The splendour of Asia: The story and teaching of the BuddhaBeck, L. Adams (Lily Adams)
Religion
The splendour of Asia: The story and teaching of the Buddha
Beck, L. Adams (Lily Adams)
Buddha (The concept)
But there was a seal upon her lips that she might not sing of love
though love was beside her, for the awe of the mountains was heavy on
them and the listening of night. Therefore she sang these words, but no
louder than a bee hovering about a flower.
“The wild swans rise from earth,
Strong in the path of the sun.
How should it give them mirth
With his great day begun?
Upward the white wings fly,
Clouds in the bluest blue,
Far they soar—and high!—
Would I might follow too.”
And again after awhile she sang a great hymn of the ancient Scripture
but lower still:
“Though difference be none, I am of Thee,
Not Thou, O Lord, of me.
For of the sea is verily the wave,
Not of the wave the sea.”
And there was silence, and he turned and laid his cheek to hers and they
sat together long, gazing speechless at the marvel of the starry deeps.
Nor did they know that their last night of peace was with them.
Meanwhile the commands of the Maharaja went out into every street and
house of Kapila.
“To-morrow the chariot of my son goes through the streets to the
Paradise of Pleasure. See and beware that no aged man or woman be abroad
in the city, for my son’s eyes must behold no aged, sick or dead person.
It is forbidden by the Powers that rule his destiny. Therefore let none
but healthy, glad and beautiful persons fall in his way, for if
otherwise the transgressor must die.”
And there was not a soul in the place but heard this command and
touching their foreheads murmured, “It is an order.” And men, women and
children ran busily here and there garlanding the happy streets, and
they set up poles gilded and painted and with gay fluttering banners.
And dwarfed trees after the Chinese manner were placed along the roads,
and there were hanging canopies of blue and rose silk, and magnificent
tapestries were hung from the windows, until the city shone beautiful as
the Paradise of the Gods on the holy mountain Sumeru, and bands of
children running like the lesser angels strewed flowers through all the
ways where Siddhartha should pass.
Then steadily as the running of a river the people poured in from the
country-side to see their young Prince, and the ways were gay with happy
folk dressed in their best and garlanded with garlands of marigolds and
little rosebuds scented with fragrant oils to increase their own
fragrance. The towers were filled with men and women clustering like
bees. The mounds by the trees, the windows and terraces—were thronged
with eager persons,—the men looking sharply about them to see that
nothing was left which might offend the eyes of the heir. And there was
nothing, for in bright sunshine, tempered by a cool breath from the
mountains none but happy and beautiful people with their children
rejoiced and were glad.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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