Tawney
HUNDRED STANZAS ON ETHICS AND POLITICS
Eternal, Holy Spirit, free from bonds of space and time, Whose essence is self-knowledge, Thee I call to bless my rhyme.
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On Fools
She whom I worship night and day, she loathes my very sight, And on my neighbour dotes, who in another takes delight; A third she in my humble self nothing but good can see: Now out upon the god of love, and him, and them, and me!
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Easy is a fool to manage, easier still a man of sense, Brahma's self is foiled by one of little brains and great pretence.
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Snatch a jewel, if it please you, from the tiger's ravening throat; Cross the ocean, though its billows toss in foamwreaths round your boat; Fearless twine an angry cobra like a garland round your head; But with fools forbear to argue,—better strive to wake the dead.
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If you squeeze with might and main, Oil from sand you may obtain; If with parching thirst you burn, Some mirage may serve your turn; If you wander far and wide, Rabbits' horns may grace your side; But you'll never—trust my rule— Please a headstrong, bumptious fool.
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As well attempt to pierce with flowers the diamond of the mine, As well attempt with honey-drops to sweeten ocean's brine, As well go bind with lotus-bands the lord of forest herds, As strive to lead in wisdom's ways the bad with sugared words.
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When the Creator made the dolt, He left him not without his bolt; That fool shows best the wise among Who strokes his beard and holds his tongue.
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When but a little I had learned, in my own partial eyes I seemed a perfect Solon and immeasurably wise; But when a little higher I had climbed in wisdom's school, The fever-fit was over and I knew myself a fool.
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See that _pariah_ making off there with a filthy greasy bone, How he'll mumble and enjoy it when he finds himself alone! Not, if Indra's self reproved him, would he blush and leave his treat, For the mean abhor no meanness if it only yield them meat.
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From Heaven to Siva's head, and thence to Himalaya's snows, To India's plain, thence to the main, the sacred Ganges flows— A sad descent! hut rivers go astray, like foolish men, From heaven's crown they tumble down and never rise again.
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Water will serve to put out fire, umbrellas 'gainst the heat, A sharp hook guides the elephant, the ox and ass we beat, Disease we cure with doctor's stuff, the serpent's bite with charms,— Against the fool, the worst of ills, Nature provides no arms.
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Deem him who verse and music scorns A beast without the tail and horns; What though he never feed on grass, I hold him none the less an ass.
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Those slaves who neither fast nor give, Unjust, unthinking, idle live, Are beasts, though men by right of birth, Unwieldy burdens, cumbering earth.
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I'd sooner live in mountain caves with lions, bears, and apes, Than dwell in Indra's heavenly halls with brainless human shapes.
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The Praise of the Wise Man
Kings in whose country tuneful bards are found Naked and starving, though for lore renowned, Are voted dullards by all men of sense; Poets are ever lords, though short of pence, And he who spurns the diamond's flawless ray Himself degrades, not that he flings away.
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Those who possess that treasure which no thief can take away, Which, though on suppliants freely spent, increaseth day by day, A source of inward happiness which shall outlast the earth— To them e'en kings should yield the palm, and own their higher worth.
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Scorn not those sages who have scaled the topmost heights of truth;   Who snap the cords of wealth like bonds of straw.   For lotus-strings will never hold in awe Th' infuriate sovereign of the herd, drunk with the pride of youth.
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Neither rings, bright chains, nor bracelets, perfumes, flowers, nor well-trimmed hair, Grace a man like polished language, th' only jewel he should wear.
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Knowledge is man's highest beauty, knowledge is his hidden treasure, Chief of earthly blessings, bringing calm contentment, fame, and pleasure; Friends in foreign lands procuring, love of mighty princes earning; Man is but a beast without it: such a glorious god is Learning.
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Better silence far than speaking, Worse are kinsmen oft than fire, There's no balm like friendly counsel, There's no enemy like ire, Rogues have keener teeth than vipers, Brains outweigh the miser's hoard, Better modesty than jewels, Tuneful lyre than kingly sword.
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Ever liberal to kinsmen, to the stranger ever kind, Ever stern to evil-doers, ever frank to men of mind, Ever loving to the virtuous, ever loyal to the crown, Ever brave against his foemen, ever honouring the gown, Womankind distrusting ever—such the hero I would see,— Such uphold the world in order; without them 't would cease to be.
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What blessings flow from converse with the wise! All dulness leaves us, truth we learn to prize; Our hearts expand with consciousness of worth, Our minds enlarge, our glory fills the earth.
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Those bards of passion who unfold The secrets of the heart, Their glory never groweth old, Nor feels Death's fatal dart.
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A duteous son, a virtuous wife, a lord to kindness prone, A loving friend, a kinsman true, a mind of cheerful tone, A handsome shape, a well-filled purse, a soul-illumined face, Are theirs on whom great Hari smiles, and sheds peculiar grace.
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Abstinence from sin of bloodshed, and from speech of others' wives, Truth and open-handed largess, love for men of holy lives, Freedom from desire and avarice,—such the path that leads to bliss, Path which every sect may travel, and the simple cannot miss.
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Cowards shrink from toil and peril, Vulgar souls attempt and fail; Men of mettle, nothing daunted, Persevere till they prevail.
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Not to swerve from truth or mercy, not for life to stoop to shame; From the poor no gifts accepting, nor from men of evil fame; Lofty faith and proud submission,—who on Fortune's giddy ledge Firm can tread this path of duty, narrow as the sabre's edge?
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The Praise of Self-respect and Valour
Worn with hunger, faint and feeble, shorn of glory and of power, Still the king of beasts is kingly, even to his dying hour; Will he graze on hay like oxen ? No, he longs to meet once more Tusk-armed elephants in battle, and to drink their spouting gore.
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Fling a dry and gristly cow's-bone to a low-bred cur to gnaw, Straight he wags his tail delighted, though it cannot fill his maw. Lions spare the prostrate jackal, but the forest monarchs smite, E'en by fortune pressed the valiant scorns to waive his proper right.
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Dogs fawn on those who bring them meat, And grovel whimpering at their feet With upturned throat, and wag their tails in gamesome mood; But the huge elephant erect Bates not one jot of self-respect, And after thousand coaxings deigns to taste his food.
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In this revolving world the dead   Are ever born again, But he is truly born whose race   By him doth praise attain.
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Two paths are open to the proud,   As to the woodland flowers, Which flourish high above the crowd,   Or wither in the bowers.
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Rahu spares the lesser planets   As unworthy of his might, But he wreaks his lawful vengeance   On the lords of day and night.
