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قراءة كتاب The Dawn and the Day Or, The Buddha and the Christ, Part I

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‏اللغة: English
The Dawn and the Day
Or, The Buddha and the Christ, Part I

The Dawn and the Day Or, The Buddha and the Christ, Part I

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دار النشر: Project Gutenberg
الصفحة رقم: 4

  With lion bounds, tails floating, neck outstretched,[5]
  Nostrils distended, fleet as the flying wind
  They skim the plain, and sweep in circles wide—
  Nature's Olympic, copied, ne'er excelled.
  Here, deer with dappled fawn bound o'er the grass,[6]
  And sacred herds, and sheep with skipping lambs;
  There, great white elephants in quiet nooks;
  While high on cliffs framed in with living green
  Goats climb and seem to hang and feed in air—
  Sweet spot, with all to please and nothing to offend.

  Here on a hill the royal palace stood,
  A gem of art; and near, another hill,
  Its top crowned by an aged banyan tree,
  Its sides clad in strange jyotismati grass,[7]
  By day a sober brown, but in the night
  Glowing as if the hill were all aflame—
  Twin wonders to the dwellers in the plain,
  Their guides and landmarks day and night,
  This glittering palace and this glowing hill.
  Within, above the palace rose a tower,
  Which memory knew but as the ancient tower,
  Foursquare and high, an altar and a shrine
  On its broad top, where burned perpetual fire,
  Emblem of boundless and eternal love
  And truth that knows no night, no cloud, no change,
  Long since gone out, with that most ancient faith
  In one great Father, source of life and light.[8]
  Still round this ancient tower, strange hopes and fears,
  And memories handed down from sire to son,
  Were clustered thick. An army, old men say,
  Once camped against the city, when strange lights
  Burst from this tower, blinding their dazzled eyes.
  They fled amazed, nor dared to look behind.
  The people bloody war and cruel bondage saw
  On every side, and they at peace and free,
  And thought a power to save dwelt in that tower.
  And now strange prophecies and sayings old
  Were everywhere rehearsed, that from this hill
  Should come a king or savior of the world.
  Even the poor dwellers in the distant plain
  Looked up; they too had heard that hence should come
  One quick to hear the poor and strong to save.
  And who shall dare to chide their simple faith?
  This humble reverence for the great unknown
  Brings men near God, and opens unseen worlds,
  Whence comes all life, and where all power doth dwell.

  Morning and evening on this tower the king,
  Before the rising and the setting sun,
  Blindly, but in his father's faith, bowed down.
  Then he would rise and on his kingdom gaze.
  East, west, hills beyond hills stretched far away,
  Wooded, terraced, or bleak and bald and bare,
  Till in dim distance all were leveled lost.
  One rich and varied carpet spread far south,
  Of fields, of groves, of busy cities wrought,
  With mighty rivers seeming silver threads;
  And to the north the Himalayan chain,
  Peak beyond peak, a wall of crest and crag,
  Ice bound, snow capped, backed by intensest blue,
  Untrod, immense, that, like a crystal wall.
  In myriad varied tints the glorious light
  Of rising and of setting sun reflects;
  His noble city lying at his feet,
  And his broad park, tinged by the sun's slant rays
  A thousand softly rich and varied shades.

  Still on this scene of grandeur, plenty, peace
  And ever-varying beauty, he would gaze
  With sadness. He had heard these prophecies,
  And felt the unrest in that great world within,
  Hid from our blinded eyes, yet ever near,
  The very soul and life of this dead world,
  Which seers and prophets open-eyed have seen,
  On which the dying often raptured gaze,
  And where they live when they are mourned as dead.
  This world was now astir, foretelling day.
  "A king shall come, they say, to rule the world,
  If he will rule; but whence this mighty king?
  My years decline apace, and yet no son
  Of mine to rule or light my funeral pile."

  One night Queen Maya, sleeping by her lord,
  Dreamed a strange dream; she dreamed she saw a star
  Gliding from heaven and resting over her;
  She dreamed she heard strange music, soft and sweet,
  So distant "joy and peace" was all she heard.
  In joy and peace she wakes, and waits to know
  What this strange dream might mean, and whence it came.

  Drums, shells and trumpets sound for joy, not war;
  The streets are swept and sprinkled with perfumes,
  And myriad lamps shine from each house and tree,
  And myriad flags flutter in every breeze,
  And children crowned with flowers dance in the streets,
  And all keep universal holiday
  With shows and games, and laugh and dance and song,
  For to the gentle queen a son is born,
  To King Suddhodana the good an heir.

  But scarcely had these myriad lamps gone out,
  The sounds of revelry had scarcely died,
  When coming from the palace in hot haste,
  One cried, "Maya, the gentle queen, is dead."
  Then mirth was changed to sadness, joy to grief,
  For all had learned to love the gentle queen—
  But at Siddartha's birth this was foretold.

  Among the strangers bringing gifts from far,
  There came an ancient sage—whence, no one knew—
  Age-bowed, head like the snow, eyes filmed and white,
  So deaf the thunder scarcely startled him,
  Who met them, as they said, three journeys back,
  And all his talk was of a new-born king,
  Just born, to rule the world if he would rule.
  He was so gentle, seemed so wondrous wise,
  They followed him, he following, he said,
  A light they could not see; and when encamped,
  Morn, noon and night devoutly would he pray,
  And then would talk for hours, as friend to friend,
  With questionings about this new-born king,
  Gazing intently at the tent's blank wall,
  With nods and smiles, as if he saw and heard,
  While they sit lost in wonder, as one sits
  Who never saw a telephone, but hears
  Unanswered questions, laughter at unheard jests,
  And sees one bid a little box good-by.
  And when they came before the king, they saw,
  Laughing and cooing on its mother's knee,
  Picture of innocence, a sweet young child;
  He saw a mighty prophet, and bowed down
  Eight times in reverence to the very ground,
  And rising said, "Thrice happy house, all hail!
  This child would rule the world, if he would rule,
  But he, too good to rule, is born to save;
  But Maya's work is done, the devas wait."
  But when they sought for him, the sage was gone,
  Whence come or whither gone none ever knew.
  Then gentle Maya understood her dream.
  The music nearer, clearer sounds; she sleeps.
  But when the funeral pile was raised for her,
  Of aloe, sandal, and all fragrant woods,
  And decked with flowers and rich with rare perfumes,
  And when the queen was gently laid thereon,
  As in sweet sleep, and the pile set aflame,
  The king cried out in anguish; when the sage
  Again appeared, and gently said, "Weep not!
  Seek not, O king, the living with the dead!
  'Tis but her cast-off garment, not herself,
  That now dissolves in air. Thy loved one lives,
  Become thy deva,[9] who was erst thy queen."
  This

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