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قراءة كتاب The Dawn and the Day Or, The Buddha and the Christ, Part I
تنويه: تعرض هنا نبذة من اول ١٠ صفحات فقط من الكتاب الالكتروني، لقراءة الكتاب كاملا اضغط على الزر “اشتر الآن"
The Dawn and the Day Or, The Buddha and the Christ, Part I
stand
Fresh as at first, just warming to the race.
And now the real race at length begins,
A double race, such as the Romans loved.
Horses so matched in weight and strength and speed,
Drivers so matched in skill that as they pass
Azim and Channa seemed a single man.
Timour and Devadatta, side by side,
Wheel almost touching wheel, dash far ahead.
Azim and Channa, left so far behind,
No longer urge a race already lost.
The Babylonian and Nisaean steeds,
No longer pressed so far beyond their power,
With long and even strides sweep smoothly on,
Striking the earth as with a single blow,
Their hot breath rising in a single cloud.
Arab and Tartar with a longer stride
And lighter stroke skim lightly o'er the ground.
Watching the horses with a master's eye,
As Devadatta and Timour four times,
Azim and Channa thrice, swept by the stand,
The prince saw that another round would test,
Not overtax, their powers, and gave the sign,
When three loud trumpet-blasts to all proclaimed
That running one more round would end the race.
These ringing trumpet-calls that brought defeat
Or victory so near, startle and rouse.
The charioteers more ardent urge their steeds;
The steeds are with hot emulation fired;
The social multitude now cease to talk—
Even age stops short in stories often told;
Boys, downy-chinned, in rough-and-tumble sports
Like half-grown bears engaged, turn quick and look;
And blooming girls, with merry ringing laugh,
Romping in gentler games, watching meanwhile
With sly and sidelong look the rougher sports,
Turn eagerly to see the scene below;
While mothers for the time forget their babes,
And lovers who had sought out quiet nooks
To tell the tale that all the past has told
And coming times will tell, stand mute and gaze.
The home-stretch soon is reached, and Channa's three
By word and lash urged to their topmost speed,
The foaming Babylonians left behind,
While Devadatta and Timour draw near,
A whole round gained, Timour a length ahead.
But Devadatta loosens now his reins,
Chides his fleet pets, with lash swung high in air
Wounds their proud spirits, not their tender flesh.
With lion-bounds they pass the Tartar steeds,
That with hot rival rage and open mouths,
And flaming eyes, and fierce and angry cries,
Dash full at Regil's side, but dash in vain.
Fear adding speed, the Arabs sweep ahead.
Meanwhile the prince springs forward from his seat,
And all on tiptoe still and eager stand,
So that the rumbling of the chariot-wheels,
The tramp of flying feet and drivers' cries,
Alone the universal stillness break—
As when before the bursting of some fearful storm,
Birds, beasts and men stand mute with trembling awe,
While heaven's artillery and roaring winds
Are in the awful silence only heard.
But when the double victory is gained,
Drums, shells and trumpets mingle with the shouts
From hill to hill re-echoed and renewed—
As when, after the morning's threatening bow,
Dark, lurid, whirling clouds obscure the day,
And forked lightnings dart athwart the sky,
And angry winds roll up the boiling sea,
And thunder, raging winds and warring waves
Join in one mighty and earth shaking roar.
Thus end the games, and the procession forms,
The king and elders first, contestants next,
And last the prince; each victor laurel-crowned,
And after each his prize, while all were given
Some choice memorial of the happy day—
Cinctures to all athletes to gird the loins
And falling just below the knee, the belt
Of stoutest leather, joined with silver clasps,
The skirt of softest wool or finest silk,
Adorned with needlework and decked with gems,
Such as the modest Aryans always wore
In games intended for the public view,
Before the Greeks became degenerate,
And savage Rome compelled those noble men
Whose only crime was love of liberty,
By discipline and numbers overwhelmed,
Bravely defending children, wife and home,
Naked to fight each other or wild beasts,
And called this brutal savagery high sport
For them and for their proud degenerate dames,
Of whom few were what Caesar's wife should be.
The athletes' prizes all were rich and rare,
Some costly emblem of their several arts.
The archers' prizes all were bows; the first
Made from the horns of a great mountain-goat
That long had ranged the Himalayan heights,
Till some bold hunter climbed his giddy cliffs
And brought his unsuspecting victim down.
His lofty horns the bowsmith root to root
Had firmly joined, and polished, bright,
And tipped with finest gold, and made a bow
Worthy of Sinhahamu's[1] mighty arm.
The other prizes, bows of lesser strength
But better suited to their weaker arms.
A chariot, the charioteers' first prize,[2]
Its slender hubs made strong with brazen bands,
The spokes of whitest ivory polished bright,
The fellies ebony, with tires of bronze,
Each axle's end a brazen tiger's head,
The body woven of slender bamboo shoots
Intwined with silver wire and decked with gold.
A mare and colt of the victorious breed
The second prize, more worth in Timour's eyes.
Than forty chariots, though each were made
Of ebony or ivory or gold,
And all the laurel India ever grew.
The third, a tunic of soft Cashmere wool,
On which, by skillful needles deftly wrought,
The race itself as if in life stood forth.
The fourth, a belt to gird the laggard's loins
And whip to stimulate his laggard steeds.