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On his hood the serpent Sesha doth this triple world uphold, On the broad back of the tortoise he lies stretched in many a fold, On the ocean's breast the tortoise like a speck eludes the sight: Who in thought can limit greatness, or set bounds to Nature's might?
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Better had the mount Mainaka borne the brunt of Indra's ire, Than thus plunged beneath the ocean severed from his sorrowing sire: Though he saved unharmed his pinions from the blazing thunder-stone, Yet he mourns amid the waters for his self-abandoned throne.
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The sun-gem touched by Heaven's rays, Though void of sense, is all ablaze; How then can men of spirit brook A fellow-mortal's scornful look?
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A lion's whelp will boldly face th' earth-shaking monarch's rage, For valour dwells in valourous kind, without regard of age.
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On Wealth
Down to the lowest pit with rank, and gifts that all admire; Hurl virtue headlong from the steep, burn pedigrees with fire; On valour let the bolt descend: for wealth alone we pray, Without which noble qualities are vile as mouldy hay.
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With mind and senses unimpaired,   In act and voice the same, He moves among us like a ghost,   Wealth's warmth has left his frame.
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The man of means is eloquent,   Brave, handsome, noble, wise; All qualities with gold are sent,   And vanish when it flies.
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The king by evil counsel falls,   By worldliness the saint, Brahmans by want of sacred lore,   Bad friends good manners taint; Indulgence spoils a son, and he   Upon his race brings shame, Continual absence poisons love,   Neglect cools friendship's flame; Carelessness ruins husbandry,   Wrong saps a nation's health, Wine chases modesty, unthrift   And largess squander wealth.
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Three courses open lie to wealth, to give, enjoy, or lose, Who shrinketh from the former two, perforce the third doth choose.
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Less in size the polished jewel, but its rays far brighter gleam, Who regrets the dwindling sandbanks when boon autumn swells the stream? Glorious we hold the victor, though his life-blood gild the plain, Such the generous soul's undoing, that which seemeth loss is gain.
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Lo! the same man who longs for a handful of meal   As a treasure of infinite worth, When his hunger is sated, esteems not a straw   All the riches and glories of earth; Hence this moral we draw—in this transient world   Nothing 's trifling or great in itself, 'Tis the mind that projects its own hues on the mass,   Now 'tis gold, now 'tis counted but pelf.
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King, if thou wish the earth to yield to thee the milk of wealth, Cherish its offspring, let thy care be for thy people's health; For if thou watch to do them good with seldomsleeping eyes, Thy realms with golden fruits shall bloom like trees of Paradise.
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Grasping and bountiful, cruel and kind, Savage and merciful, watchful and blind, Truthful and treacherous, policy's art Changeth its shape as an actress her part.
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Fame, might, the power to give and spend, To nourish Brahmans, help a friend, These blessings are a courtier's lot; What boots his toil who gains them not?
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Fate writes upon thy brow at birth the limits of thy store, In barren wilds, on Meru's peak, 'tis neither less nor more; Then cringe thou not to wealthy men, but let thy looks be free, A pitcher from a pool is filled, as well as from the sea.
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Well spake the _châtak_ to the cloud,   " By thee alone we live, This all men know, then why require   Our prayers before thou give?"
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O _châtak_, listen but a while, and to my speech give ear— Not all alike the clouds that on the face of heaven appear, Some fertilize the earth with showers, some fruitless thunders hurl: This lesson learn—a suppliant speech is wasted on the churl.
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The description of the Wicked Man
A cruel mind intent on strife, Envying his neighbour's gold and wife, Hating the virtuous and his kin, Denotes and brands the man of sin.
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What though the scoundrel learned be, avoid him, cut him dead: Men shudder at the snake that wears a jewel in his head.
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The modest man's accounted dull, the pure a prudish knave, Th' austere a sour-faced hypocrite, the meek a heartless slave, The orator is tedious, the ascetic but a fool, The dignified is haughty, stolid and obtuse the cool, The hero savage; thus the bad do all things good despise, Each virtue with its kindred vice is tainted in their eyes.
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Treachery is of crimes the blackest,   Avarice is a world of vice, Truth is nobler far than penance,   Purity than sacrifice. Charity's the first of virtues,   Dignity doth most adorn, Knowledge triumphs unassisted,   Better death than public scorn.
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The moon when dimmed by daylight, and a maid whose charms have fled, A lake with faded lotuses, a good man ill bested, A speechless mouth, a grasping king, a scoundrel in his train, Are seven thorns that fret my soul with neverending pain.
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I would not be the kinsman of a monarch prone to ire, Not e'en the sacrificing priest unharmed can touch the fire.
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Not e'en a wonder-working saint   Can hope to please the great, The silent man is said to sulk,   The eloquent to prate, Patience is held but cowardice,   Impatience disrespect, Officiousness is impudence,   And modesty neglect.
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Those do not lead an easy life who fall into the power Of one in whom the seed of vice matures in perfect flower, Who with a herd of fawning rogues delights t' engird his throne, Whose lawless will no bonds of faith nor ties of blood doth own.
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The kindness of the bad at first   Is great, and then doth wane; The good man's love, at th' outset small,   Slowly doth bulk attain; Such difference between these two   In nature doth abide, As 'twixt the shadow of the morn   And that of eventide.
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Hunters entrap the harmless deer,   Fishers the finny brood, So bad men causeless interfere   To persecute the good.
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The Praise of the Good Man
All-hail to those who love the good,   And sinful men eschew, Who honour their religious head,   And sacred lore pursue, Who undisturbed their neighbours' wives   And neighbours' merits view, Who firm on Siva fix their faith,   And vain desires subdue!
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Firmness when fall'n on evil days, restraint when fortune smiles, Courage to look with steady eye on war's embattled files, Persuasive speech in council, and a burning thirst for fame, Joined with a love of holy writ, th' heroic soul proclaim.
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Alms to bestow in secret, and the houseless wanderer feed, To hide one's own and loud proclaim another's kindly deed, Humbly to bear prosperity, and mourn with those who weep— Behold a vow which all the saints as yet have failed to keep!
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Charity best adorns the hand   And reverence the head, Truth is the virtue of the mouth   In th' ears is scripture read, Valour lends glory to the arms,   Contentment calms the heart, Thus lofty souls, though poor, are decked   With grace in every part.
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In times of joy the hero's soul   Is soft as lotus-flower, But when misfortune's billows roll   Stands stiff as granite tower.
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Raindrops on heated iron flung dissolve in airy steam, The same on lotus-leaflets hung like rows of diamonds gleam, In sea-shells, if Arcturus shine, they harden into pearl,— E'en so doth intercourse refine and elevate the churl.
