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.“I will depart,” he spake; “the hour is come!Thy tender lips, dear Sleeper, summon meTo that which save the earth but sunders us;And in the silence of yon sky I readMy fated message fl ashing.Unto thisCame I, and unto this all nights and daysHave led me; for I will not have that crownWhich may be mine: I lay aside those realmsWhich wait the gleaming of my naked sword:My chariot shall not roll with bloody wheelsFrom victory to victory, till earthWears the red record of my name.I choose89To tread its paths with patient, stainless feet,Making its dust my bed, its loneliest wastesMy dwelling, and its meanest things my mates:Clad in no prouder garb than outcasts wear,Fed with no meats save what the charitableGive of their will, sheltered by no more pompThan the dim cave lends or the jungle-bush.This will I do because the woful cryOf life and all fl esh living cometh upInto my ears, and all my soul is fullOf pity for the sickness of this world;Which I will heal, if healing may be foundBy uttermost renouncing and strong strife.For which of all the great and lesser godsHave power or pity? Who hath seen them — who?What have they wrought to help their worshippers?How hath it steaded man to pray, and payTithes of the corn and oil, to chant the charms,To slay the shrieking sacrifi ce, to rearThe stately fane, to feed the priests, and callOn Vishnu, Shiva, Surya, who saveNone — not the worthiest — from the griefs that teachThose litanies of fl attery and fearAscending day by day, like wasted smoke?Hath any of my brothers ’scaped thereby90The aches of life, the stings of love and loss,The fi ery fever and the ague-shake,The slow, dull, sinking into withered age,The horrible dark death — and what beyondWaits — till the whirling wheel comes up again,And new lives bring new sorrows to be borne,New generations for the new desiresWhich have their end in the old mockeries?Hath any of my tender sisters foundFruit of the fast or harvest of the hymn,Or brought one pang the less at bearing-timeFor white curds offered and trim tulsi-leaves?Nay; it may be some of the Gods are goodAnd evil some, but all in action weak;Both pitiful and pitiless, and both —As men are — bound upon this wheel of change,Knowing the former and the after lives.For so our scriptures truly seem to teach,That — once, and wheresoe’er, and whence begun —Life runs its rounds of living, climbing upFrom mote, and gnat, and worm, reptile and fi sh,Bird and shagged beast, man, demon, deva, God,To clod and mote again; so are we kinTo all that is; and thus, if one might saveMan from his curse, the whole wide world should share91The lightened horror of this ignoranceWhose shadow is chill fear, and crueltyIts bitter pastime.Yea, if one might save!And means must be! There must be refuge! MenPerished in winter-winds till one smote fi reFrom fl int-stones coldly hiding what they held,The red spark treasured from the kindling sun.They gorged on fl esh like wolves, till one sowed corn,Which grew a weed, yet makes the life of man;They mowed and babbled till some tongue struck speech,And patient fi ngers framed the lettered sound.What good gift have my brothers, but it cameFrom search and strife and loving sacrifi ce?If one, then, being great and fortunate,Rich, dowered with health and ease, from birth designedTo rule — if he would rule — a King of kings;If one, not tired with life’s long day but gladI’ the freshness of its morning, one not cloyedWith love’s delicious feasts, but hungry still;If one not worn and wrinkled, sadly sage,But joyous in the glory and the graceThat mix with evils here, and free to chooseEarth’s loveliest at his will; one even as I,Who ache not, lack not, grieve not, save with griefsWhich are not mine, except as I am man; —92If such a one, having so much to give,Gave all, laying it down for love of men,And thenceforth spent himself to search for truth,Wringing the secret of deliverance forth,Whether it lurk in hells or hide in heavens,Or hover, unrevealed, nigh unto all:Surely at last, far off, sometime, somewhere,The veil would lift for his deep-searching eyes,The road would open for his painful feet,That should be won for which he lost the world,And Death might fi nd him conqueror of death.This will I do, who have a realm to lose,Because I love my realm, because my heartBeats with each throb of all the hearts that ache,Known and unknown, these that are mine and thoseWhich shall be mine, a thousand million moreSaved by this sacrifi ce I offer now,Oh, summoning stars! I come! Oh, mournful earth.For thee and thine I lay aside my youth,My throne, my joys, my golden days, my nights,My happy palace — and thine arms, sweet Queen!Harder to put aside than all the rest!Yet thee, too, I shall save, saving this earth;And that which stirs within thy tender womb,My child, the hidden blossom of our loves,93Whom if I wait to bless my mind will fail.Wife! child! father! and people! ye must shareA little while the anguish of this hourThat light may break and all fl esh learn the Law.Now am I fi xed, and now I will depart,Never to come again till what I seekBe found — if fervent search and strife avail.”So, with his brow he touched her feet, and bentThe farewell of fond eyes, unutterable,Upon her sleeping face, still wet with tears;And thrice around the bed in reverence,As though it were an altar, softly steppedWith clasped hands laid upon his beating heart,“For never,” spake he, “lie I there again!”And thrice he made to go, but thrice came back,So strong her beauty was, so large his love:Then, o’er his head drawing his cloth, he turnedAnd raised the purdah ’ s edge:There drooped, close-hushed,In such sealed sleep as water-lilies know,The lovely garden of his Indian girls;Those twin dark-petalled lotus-buds of all —Gunga and Gotami — on either side,94And those, their silk-leaved sisterhood, beyond [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]