At length Siddartha's natal day arrives
With joy to rich and poor, to old and young---
Not joy that wealth can buy or power command,
But real joy, that springs from real love,
Love to the good old king and noble prince.
When dawning day tinges with rosy light
The snow-capped peaks of Himalaya's chain,
The people are astir. In social groups,
The old and young, companions, neighbors, friends,
Baskets well filled, they choose each vantage-ground,
Until each hill a sea of faces shows,
A sea of sparkling joy and rippling mirth.
At trumpet-sound all eyes are eager turned
Up toward the palace gates, now open wide,
From whence a gay procession issues forth,
A chorus of musicians coming first,
And next the prince mounted on Kantaka;
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.
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