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He only can be called a son who gratifies his sire, She only is a wife who doth to please her lord aspire, He only is a friend who bides the same in weal and woe,— These blessings three the righteous gods on virtuous men bestow.
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The world conspires to honour those   Who rise by gentle arts, Who show their own heroic strain   By praising others' parts, Who patiently reproaches bear,   Nor scorned revile again, Who still to selfish ends prefer   The good of other men.
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The Path of Altruism
Trees are bowed down with weight of fruit,   Clouds big with rain hang low, So good men humbly bear success,   Nor overweening grow.
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No earrings deck the good man's ears, which still on scripture feed; His hands, still open to the poor, no golden bracelets need; The perfume of his kindly acts, like flowers in leaves concealed, Exceeds the fragrant scent which nard and sandal unguents yield.
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He brings thee joy, thy foes dismays, Thy secrets hides, proclaims thy praise, With timely gifts relieves thy need, Thus may'st thou know the "friend indeed."
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The sun awakes the lotus-bower, The moon cheers up her favourite flower, The cloud unasked its rain bestows, Self-moved the good man's bounty flows.
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Some generous souls forbear their own, and seek another's gain; Most men, neglecting not their own, their neighbour's cause maintain; Those are mere demons who would build their wealth on other's loss, But what are those who profitless their neighbour's interest cross?
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Milk to the water with it mixed its native virtues gave, Which, pitying sore its tortured friend, rushed on a flaming grave; The milk, unwilling to be left, must share its fellow's fate,— True friendship envy cannot reach, nor fiery pains abate!
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Here Vishnu sleeps, and there his foes, Yonder the suppliant hills repose, Here lurk the quenchless fires of doom,— Ocean's broad breast for all hath room.
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Subdue desire, and vanquish pride,   Bear scorn, in wrong take no delight, Speak truth, for sages' wants provide,   And follow still the path of right, Honour the worthy, love thy foes,   Hide thy own virtues, cheer the faint, Pursue renown till life doth close,   Such conduct marks the perfect saint.
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How few there are in mind and speech and body free from stain, Who fill with linked benefits earth, heaven, and Pluto's reign, Who, telling others' virtuous acts, small grains to hills increase, In whose unruffled soul expands the flower of sinless peace!
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Nor Meru nor Himâdri's heights adore, Where trees are simply trees and nothing more, For Malaya's nobler mount thy praises keep, Whose woods sweetgums and odorous balsams weep.
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The Praise of firmness
The gods with priceless jewels were not bought, Nor with the poison-chalice made aghast, Nor ceased until they held the nectar fast, The firm forsake not what they once have sought.
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Sleeping sometimes upon the ground, sometimes on gorgeous bed, Sometimes with simple herbs content, sometimes on dainties fed, One moment clothed in rags, anon ruffling in gallant show, The hero, following still his end, recks not of joy or woe.
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Mercy's the ornament of power, of courage courteous rede, Of learning modesty, of wealth bounty to those that need, Of hermits gentleness and truth, longsuffering of a king, Of all men virtuous character, whence all these glories spring.
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Let cunning statesmen praise or blame,   Let Fortune turn or go her way, Come instant death, or lingering shame,   Firm souls from virtue will not stray.
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A snake lay helpless in the box pining for lack of meat, A rat by night gnaws through the side, and yields his foe a treat, With strength recruited then the snake by that same hole escapes,— Behold how vain our efforts are! Fate all our fortune shapes.
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Flung down with force, the higher springs the ball, So good men rise victorious from their fall.
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Sloth is the foe that makes our souls his lair, Vigour the friend that saves us from despair.
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The moon her wasted orb renews,   The tree when pruned puts forth fresh leaf, Th' afflicted sage this course pursues,   Nor yields to unavailing grief.
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The Praise of Destiny
Under Vrihaspati's own eyes   Entrenched on heaven's height Wielding th' artillery of the skies,   Followed by gods in fight, Indra, in spite of all his skill,   Has seen his host give way; Strength nought avails.—To whom she will   Fortune assigns the day.
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Our fates, our minds, depend on deeds Done in the soul's career, But each can gain the wit he needs By careful conduct here.
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A bald man felt the sun's fierce rays   Scorch his defenceless head, In haste to shun the noontide blaze   Beneath a palm he fled: Prone as he lay, a heavy fruit   Crashed through his drowsy brain: Whom fate has sworn to persecute   Finds every refuge vain.
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When sun and moon eclipsed I see,   And elephants in bonds, And wise men vexed with poverty;   I own, my soul desponds.
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No wonder sages figure Fortune blind; She first creates a hero to her mind, Whom all men own the glory of the age, Then breaks her model in her childish rage.
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If thorns and briars bear no leaves we do not blame the Spring, Nor yet the sun, if blinking owls fly not till evening. That _châtaks_ gape in vain for showers is not the cloud's disgrace; Fate's sentence written on the brow no hand can e'er efface.
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The Praise of Works
Why honour gods, who must submit to Fate,   Or Fate, who gives but what our deeds have won? Upon our deeds alone depends our state   By these exalted, as by these undone.
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Mighty are works, which Brahmâ's self confined within the egg, Which forced e'en Siva, skull in hand, from house to house to beg, Made Vishnu through ten tedious births his deity disguise, Which daily bind th' unwilling sun to wander through the skies!
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Our merits in a former life   Preserve us in the midst of foes, In woods, flood, fire, in peace and strife,   On ocean waves, and mountain snows.
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Kindness can turn the bad man's heart, and fools convert to wise, Make poison into nectar-juice, and friends of enemies, Bring distant objects near: then strive that talisman to gain, Nor set thy heart on glorious gifts acquired with endless pain.
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Before he act, the man of sense Looks forward to the consequence, For heedless acts infix a dart, That rankles in the tortured heart.
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In emerald vessels tallow boil,   And light the fire with spice, With golden ploughs turn up the soil   And then sow worthless rice, Thus wiser far than if thou spend   An easy life on earth; Since all things must on works depend,   Why throw away thy birth?
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What though we climb to Meru's peak, soar birdlike through the sky, Grow rich by trade, or till the ground, or art and science ply, Or vanquish all our earthly foes, we yield to Fate's decree, Whate'er she nills can ne'er take place, whate'er she wills must be.
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Whoe'er of merit hath a plenteous store, Will savage woods a glorious city find, With gold and gems abounding every shore, All regions blissful and all people kind.
