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Vasadavatta.
A BUDDHIST IDYLL.
Where proud Mathoura rears her hundred towers,
Spreads wide her markets, and through stately streets
Pours the full tide of pilgrims to her shrines,—
Princes and merchants, peasant churls and poor,
Youth in its prime, and age with weary feet,—
Vasádavatta dwelt. Her beauty drew
The eyes of all men, as the full moon draws
The waters of the ocean, swayed the tides
And pulses of their life, and at her feet
They bowed in homage. Raven black her hair;
Her eyes, as in a lambent sea of light,
Shone with rich lustre, and the opening rose
Looked pale beside the vermeil of her cheek,
And youth's fresh life ran warm through every vein.
All charms were hers, of motion and of rest,
Quick glance, lithe limbs, and many a wreathèd smile:
But one chief charm was absent; not for her
The freshness of the morning dews of youth,
The stainless purity of maiden souls,
But smiles were sold, caresses had their price,
And the poor slaves who sought to win her grace
She robbed of fame and fortune.
Spreads wide her markets, and through stately streets
Pours the full tide of pilgrims to her shrines,—
Princes and merchants, peasant churls and poor,
Youth in its prime, and age with weary feet,—
Vasádavatta dwelt. Her beauty drew
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The waters of the ocean, swayed the tides
And pulses of their life, and at her feet
They bowed in homage. Raven black her hair;
Her eyes, as in a lambent sea of light,
Shone with rich lustre, and the opening rose
Looked pale beside the vermeil of her cheek,
And youth's fresh life ran warm through every vein.
All charms were hers, of motion and of rest,
Quick glance, lithe limbs, and many a wreathèd smile:
But one chief charm was absent; not for her
The freshness of the morning dews of youth,
The stainless purity of maiden souls,
But smiles were sold, caresses had their price,
And the poor slaves who sought to win her grace
She robbed of fame and fortune.
And it chanced
She sent her handmaid to the traders' mart,
Where all rich produce of the East and West
Met in one centre, thence to bring her home
Or costly pearls, or perfumes rich and rare,
Or raiment gold-embroidered. And she went,
And evermore came back with fullest store
Of all her mistress asked for, and with face
Of one rejoicing in a task achieved,
She brought them back; and, when they questioned her
What made her task so joyous and so quick,
She told them of Dharmàna; merchant he
Of whom she bought her stores, and he was fair,
His face clear shining as the morning star,
And outward beauty was but token true
Of inward goodness. Truth abode with him,
And purity was with him night and day,
And, every sense subdued, he lived his life,
Gave freely to the orphan and the poor;
And day by day his study and delight
Were in the law of Buddha. Fast and prayer,
These cleansed his soul, and never breath of fame
Whispered of taint of spirit or of flesh.
She sent her handmaid to the traders' mart,
Where all rich produce of the East and West
Met in one centre, thence to bring her home
Or costly pearls, or perfumes rich and rare,
Or raiment gold-embroidered. And she went,
And evermore came back with fullest store
Of all her mistress asked for, and with face
Of one rejoicing in a task achieved,
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What made her task so joyous and so quick,
She told them of Dharmàna; merchant he
Of whom she bought her stores, and he was fair,
His face clear shining as the morning star,
And outward beauty was but token true
Of inward goodness. Truth abode with him,
And purity was with him night and day,
And, every sense subdued, he lived his life,
Gave freely to the orphan and the poor;
And day by day his study and delight
Were in the law of Buddha. Fast and prayer,
These cleansed his soul, and never breath of fame
Whispered of taint of spirit or of flesh.
And so Vasádavatta heard of him,
And, drawn by that strong spell of majesty
Which stainless goodness holds o'er fallen souls,
Her heart turned to him. Those that came with gold
To win her smiles, she hated and despised,
Loathed all their gifts, and, as with craving heart,
Seeking for help to rise above herself,
Mingling her passion with her wonted wiles,
She loved the trader. And in vain she sought
To hide that full, strong passion; it must out,
Or else it had consumed her, and the rose
Had faded to the lily. So she wrote,
And sent her letter to the man she loved,
And, writing with the glow of rapturous song,
The melody which love creates, her words
Ran thus in cadence full and musical:
And knew their purpose, thrilled with inward shame,
Now crimson-flushed for very purity,
Now pale with pity for that fallen one,
And then made answer, “Go; thy mistress tell,
‘The time for me to see her is not yet.’”
And, drawn by that strong spell of majesty
Which stainless goodness holds o'er fallen souls,
Her heart turned to him. Those that came with gold
To win her smiles, she hated and despised,
Loathed all their gifts, and, as with craving heart,
Seeking for help to rise above herself,
Mingling her passion with her wonted wiles,
She loved the trader. And in vain she sought
To hide that full, strong passion; it must out,
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Had faded to the lily. So she wrote,
And sent her letter to the man she loved,
And, writing with the glow of rapturous song,
The melody which love creates, her words
Ran thus in cadence full and musical:
“Come, O beloved one! though thou hast not known me,
Yet all my soul flows out in love to thee;
Come, make me thine, and in thy heart enthrone me,
And I, thy queen, will as thine handmaid be.
