Meanwhile the master with his little band Toward Rajagriha backward wends his way, Some village tree their nightly resting--place, Until they reached the grove that skirts the base Of that bold mountain called the vulture-peak, Through which the lotus-covered Phalgu glides, O'erarched with trees festooned with trailing vines, While little streams leap down from rock to rock, Cooling the verdant slopes and fragrant glades, And vines and shrubs and trees of varied bloom Loaded the air with odors rich and sweet, And where that sacred fig-tree spread its shade Above the mound that held the gathered dust Of those sage Brahmans who had sought to aid The young prince struggling for a clearer light, And where that banyan-tree for ages grew, So long the home of those five noble youths, Now sundered far, some tree when night may fall Their resting-place, their robe and bowl their all, Their only food chance gathered day by day, Preaching the common brotherhood of man, Teaching the law of universal love, Bearing the light to those in darkness sunk, Lending a helping hand to those in need, Teaching the strong that gentleness is great. And through this grove where many noble souls Were seeking higher life and clearer light, He took his well-known way, and reached his cave Just as the day was fading into night, And myriad stars spangled the azure vault, And myriad lamps that through the darkness shone Revealed the city that the night had veiled, Where soon their weary limbs were laid to rest; But through the silent hour preceding day, Before the jungle-cock announced the dawn, All roused from sleep in meditation sat. But when the sun had set the east aglow, And roused the birds to sing their matin-song's, And roused the lowing herds to call their mates, And roused a sleeping world to daily toil, Their matins chanted, their ablutions made, With bowl and staff in hand they took their way Down to the city for their daily alms.