Northward the noble Purna took his way Till India's fields and plains were lost to view, Then through the rugged foot-hills upward climbed, And up a gorge by rocky ramparts walled, Through which a mighty torrent thundered down, Their treacherous way along the torrent's brink, Or up the giddy cliffs where one false step Would plunge them headlong in the raging stream, Passing from cliff to cliff, their bridge of ropes Swung high above the dashing, roaring waves. At length they cross the frozen mountain-pass, O'er wastes of snow by furious tempests swept, And cross a desert where no bird or beast Is ever seen, and where their way is marked By bleaching bones strewn thick along their track.[1] Some perished by the way, and some turned back, While some of his companions persevered, Cheered on by Purna's never-flagging zeal, And by the master's words from Purna's lips, Until they reached the outmost wandering tribes Of that great race that he had come to save. With joy received, these wandering tribes their guides-- For love makes friends where selfishness breeds strife-- They soon are led to where their kindred dwell. They saw the vanity of chasing wealth Through hunger, danger, desolation, death. They felt a power sustaining Purna's steps-- A power unseen yet ever hovering near-- They saw the truth of Buddha's burning words That selfishness and greed drag down the soul, While love can nerve the feeblest arm with strength, And asked that Purna take them as his aids. But ere brave Purna reached his journey's end, Near many hamlets, many Indian towns, The moon, high risen to mark the noon of night, Through many sacred fig-tree's rustling leaves[2] Sent trembling rays with trembling shadows mixed Upon a noble youth in orange robes, His alms-bowl by his side, stretched out in sleep, Dreaming, perchance, of some Benares maid, Perchance of home and joys so lately left.