Yet all my soul flows out in love to thee;
Come, make me thine, and in thy heart enthrone me,
And I, thy queen, will as thine handmaid be.
“Come, O beloved one, come! my wreaths of roses
Breathe their soft fragrance in the evening hour;
Come, where the glowing sunset light reposes
On wood and meadow, rivulet and flower.
Breathe their soft fragrance in the evening hour;
Come, where the glowing sunset light reposes
On wood and meadow, rivulet and flower.
‘Come, O beloved one! let no fear deter thee;
Make glad the heart that fainteth with desire;
Above Earth's best and greatest I prefer thee,
And many waters cannot quench love's fire.”
And he, when, line by line, he read the words,
Make glad the heart that fainteth with desire;
Above Earth's best and greatest I prefer thee,
And many waters cannot quench love's fire.”
And knew their purpose, thrilled with inward shame,
Now crimson-flushed for very purity,
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And then made answer, “Go; thy mistress tell,
‘The time for me to see her is not yet.’”
But the fierce love Vasádavatta felt
Could not be vanquished. Joy of life was gone;
The gifts and praise of men were naught to her;
Weary and pining she abode at home;
A paleness spread upon her vermeil cheek,
A shadow dimmed the brightness of the eye,
And once again she poured her heart in words,
And sent her song of love; and thus it ran:
Could not be vanquished. Joy of life was gone;
The gifts and praise of men were naught to her;
Weary and pining she abode at home;
A paleness spread upon her vermeil cheek,
A shadow dimmed the brightness of the eye,
And once again she poured her heart in words,
And sent her song of love; and thus it ran:
“Come, O beloved one! tarry thou no longer,
Lose not the tide that flows to love's full sea;
Come, O beloved one! love grows hourly stronger;
Lo, with full heart I give myself to thee.
Lose not the tide that flows to love's full sea;
Come, O beloved one! love grows hourly stronger;
Lo, with full heart I give myself to thee.
‘I ask no gift of sapphires in their glory,
No orient pearls, or rubies fair to see,
No heaped-up treasures of an ancient story;
Lo, with full heart I give myself to thee.
No orient pearls, or rubies fair to see,
No heaped-up treasures of an ancient story;
Lo, with full heart I give myself to thee.
“Poor though thou be, in lowly cottage dwelling,
Thou mak'st me thine, and earlier visions flee;
Thy star arises, other stars excelling;
Come, linger not; I give myself to thee.”
Thou mak'st me thine, and earlier visions flee;
Thy star arises, other stars excelling;
Come, linger not; I give myself to thee.”
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But he, once more, with sudden, shuddering thrill,
As though the touch of some strange beast unclean
Came near him, to the handmaid turned again,
And gave his answer: “Nay, my sister, nay;
The time for me to see thee is not yet.”
And then he turned to Buddha's wisdom high,
Prayed without ceasing, did each task-work well,
And bought and sold in singleness of heart;
And so his life passed on from step to step,
Towards the throne of Buddha, and the crown
Of Wisdom's pure Not-being, which is one
With life's completeness.
As though the touch of some strange beast unclean
Came near him, to the handmaid turned again,
And gave his answer: “Nay, my sister, nay;
The time for me to see thee is not yet.”
And then he turned to Buddha's wisdom high,
Prayed without ceasing, did each task-work well,
And bought and sold in singleness of heart;
And so his life passed on from step to step,
Towards the throne of Buddha, and the crown
Of Wisdom's pure Not-being, which is one
With life's completeness.
But the passion strong
Which swayed Vasádavatta's inmost soul,
Left her no peace, and, turning on itself,
Stung her to madness. Frenzy seized on her,
And for the winning smiles and soft caress
Men praised her for of old, came sudden rage,
The tiger's fierceness with the tiger's grace,
And wild, blind, maddening fury. And at last,
In jealousy, or scorn, or fear of scorn,
Or wrath at jealous doubt, she took the life
Of one who wooed her, plunged the sharp blade in
With demon strength, and, caring not to hide
The deed of hate, was taken and condemned,
Red-handed, as a murderess. Not for her
The murderer's death, the sudden stroke of steel,
Or tightening of the cords, but hideous pain
And vilest torture. Bleeding, maimed, and shamed,
All beauty gone, she crouched in agony,
With not one feature left that men had loved,
And, like a wild beast hunted to despair,
Took refuge in the dwellings of the dead.
