Then all the high-born, youth in rich attire,
  Mounted on prancing steeds with trappings gay;
  And then the good old king, in royal state,
  On his huge elephant, white as the snow,
  Surrounded by his aged counselors,
  Some on their chargers, some in litters borne,
  Their long white beards floating in every breeze;
  And next, competitors for every prize:
  Twelve archers, who could pierce the lofty swans
  Sailing from feeding-grounds by distant seas
  To summer nests by Thibet's marshy lakes,
  Or hit the whirring pheasant as it flies—
  For in this peaceful reign they did not make
  Men targets for their art, and armor-joints
  The marks through which to pierce and kill;
  Then wrestlers, boxers, those who hurl the quoit,
  And runners fleet, both lithe and light of limb;
  And then twelve mighty spearmen, who could pierce
  The fleeing boar or deer or fleet gazelle;
  Then chariots, three horses yoked to each,
  The charioteers in Persian tunics clad,
  Arms bare, legs bare—all were athletes in power,
  In form and race each an Apollo seemed;
  Yoked to the first were three Nisaean steeds,[14]
  Each snowy white, proud stepping, rangy, tall,
  Chests broad, legs clean and strong, necks arched and high,
  With foreheads broad, and eyes large, full and mild,
  A race that oft Olympic prizes won,
  And whose descendants far from Iran's plains
  Bore armored knights in battle's deadly shock
  On many bloody European fields;
  Then three of ancient Babylonian stock,[15]
  Blood bay and glossy as rich Tyrian silk—
  Such horses Israel's sacred prophets saw
  Bearing their conquerors in triumph home,
  A race for ages kept distinct and pure,
  Fabled from Alexander's charger sprung;
  Then three from distant desert Tartar steppes,
  Ewe-necked, ill-favored creatures, lank and gaunt,
  That made the people laugh as they passed by—
  Who ceased to laugh when they had run the race—
  Such horses bore the mighty Mongol hosts[16]
  That with the cyclone's speed swept o'er the earth;
  Then three, one gray, one bay, one glossy black,
  Descended from four horses long since brought
  By love-sick chief from Araby the blest,
  Seeking with such rare gifts an Indian bride,
  Whose slender, graceful forms, compact and light,
  Combined endurance, beauty, strength and speed—
  A wondrous breed, whose famed descendants bore
  The Moslem hosts that swept from off the earth
  Thy mighty power, corrupt, declining Rome,
  And with each other now alone contend
  In speed, whose sons cast out, abused and starved,
  Alone can save from raging whirlwind flames[17]
  That all-devouring sweep our western plains;
  Then stately elephants came next in line,
  With measured step and gently swaying gait,
  Covered with cloth of gold richly inwrought,
  Each bearing in a howdah gaily decked
  A fair competitor for beauty's prize,
  With merry comrades and some sober friend;
  The vina, bansuli, sitar and harp
  Filling the air with sweetest melody,
  While rippling laughter from each howdah rang,
  And sweetest odors, as from op'ning flowers,
  Breathed from their rich apparel as they passed.

  And thus they circle round the maidan wide,
  And as they pass along the people shout,
  "Long live the king! long live our noble prince!"
  To all which glad acclaims the prince responds
  With heartfelt courtesy and royal grace.

  When they had nearly reached the palace gate
  On their return, the king drew to the right
  With his attendants, while the prince with his
  Drew to the left, reviewing all the line
  That passed again down to the judges' seat,
  Under the king's pavilion near the lake.
  The prince eagerly watched them as they passed,
  Noting their brawny limbs and polished arms,
  The pose and skill of every charioteer,
  The parts and varied breed of every horse,
  Aiding his comrades with his deeper skill.
  But when the queens of beauty passed him by,
  He was all smiles and gallantry and grace,
  Until the last, Yasodhara, came near,
  Whose laugh was clearest of the merry crowd,
  Whose golden hair imprisoned sunlight seemed,
  Whose cheek, blending the lily with the rose,
  Spoke of more northern skies and Aryan blood,
  Whose rich, not gaudy, robes exquisite taste
  Had made to suit her so they seemed a part
  Of her sweet self; whose manner, simple, free,
  Not bold or shy, whose features—no one saw
  Her features, for her soul covered her face
  As with a veil of ever-moving life.
  When she came near, and her bright eyes met his,
  He seemed to start; his gallantry was gone,
  And like an awkward boy he sat and gazed;
  And her laugh too was hushed, and she passed on,
  Passed out of sight but never out of mind,
  The king and all his counselors saw this.
  "Good king, our deer is struck," Asita said,
  "If this love cure him not, nothing can cure."

[1]Lieutenant-General Briggs, in his lectures on the aboriginal races of India, says the Hindoos themselves refer the excavation of caves and temples to the period of the aboriginal kings.

[2]The art of irrigation, once practiced on such a mighty scale, now seems practically a lost art but just now being revived on our western plains.

[3]"And, that which all faire workes doth most aggrace, The art, which all that wrought, appeared in no place."

—Faerie Queene, B. 2, Canto 12.

[4]See Miss Gordon Cumming's descriptions of the fields of wild dahlias in Northern India.

[5]By far the finest display of the mettle and blood of high-bred horses I have ever seen has been in the pasture-field, and this description is drawn from life.

[6]Once, coming upon a little prairie in the midst of a great forest, I saw a herd of startled deer bound over the grass, a scene never to be forgotten.

[7]See Miss Gordon Cumming's description of a hill covered with this luminous grass.

[8]There can be no doubt that the fire-worship of the East is the remains of a true but largely emblematic religion.

[9]The difference between the Buddhist idea of a deva and the Christian idea of an attendant angel is scarcely perceptible.

[10]The Brahmans claim that Buddha's great doctrine of universal brotherhood was taken from their sacred books and was not an originality of Buddha, as his followers claim.

[11]The Mediterranean or Egyptian wheat is said to have this origin.

[12]At the time of Buddha's birth there seemed to be no mean between the Chakravartin or absolute monarch and the recluse who had renounced all ordinary duties and enjoyments, and was subjecting himself to all deprivations and sufferings. Buddha taught the middle course of diligence in daily duties and universal love.

[13]I am aware that some Buddhist authors whom Arnold has followed in his "Light of Asia" make Buddha but little better than a stale prisoner, and would have us believe that the glimpses he got of the ills that flesh is heir to were gained in spite of all precautions, as he was occasionally taken out of his rose embowered, damsel filled prison-house, and not as any prince