances

The Dasa-Sil, and how a mendicant

Must know the Three Doors and the Triple Thoughts;

The Sixfold States of Mind; the Fivefold Powers;

The Eight High Gates of Purity; the Modes

Of Understanding; Iddhi; Upeksha;

The Five Great Meditations, which are food

Sweeter than Amrit for the holy soul;

The Jhana's and the Three Chief Refuges.

Also he taught his own how they should dwell;

How live, free from the snares of love and wealth;

What eat and drink and carry — three plain cloths,

Yellow, of stitched stuff, worn with shoulder bare

A girdle, almsbowl, strainer. Thus he laid

The great foundations of our Sangha well,

That noble Order of the Yellow Robe

Which to this day standeth to help the World.

So all that night he spake, teaching the Law

And on no eyes fell sleep — for they who heard

Rejoiced with tireless joy. Also the King,

When this was finished, rose upon his throne

And with bared feet bowed low before his Son

Kissing his hem; and said, “Take me, O Son!

Lowest and least of all thy Company.”

And sweet Yasodhara, all happy now,—

Cried “Give to Rahula — thou Blessed One!

The Treasure of the Kingdom of thy Word

For his inheritance.” Thus passed these Three

Into the Path.

Here endeth what I write

Who love the Master for his love of us,

A little knowing, little have I told

Touching the Teacher and the Ways of Peace.

Forty-five rains thereafter showed he those

In many lands and many tongues and gave

Our Asia light, that still is beautiful,

Conquering the world with spirit of strong grace

All which is written in the holy Books,

And where he passed and what proud Emperors

Carved his sweet words upon the rocks and caves:

And how — in fulness of the times — it fell

The Buddha died, the great Tathagato,

Even as a man‘ mongst men, fulfilling all

And how a thousand thousand crores since then

Have trod the Path which leads whither he went

Unto NIRVANA where the Silence lives.

Ah! Blessed Lord! Oh, High Deliverer!

Forgive this feeble script, which doth thee wrong.

Measuring with little wit thy lofty love.

Ah! Lover! Brother! Guide! Lamp of the law!

I take my refuge in they name and thee!

I take my refuge in they order! OM!

The dew is on the lotus!— Rise, Great Sun!

And lift my leaf and mix me with the wave.

Om Mani Padme Hum, the sunrise comes!

The Dewdrop Slips Into The Shining Sea!