Which swayed Vasádavatta's inmost soul,
Left her no peace, and, turning on itself,
Stung her to madness. Frenzy seized on her,
And for the winning smiles and soft caress
Men praised her for of old, came sudden rage,
The tiger's fierceness with the tiger's grace,
And wild, blind, maddening fury. And at last,
In jealousy, or scorn, or fear of scorn,
Or wrath at jealous doubt, she took the life
Of one who wooed her, plunged the sharp blade in
With demon strength, and, caring not to hide
The deed of hate, was taken and condemned,
Red-handed, as a murderess. Not for her
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Or tightening of the cords, but hideous pain
And vilest torture. Bleeding, maimed, and shamed,
All beauty gone, she crouched in agony,
With not one feature left that men had loved,
And, like a wild beast hunted to despair,
Took refuge in the dwellings of the dead.
And the dark tidings fell upon the ear
Of young Dharmàna; and a pity rose,
Divinely strong, within him. Could he leave
That soul to perish in the night of death?
Might he not come with power to heal and save,
And, like skilled leech, with rare medicaments,
Bind up the bleeding wounds of tortured heart,
And cicatrize the ulcerous soul within?
“Yes, sister, yes,” so spake he with himself,
“The time is come for me to see thee now.”
Of young Dharmàna; and a pity rose,
Divinely strong, within him. Could he leave
That soul to perish in the night of death?
Might he not come with power to heal and save,
And, like skilled leech, with rare medicaments,
Bind up the bleeding wounds of tortured heart,
And cicatrize the ulcerous soul within?
“Yes, sister, yes,” so spake he with himself,
“The time is come for me to see thee now.”
So went he forth, as shepherd goes to seek
The sheep the wolf leaves mangled, half-devoured,
And found Vasádavatta crouching down,
Low moaning by a grave. She heard his step,
And, with some traces of the old life left,
Veiled from his sight those features foul to see,
And with low voice, half-sinking in despair,
Thus spake: “Ah, wherefore comest thou to me,
Who would'st not come before, when smiles were mine,
Smiles, and bright eyes, and braided hair, and lips
That made soft music? Then it had been joy
For thee to look on me; and ah! for me
Rapture to see thee near me. Now I fear
To show thee all the hideousness within;
There is no more delight or joy in me;
Leave me to die.”
The sheep the wolf leaves mangled, half-devoured,
And found Vasádavatta crouching down,
Low moaning by a grave. She heard his step,
And, with some traces of the old life left,
Veiled from his sight those features foul to see,
And with low voice, half-sinking in despair,
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Who would'st not come before, when smiles were mine,
Smiles, and bright eyes, and braided hair, and lips
That made soft music? Then it had been joy
For thee to look on me; and ah! for me
Rapture to see thee near me. Now I fear
To show thee all the hideousness within;
There is no more delight or joy in me;
Leave me to die.”
“Nay,” spake he, “sister mine,
Rouse thee to live; thy death is gone from thee;
The death of evil life and base desire,
The strong deceit that mocked thee with the shows
Of golden pleasure. Now, deprived of all,
Sense dropping from thee, cautery of pain
Cleansing the proud flesh of the ulcerous soul,
Thy way is open; take one upward step
To thy true life. It needs not many years,
Nor discipline of schools, nor lengthened prayers,
Nor golden alms; all these are meet and right,
Pathways that lead us upward from the earth;
But one pure craving after Wisdom's self,
One act of faith in Wisdom's power to heal,
Excels them all; and sorrow's bitter tears
And hatred of the past may cleanse thee yet,
And bear thee onward, as on eagle's wings,
To where all pain and pleasure, life and death,
Lie far beneath. Ah, sister! can'st thou take
That one step now?”
Rouse thee to live; thy death is gone from thee;
The death of evil life and base desire,
The strong deceit that mocked thee with the shows
Of golden pleasure. Now, deprived of all,
Sense dropping from thee, cautery of pain
Cleansing the proud flesh of the ulcerous soul,
Thy way is open; take one upward step
To thy true life. It needs not many years,
Nor discipline of schools, nor lengthened prayers,
Nor golden alms; all these are meet and right,
Pathways that lead us upward from the earth;
But one pure craving after Wisdom's self,
One act of faith in Wisdom's power to heal,
Excels them all; and sorrow's bitter tears
And hatred of the past may cleanse thee yet,
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To where all pain and pleasure, life and death,
Lie far beneath. Ah, sister! can'st thou take
That one step now?”
She answered not a word;
But a faint gleam shot out of glazèd eye,
And, as soft music to a wailing child,
So came his words to her; and claspèd hands
Told of strong strivings of the struggling heart,
The panting of the bird within its cage,
And then—one sharp, shrill cry,—and she was dead.
But a faint gleam shot out of glazèd eye,
And, as soft music to a wailing child,
So came his words to her; and claspèd hands
Told of strong strivings of the struggling heart,
The panting of the bird within its cage,
And then—one sharp, shrill cry,—and she was dead.
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