When, after a brief interval, they all Were under roof once more, refreshed with change, Publius said: "The evening yet is long, And all the night thereafter is ours for sleep, With an untouched to-morrow if need be To borrow from and piece the measure out. Eat ye and drink at leisure and at ease; Meanwhile, and not to overtask our friend Here who likewise shall share his equal chance With us of what may stay hunger and thirst, Let us content our nobler appetite With viand brought us out of utmost Ind." The Roman hugged himself with a pleased sense That he had turned his genial phrases right. The Indian for his part, not voluble By nature, would have wished to hold his peace; For Mary's tale had wrought upon him so That he was lost in thought and absentness. Loth rallied out of mute to use of speech, He felt the bonds of courtesy and said: "O Publius, would thou hadst rather been content To leave this Hebrew story uncompared. I have no means to parallel it so As need were I should do for right effect; Since neither was I present to behold, Nor lives there record by eyewitness made." As these words wavering from the Indian fell, The dimness of the lamplight in the room, Clouded with fumy issue from the flame, Seemed to become a symbol of that dark, That doubtful, that uncertain, which he thus Shadowed his tale withal--strange contrast felt To the eyewitness truth and lifelikeness Of Mary's story by full daylight told. But Krishna heartened himself to firmly say: "Howbeit there is tradition that we trust. This holds the voyage was peaceful toward the end, The voyage of Buddha through the last of life; Not without pain, but peaceful as was fit For voyage slow tending to the port of peace. There was no persecution of the Buddh; Or he had long outlived it ere his death. He died among old friends who loved him well, Soothing him toward nirvâna with all heed Of healing words spoken to him or heard From him, and nothing lacked to stay his steps, As he declined gently, with neither haste To go hence nor desire to linger here, Down the slow slope that slides into the sea Of utter, utter void and nothingness.