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Some verses of an opposite tendency
What is the use of living with the wise? As well be friends with those that truth despise. Who loses time suffers no loss at all, Who justly deals shall find his profit small, Count him no hero who his sense subdues, A virtuous wife's no blessing one should choose, Knowledge is not a jewel men retain, And sovereign sway's a burden on the brain.
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Once in a way the earth is blessed With one who breaks no bitter jest, But kindly speaks and all commends, Faithful to kinsmen, wife, and friends.
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Though scorned the man of constant soul Preserves unchanged his self-control, In vain men trample on the fire, For upward still its flames aspire.
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That hero whose obdurate breast is steeled   'Gainst sidelong shafts of love and anger's fire,   Nor devious drawn with cords of vain desire, Might stand against three worlds in open field.
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Whoe'er with gentle nature charms The world, all hurtful things disarms, Finds flames as mountain streamlets cool, And ocean calm as summer pool, The lion as the roe-deer meek, Mount Meru but a tiny peak, A cobra but a wreath of flowers, And poison-draughts like nectar-showers.
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Great-hearted men would sooner part with life   Than honour, as their mother ever dear,   To which in evil days they still adhere, Nor wage with self-respect unholy strife.
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Some Miscellaneous Stanzas
A woman's heart is like a glass, reflecting every face, Her secret thoughts, like mountain paths, are difficult to trace, Her fancy wavers, like the dew which lotus-leaves enclose, Her faults, like deadly Upas-buds, develop as she grows.
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Who falls in sight of either host   Upon th' ensanguined plain, Though victory and heaven be lost,   From both sides praise doth gain.
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The Boar's and Râhu's mighty deeds our reverence command; The one upheld with gleaming tusks the sea-o'erwhelmed land; The other, sorely maimed in fight, while head and throat remain, Makes shift to swallow still the foes he must release again.
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The land is limited by sea, the sea its bounds must keep, The ever-wandering orb of day measures heaven's trackless deep; All things are fettered and restrained, except the sage's mind, Which springs beyond the bourn of death, and ranges unconfined.
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Between Vishnu and Siva there's nothing to choose, Be thy home but a cave, it will serve thee as well, Man in woods and in deserts the same course pursues, And a friend's but a friend in a court or a cell.
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By tortoise, hills, and king of snakes Upheld and poised, earth's centre shakes; Men of firm faith and constant soul Swerve not, while endless ages roll.
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Does not the tortoise feel the load he bears without complaint? Is not the flaming lord of day with ceaseless wandering faint? Are not good men though sore distressed ashamed their troth to break? Great spirits love to carry through whate'er they undertake.
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Cymbals to harmonize their tone, Must first with flour be fed; So he can call all bards his own Who fills their mouths with bread.
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The mean pursue a thousand ways to satisfy their greed, But he will ne'er be chief of saints whose gain's his highest meed, The Aurva-fire drinks up the sea to still its craving maw, The cloud, to cheer a thirsty world, the waves doth upward draw.
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Hard fate to minister and bard assigned, One must new turns and one new taxes find; By honeyed language both aspire to climb, This slowly builds his power, and that his rhyme; A captious public both must toil to please, And part unthanked with liberty and ease.
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Though fortune shower her blessings everywhere,   But few will reach the poor man's lowly head;   Though rain-clouds all day long their treasures shed, Three drops at most reward the _châtak's_ prayer.
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A man should reverence the sage,   Not only when he gives advice,— The random words of prudent age,   If rightly weighed, are pearls of price.
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The good man, like a bounding ball, Springs ever upward from his fall; The wicked falls like lump of clay, And crumbles into dust away.
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What though by some untoward fate no lotus on the lake be born, The swan will ne'er, like barndoor fowl, rake in the dust for grains of corn.
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The heart of the contented man enjoys perpetual peace, The covetous pine with lust of wealth; their cravings never cease; Not Meru's peak, of gold entire, can captivate my soul, Let him, who likes it, clamber up and carry off the whole.
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From nature comes the lotus' rosy hue, By nature good men others' good pursue, And cruel men have cruel ends in view.
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Truth is the ornament of all mankind, Slim elephants delight the keeper's mind, Learning and patience are a Brahman's boast, Each creature's highest good becomes it most.
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Better to fall from mountain height,   And dash thy life out on the plain, Better th' envenomed serpent's bite,   Better the death in fiery pain, Than once to swerve from virtue's path,   Which they who lose ne'er find again.
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Abandon, fool, thy hope to see The brave man dread calamity; When the great doom shall earth o'ertake Nor seas, nor mighty hills will quake.
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The moon the lord of healing herbs,   Whose gleaming horn is Siva's crest, Is doomed with dim eclipse to pine;   None can avoid grim Fate's behest.
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A splendid palace, lovely brides, the symbols all of kingly sway, Are jewels strung on merit's thread stretching through many a toilsome day; As pearls are from a necklace shed, when breaks the bond that held them fast, Light they disperse, when merit fails, whirled from us by misfortune's blast.
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HUNDRED STANZAS ON ASCETICISM
Eternal, Holy Spirit, free from bonds of space and time, Whose essence is self-knowledge, Thee I call to bless my rhyme.
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Against the Desire of Worldly Things
Envy possesses those that know,   Great men are drunk with pride, The vulgar no discernment show;   Who shall for bards provide?
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I tremble at my merit gained in this revolving world, Bitter shall be its after-taste, when back to life I'm hurled, Those carnal pleasures won by long-continued acts of right, Lay heavy burdens on the soul and check its upward flight.
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I've boldly crossed the stormy brine, I've striven kings to please, In grave-yards plied my midnight spells, nor cured that fell disease, Earth's bowels have I searched for wealth, and melted stones with fire, Thou see'st, no doit rewards my pains, then leave me now, Desire!
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I've wandered over many lands, and reaped withal no fruit, I've laid my pride of rank aside, and pressed my baffled suit, At stranger boards, like shameless crow, I've eaten bitter bread, But fierce Desire, that raging fire, still clamours to be fed.
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Much have I borne rich hosts to please   Who love to taunt their guests, I've laughed with spirit ill at ease,   And praised their vapid jests; I've mastered wrath with strong control,   And bent the supple knee; Then, hopeless hope, why rack the soul,   Proof against all but thee?
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Morn after morn dispels the dark,   Bearing our lives away; Absorbed in cares we fail to mark   How swift our years decay; Some maddening draught hath drugged our souls,   In love with vital breath, Which still the same sad chart unrolls,   Birth, eld, disease, and death.
⟷
What man of sense e'er craves the means of life, To feed himself alone? His ragged wife, With starving children clinging to her side, And wistful looks, o'ercomes his selfish pride; Sooner than see his babes with hunger pine, He rushes forth prepared to fawn and whine.
⟷
The joys of life have ceased to please,   Honour and fame are fled, The dear-loved friends of early youth   Are numbered with the dead, Propped on a staff I limp along,   Dim mists obscure my sight, But this frail flesh still dreads the doom   Of everlasting night!
⟷
God satisfies the snake with air,   Grass to the cows is food and bed, Man's nobler soul is clogged with care,   Struggling to gain his daily bread.
⟷
I've never sought release from births by honouring Siva's feet, Nor oped by merit huge the gate of Indra's heavenly seat, Nor wandered with my youthful feres in Pleasure's giddy maze, Then vain my mother's cares and woes, and profitless my days.
⟷
I have not wasted life, but life hath wasted me, I have not chosen pain, but pain hath been my lot, Some men make Time their fool, but here Time's fool you see, I've long been dead to joy but passion dieth not.
⟷
Insults I've borne, but not with patient mind, Pleasures forborne, to which my heart inclined; Put up with hunger, nakedness, and cold, Not for the love of God, but love of Gold; Thought much on wealth, but not on Siva's feet, And broke my slumbers not to pray, but cheat; I've lived a hermit's life without his creed, Made earth a hell, but gained no heavenly meed.
⟷
Wrinkles deform my face. And hoary hairs my head. Withered my youthful grace. But avarice blooms instead.
⟷
The joys of sense will vanish soon, what do we gain thereby? Those only store up merit who in all themselves deny; When pleasures flee, they leave behind a never-ending smart, But he who hurls them from him fills with heavenly peace his heart.
⟷
As knowledge grows, content expands, and fell desire abates; But worldly joys, if long embraced, a baneful influence gain; Thus Indra, like a mortal king, hopes, trembles, loves, and hates, From having held through endless years an undisputed reign.
⟷
Of Worldly Enjoyments
I'm forced to beg my loathsome daily mess,   My couch the earth, myself my only guard, Of filthy patched unseemly clouts my dress,   And yet these worldly longings press me hard.
⟷
Against the Love of Beauty
The moth unwitting rushes on the fire,   Through ignorance the fish devours the bait,   We men know well the foes that lie in wait. Yet cannot shun the meshes of desire.
⟷
Of Evil Men and Oppressors
My drink is of the crystal brook, of fruits my banquet's spread. My frame is swathed in strips of bark, the earth's my sumptuous bed. Thus happier far, than forced to bear the upstart insolence Of those the new strong wine of wealth hath robbed of every sense.
⟷
Of Vain-glory
By mighty sages' will this world first saw its natal day, Others have conquered it, and thrown with scorn its wealth away. Others rule fourteen higher worlds all happier than ours, Why then should lords of some few towns thus vaunt their petty powers?
⟷
Of Indifference to Worldly Things
Thou art a king, I grant, but we are famed for boundless lore, Thy wealth's renowned, our skill by bards proclaimed on every shore, Between us no vast gulf is set: what though thou scorn our name, Yet we, to all indifferent, heed not thy praise or blame.
⟷
This world still groans 'neath many hundred kings   All emulous to snatch their neighbour's share, Each paltry gain some fresh enjoyment brings,   To fools whose greed should fill them with despair.
⟷
This earth is but a lump of clay girt with a briny ditch, Where hosts of squabbling kings contend, all striving to be rich. One cannot blame these grovelling slaves for cling-ing to their store, But out on those who stoop to beg at any royal door!
⟷
The Misery of a Courtier's life
What can I do in princely courts, Unskilled in vice, and idle sports, Nor singer, actor, rogue, nor clown, Nor bent on pulling others down?
⟷
Of old time learning courted saintly bliss.   Then stooped to be the slave of base desire,   But now that kings 'gainst intellect conspire Each day she plunges deeper in th' abyss.
⟷
Of the Proud Man
Those men may boast of being born, whose skulls gleam white on Śiva's head, The final meed of holy saints, and chiefs whose souls in battle fled; But oft I muse how men can swell with pride at causing those to bow. Who, if they save their precious lives, care little for the when and how.
⟷
You are a lord of acres,   But we are lords of song; And we subdue the subtle,   If you subdue the strong; The rich of you are speaking,   In me the wise believe. And if you find me irksome,   Why then — I take my leave.
⟷
Of Self-renunciation
The day of pleasure's past and gone, Long through this world we've wandered on,   And weary reached the brink: By Ganga's stream shrills forth our cry, " O Siva, Siva, Lord most high.   Help, Siva, or we sink."
⟷
When honour fades, and wealth departs, and boons are craved in vain, And friends are dead, and servants fled, and joy exchanged for pain, This course alone becomes the wise — to seek those mountain caves Whence softly flow through woods below the sanctifying waves.
⟷
Why suffer endless woes in vain The favour of the great to gain? Let false ambition's longings cease, Learn to possess thy soul in peace, And thou hast won the wishing-cap That pours earth's treasures in thy lap.
⟷
Of the Terrors that beset the Path of Pleasure
In happiness men fear disease, the haughty shrink from scorn, The rich, the wise, the men of might, dread princes, critics, foes; Envy blights virtue, eld good looks, death threatens all things born, The hermit's humble life alone gives undisturbed repose.
⟷
For life fast slipping from my hold   I've borne the last and worst disgrace, — I've sat 'mongst wealthy fools, and told   My merits with unblushing face.
⟷
We speak with awe of glorious kings, of haughty lords, and knights, Of courtiers ranged in glittering rows, of triumphs and of fights, Of tuneful bards that hymn their praise: who honours as he ought That “eloquent and mighty Death” that sweeps them into nought?
⟷
Of Time the Destroyer
Our parents long have passed away.   All old familiar faces fled. Destruction nears us day by day,   Like trees in sandy river-bed.
⟷
Where many dwellers once were seen, one only now survives, Again that house is filled with store of joyous human lives, Then all are swept away again; thus wielding night and day As dice, destruction's wedded powers with helpless mortals play.
⟷
Shall we retire to Ganga's brink.   Or cull the sweets of honeyed lays, Or court a wife whom all men praise ?   Life's short — we know not what to think.
⟷
O for those days when I shall dwell alone   Among the snowy hills by Ganga's stream, In stony torpor stiffened on a stone,   Inly conversing with the One Supreme, Rapt in devotion, dead to all beside, And deer shall fray their horns against my senseless hide.
⟷
When shall we, sick of life's entangling bands, Sit on the holy river's moonlit sands, Through windless nights, with rapture-streaming eyes, And thrice on Śiva call with plaintive cries?
⟷
Still Śiva's arm is strong to save, Still may we plunge in Gangâ's wave, Still one blue heaven bends over all, Still Time sees mortals rise and fall, Still poverty's our best defence, Enough—renounce the joys of sense.
⟷
Hope is a stream, its waves desires, by stormy passions tossed. With cruel longings lurking deep,* by light-winged visions crossed, Resolves like firmly planted trees its floods uprooting bear, Its madness swirls in eddying rings beneath its banks of care; But those, who in devotion's bark attain its further shore, Rejoice, for this unstable world enslaves their souls no more. * Like alligators; the visions are compared to birds.
⟷
I've searched for years through earth and air and sky, Nor yet one perfect saint hath met my eye, Nor have I heard of one who could restrain Desire's fierce elephant with reason's chain.
⟷
The days seem long to those who drudge for pay, And short to those who fritter life away; When shall I sit and think how vain their moans, A hermit pillowed on a bed of stones?
⟷
When all our wealth is wasted, we'll seek some calm retreat, And spend the night in thinking on Siva's holy feet. When streams the autumn moonlight into our melting hearts, How false that world will glimmer where once we played our parts.
⟷
Bark garments satisfy my needs, But you are pleased with silken weeds,   Who counts you better off than me? But woe to him whose wants are great! Contentment equals men's estate,   And makes the rich and poor agree.
⟷
Unfettered wandering, and meals from degradation free. The friendship of the wise and good; and sober piety, A heart that beats not for the world — none, that my thoughts can trace, Not e'en by strictest discipline hath gained this heavenly grace.
⟷
The hand's a lordly dish, The mouth with alms is fed, The sky's a glorious robe, The earth's a sumptuous bed, Those live in high content Who're free from passion's chain, And works with all their brood Of ignorance and pain.
⟷
King's fancies swiftly pass like coursers in the race, In vain to them we look for favour, wealth, and place. Eld robs our frame of strength, death slays us at a blow, None but the hermit's life can happiness bestow.
⟷
Our joys are short-lived as the flash   That cleaves the cloudy veil, Our life is fleeting as the mists   That drive before the gale; Youth's pleasures fade — then fix your minds   On that untroubled peace Which patient meditation brings   To those whose longings cease.
⟷
To roam some woodland hermitage where Brahmans' chants resound, And smoke of sacrificial fires blackens the trees around, Begging one's bread from cell to cell, plants in the breast no thorns. Like living poor amongst one's kin, bearing their hourly scorns.
⟷
While gaping idlers turn the head and say,   “What stamp of man can yonder pilgrim be,   Saint, sophist, outcast. Brâhman, slave, or free?” Nor pleased nor wroth the hermit wends his way.
⟷
Happy are those vvho've ceased to walk by sight,   Slain passion's snake, and make good deeds their stay. Who spend in woodland nooks the tranquil night   Illumined by the moon's autumnal ray.
⟷
Be still, my fluttering heart, and leave this crowded show Of worldly toys 'midst which thou eddiest to and fro, Abandon fleeting forms, and seek that settled state Of grounded peace enthroned above the storms of fate.
⟷
Pillowed on banks of moss, with roots and berries fed, Enwound with strips of bark, our wants shall all be sped— Off to the woodland shades, and gladly leave behind These men of stammering speech, with wealth-bewildered mind.
⟷
Abandon empty hopes, and place thy trust, my breast, In Ganga, and in him who bears the moony crest; Whoe'er confides in snakes, waves, women, bubbles, flames, Lightnings or mountain streams, his want of sense proclaims.
⟷
If song resound thy steps before,   And Dekhan lyres behind, And nymphs with jingling bracelets pour   The _Chowri's_ perfumed wind, Scorn not this world's broad easy ways.   And drink of pleasure's bowl; If not—then fix thy steadfast gaze   On that undying soul.
⟷
Kind Fortune, seek some other love, I long not for thy dower; And what to those whose lusts are dead avails thy golden shower? Leave me to beg from day to day my dole of barley-meal, The fig's broad leaf supplies a dish that none would care to steal.
⟷
Once I was thou, and thou wast I,   In perfect union blent; Say, what hath severed friendship's tie,   And souls asunder rent ?
⟷
Why sidelong cast thy languid eyne? Vain is thy hope to tangle mine. My nature's changed; no more a child With every wanton toy beguiled, To cloistered cell I'd fain withdraw. This world's bright nets I count but straw.
⟷
Tis sweet in palaces to dwell, Where music's strains voluptuous swell; 'Tis sweet to hear the loved one's voice; But wise men, of deliberate choice, Have run from these to forest glades, Assured all earthly pleasure fades, Swift as the moth in heedless game Puffs out the taper's feeble flame.
⟷
Are roots extinct in mountain caves? have streams forgot to flow? Do vests of bark and woodland fruits on trees no longer grow? Else why endure the haughty mien and eye-brows arched in scorn Of men who've scraped together wealth to which they were not born ?
⟷
Say, whither are those slabs of stone   All moist with Ganga's dew. And Dryad-haunted thickets flown,   That men can bear to sue For alms and insults at the door of some proud _parvenu_?
⟷
Mount Meru's golden mass shall melt at that last awful day, The monster-peopled seas dry up, the earth dissolve away; What hope for feeble human frames, whose breath doth come and go, As swiftly as the elephant flaps his ear to and fro?
⟷
When, when, O Siva, shall I be Lonely and calm, from passion free; My only robe the liberal air, My hand the dish that holds my fare, But able Action to uproot, The tree that bears Life's bitter fruit.
⟷
Suppose thy fortune's boundless as the main, Suppose thy years a world's great age complete, Suppose thy foes all placed beneath thy feet, And friends rewarded richly: where's thy gain?
⟷
The hermit's tattered patchwork robe, or courtier's silken weeds. One wife to tend thy home, or troops of elephants and steeds. One simple meal at close of day, or many a gorgeous feast. It matters not, be but thy soul from earthly cares released.
⟷
My faith in Siva wavereth not, I shrink from future birth, I care not for my friends or kin, I scorn the joys of earth, I love the lonely forest-glades, from worldly turmoil free, No greater bliss can fall to man than falleth unto me.
⟷
Think upon that self-developed, everlasting One Supreme, Fling aside all vain delusions, all the worldling's baseless dream, Pity those dull slaves of custom who are caught with empty toys, Kingly crowns, and thrones imperial, and a round of sensual joys.
⟷
You mount to heaven, again you sink to hell,   You roam the world around with anxious breast, And yet not e'en by chance your thought doth dwell   On Him who only gives the spirit rest.
⟷
Night follows night, and day succeedeth day, And thoughtless men hurry to work and play, But sages ought to blush when treading found, Year after year, the same dull weary round.
⟷
Stretched out at ease upon the ground, and pillowed on his arm, The houseless hermit sleeps in peace, secure from nightly harm, The breeze his fan, his lamp the moon, his canopy the sky, — What royal palace of this earth can such delights supply?
⟷
Feasts, flatteries, and idle hours   Make up a prince's day, Let not the saint employ his powers   To compass kingly sway: But quaff the ever-brimming stream   Of pure and holy mirth; Who that hath tasted bliss supreme   Can sink to joys of earth?
⟷
What profit are the Vedas, Or books of legal lore, Or those long-winded legends. Repeated o'er and o'er? What gain we by our merits? A dwelling in the skies— A miserable mansion, That men of sense despise— All these are huckstering methods, — Give me that perfect way Of self-contained fruition, Where pain is done away.
⟷
Our life is like th' unstable wave, Our bloom of youth decays. Our joys are brief as lightning flash In summer's cloudy days, Our riches fleet as swift as thought; Faith in the One Supreme Alone will bear us o'er the gulfs Of Being's stormy stream.
⟷
Can all this earth encloses Flutter the sage's breast? Say, can the darting minnow Trouble the ocean's rest?
⟷
I love the moon's soft beams, I love the grassy wood, I love to talk of verse among the wise and good, I love the fair one's face gleaming with angry tears, I think how fleeting all, and pleasure disappears.
⟷
Lonely among his kind, Breaking on alms his fast, Free as th' unfettered wind, The hermit wanders past, Of tattered rags his dress, He knows no care nor pride, He longs for quietness, And has no want beside.
⟷
My mother Earth, My kinsman Fire, Water my friend, And Wind my sire. My brother Heaven, A long adieu! By merit gained When linked to you I've purchased grace To break my chains, And merge in that Which all sustains.
⟷
While the soul's temple still stands firm, and eld still bides afar, While sense is keen, and Life with Death still wages equal war. The wise to gain the spirit's peace should strive with strong desire. What boots to dig a well when all the house is wrapped in fire?
⟷
I have not learnt the wrangler's art or less pretentious lore, Nor cleft in fight the war-beasts' skulls on Fame's broad wings to soar, Nor sipped the fair one's honeyed lip while soft the moonbeam falls;— My youth is wasted like a lamp in vast unpeopled halls.
⟷
Knowledge abates the wise man's pride, But kindles it in all beside; That loneliness which shields the saint Lets sinners sin without restraint.
⟷
The youthful freshness of my heart is worn with old decay, The beauty of my limbs hath passed unrecognized away, Grim Fate brings nigh with giant strides the unrelenting hour; What hope but in the feet of him who smote Love's wanton power?
⟷
If parching thirst dries up the throat, How sweet the brimming stream; If hunger pinches, rice and herbs Imperial dainties seem. We hug this fond belief,—that we A solid pleasure gain, When all we've done is to remove The momentary pain.
⟷
When shall I bathe in Ganga's stream and please Thee, Lord, with fruits and flowers, Thinking of that one worthy theme, on beds of stone through midnight hours, Honouring my Father in the faith, striving to lift my heart above? When shall I fling my woes aside? Help me, thou enemy of Love.
⟷
The man whose bed is made of rock, whose mansion's but a cave, Who's clothed in bark and fed on fruits, who drinks the crystal wave, Whose friends are deer, alone can boast of splendour on this earth; For he alone ne'er bows the head to power, or wealth, or birth.
⟷
Out of Banaras who can live that boasts the sage's name, Where rags are counted splendid clothes, and begging held no blame, Where gardens yield to all who need their bounteous supplies, Where saints subdue the flesh, where Death's the gate of Paradise?
⟷
Leave those proud doors where surly slaves growl out "our lord's asleep, We cannot wake him: if we do, his wrath no bounds will keep," But haunt the temple of that god who rules this mighty whole, Whose gate no ill-bred porter keeps, who fills with bliss the soul.
⟷
Our mind is but a lump of clay That Fate, grim potter, holds On sorrow's wheel that rolls alway, And, as he pleases, moulds.
⟷
Siva controls earth, heav'n, and hell, Vishnu pervades each part, Their rank in being who can tell? But Siva has my heart.
⟷
Why, Cupid, wound thy hand with twanging still the bow? Why, cuckoo, sound for nought thy soft love-moving strain? Why bashful maiden, still thy sidelong glances throw? My soul the nectarous wine of Siva's love doth drain.
⟷
What though the hermit's cloak be torn with many a rent, What though he sleep in tombs or under forest trees, Heeding not friend or foe, on self-communion bent, From pride and anger free, his mind is still at ease.
⟷
Enjoyments quickly lose their zest; of them our life is made; Then why extend the hand to grasp these flowers that bloom to fade? If for my words you care at all, then fix your constant soul On that eternal Fount of light whose beams can Love control.
⟷
Happy who dwell in mountain caves, praising the One Supreme, Upon whose breasts sleep fearless birds that drink their tears of joy, While we are sporting in the groves, and wandering by the stream Of some aerial pleasure ground, our wayward fancy's toy.
⟷
Death swallows Birth, and Youth's brief flash the jaws of Age devour, Desire of wealth eats up Content, and Love the peaceful hour, Fell Envy's tooth gnaws Virtue's bud, and snakes infest the wood, Kings' courts are overrun with knaves: thus bad things feed on good.
⟷
Hundreds of various pains and griefs uproot the health of man, Where Fortune takes up her abode mishaps soon crowd the gate, Nothing is born which Death makes not a subject of his state, How full of faults is Destiny! how ill-conceived her plan!
⟷
Hard is our lot within th' imprisoning womb, Our youth beset with separation's doom, Loathsome our age, the theme of woman's mirth, Say then, ye men, what joy ye find on earth?
⟷
A hundred years complete our span, half that is passed in night: Childhood and age devour the half of what belongs to light: The rest is torn with parting pangs, of ceaseless toil the slave; What profit in our human life, unstable as the wave?
⟷
Those who distinguish that which is from fleeting outward shows, Do well to give up wealth and joys to gain secure repose; What therefore must be said of us who cannot bear to part From that which never can be ours, on which we've set our heart?
⟷
Eld like a tiger threats our careless bliss, Diseases wound our frame like angry foes, As water from a broken pitcher, flows Our life away; and yet men do amiss.
⟷
Once in a way Dame Nature makes A perfect crystal free from stain, And then, like careless workman, breaks The piece which cost her so much pain.
⟷
The limbs contract, the gait's infirm, the teeth drop from the gums, The eyesight dims, the hearing fails, and senile drivelling comes; No more relations heed our words, our wife e'en disobeys, Our son becomes a foe: alas! what ills in length of days!
⟷
Man is an actor who plays various parts:— First comes a boy, then out a lover starts, His garb is changed for, lo! the beggar's rags! Then he's a merchant with full money-bags; Anon an aged sire, wrinkled and lean; At last death drops his curtain on the scene.
⟷
Night, day, friend, foe, dross, gems, are all the same to me, 'Twixt stones and rose-strewn beds no difference I see; In some lone hermitage I let the hours glide by, And loud on Siva call with thrice-repeated cry.
⟷
Miscellaneous Stanzas.
The man of firm and constant soul, Who nought possessing, nought desires, Nor burns with passion's raging fires, Finds happiness from pole to pole.
⟷
Time passes never to recede, But careless mortals take no heed: The woes that in past years we bore Leave us no wiser than before; What folly do we lay aside? Though sorely by our errors tried, We learn not prudence, but begin Once more a fresh career of sin.
⟷
The belly clamours for its rights, and will not be denied, Its keen-set longings cut the purse that holds our human pride, It withers virtue as the moon the lotus of the day, The mantling vine of modesty it lops and shreds away.
⟷
Let's live on offerings, sleeping on the ground, Clothed with the air, and not in courts be found.
⟷
“Rise up and bear one second's space Grim penury's awful load; Let me o'erwearied take thy place In Pluto's dark abode.”— A poor man thus a corpse bespake; The corpse, preferring death To want, would not its silence break For all his waste of breath.
⟷
Siva is chief of those who fleshly lusts despise, Though linked to Uma's form by everlasting ties; We, racked with venom-pangs which Cupid's arrow brings, Can neither leave nor yet enjoy these worldly things.
⟷
They smile and weep to gain their end, Cajole, but never trust a friend, So wise men keep from women far Shunning them like the funeral jar.
⟷
Here sounds the tuneful lyre, and there loud shrieks appal, Here is a sage discourse, and there a drunken brawl, Here maids in prime of youth, there wrinkled forms you meet; Of what consists our life, of bitter or of sweet?
⟷
With gestures forced, cracked voice, and smiling face, Your part is now to sue for rich men's grace, Half fool, half knave; but when your hair is grey What part in life's great farce remains to play?
⟷
Breath, fortune, life, and youth are swiftly ebbing tides, In this unstable world virtue alone abides.
⟷
Siva's a guiding lamp, that burns in hermits' hearts. Dispels delusion's gloom and light and heat imparts, He shrivelled like a moth the frivolous god of Love, His flame's the moon's white streak that gleams his crest above.
⟷
My soul, for Fortune sigh no more, that blind capricious fair, That dwells in princes' nods and frowns, unstable as the air; Rags are the wise man's "coat of proof;" in these from door to door We beg through wide Banaras' streets, and one hand holds our store.
⟷
That tortoise really lives its life which bears the world on high, We bless the pole star's birth, round which revolves the starry sky, But all those buzzing summer flies, that serve not others' gain, Dead to all useful purposes e'en from their birth remain.
⟷
“My house is high, my sons renowned, my wealth beyond compare, My wife is lovely, young my age” — thus thoughtless men declare, Thinking this world will last for aye, they don delusion's chains; The sage knows all will pass away, and straight this world disdains.
⟷
Revile, revilers! I, 'tis true, Cannot return your scorn: We give but what we know, for who E'er gave a rabbit's horn?
⟷
Alms are not difficult to gain, great Rama showed the way; The earth yields roots, the deer skin keeps the winter's cold away; Whether we joy or grieve we're still of destiny the slaves; Why should I leave the three-eyed god to court blind purse-proud knaves?
⟷
Why wander without end? find rest at last, my soul: What will be, must be; none can Fate's decree control, Leave thinking of the past, and let the future be, Reap joys which come by chance and unexpected flee.
⟷
Their hand their only dish, Begging their wants supplies, They sleep where Fate may wish, The world as straw they prize, Such is the hermit's life: Few souls, by Siva's might, Can win through toil and strife To that supreme delight.
⟷
Bali you've not released from hell nor Death the monster slain, Nor cleansed from spots the moon's fair disk nor put an end to pain, Nor bearing up the earth awhile eased Sesha from the load, Do you not blush to wear the wreath to matchless heroes owed?
⟷
What folly 'tis o'er musty texts to brood, Or charm with plays and songs the idle mood! All fancies vain my soul hath flung aside, Resolved in Siva only to confide.
⟷
The forest trees yield fruit which men may pluck at will, The wave runs pure and cold in many a holy rill, Soft is the bed of leaves which wind-swept creepers pour, And yet mean spirits court scorn at the rich man's door.
⟷
Begging supplies my wants, My rags keep out the cold, My faith in Siva's firm,— What need have I of gold?
⟷
The chief of saints declare no joy can vie with theirs Who fling on Siva's breast the burden of their cares, Taking no thought for wealth, by daily bounty fed, Blessed and pure, exempt from envy, pain, and dread.
⟷
Our joys are like the wave in foam-flakes hurled, Youth, life, and love like lightning come and go. Learn this, ye wise, and teach the people so, That all may know how hollow is this world.
⟷
Say, hast thou gained this bliss by long ascetic pain, Deer, that thou flatter'st not the rich nor feel'st their scorn, Nor runnest here and there some trifling boon to gain, But feed'st on tender grass, and sleep'st from eve till morn?
⟷
When maidens see a tinge of white Streak a man's hair, they shun his sight,— 'Tis like the white bone on the brink Of wells whence only outcasts drink.
⟷
Thou fool, how oft thy schemes have missed their aim! And yet this gold-mirage thy soul allures, That still thou hop'st, and still thy heart endures, Shows it is wrought of adamantine frame.
⟷
They bewilder, enchant, and deceive, Plunge in anger, delight, and despair; Woe to those who in pity receive To their credulous bosoms the fair!
⟷
A hermit's forest cell, and fellowship with deer, A harmless meal of fruit, stone beds beside the stream, Are helps to those who long for Siva's guidance here; But be the mind devout, our homes will forests seem.
⟷
Sweeter than honey are the nectar'd strains The goddess Speech sends forth to cheer our souls; Content with these and charitable doles, We will not purchase wealth with slavish pains.
⟷