Lascivious Lust, whose very touch defiles,
  Poisoning the blood, polluting all within;
  And greedy Gluttony, most gross of all,
  Whose ravening maw forever asks for more—­
  To that delightful garden near his way,
  To tempt the Master, their true forms concealed—­
  For who so gross that such coarse hags could tempt?—­
  But clothed instead in youthful beauty’s grace. 
  And now he saw him pass unmoved by lust,
  Nor yet with cold, self-righteous pride puffed up,
  But breathing pity from his inmost soul
  E’en for the ministers of vice themselves.

  Defeated, not discouraged, still he thought
  To try one last device, for well he knew
  That Buddha’s steps approached the sacred tree
  Where light would dawn and all his power would end. 
  Upon a seat beside the shaded path,
  A seeming aged Brahman, Mara sat,
  And when the prince approached, his tempter rose,
  Saluting him with gentle stateliness,
  Saluted in return with equal grace.

  “Whither away, my son?” the tempter said,
  “If you to Gaya now direct your steps,
  Perhaps your youth may cheer my lonely age.” 
  “I go to seek for light,” the prince replied,
  “But where it matters not, so light be found.”

  But Mara answered him:  “Your search is vain. 
  Why seek to know more than the Vedas teach? 
  Why seek to learn more than the teachers know? 
  But such is youth; the rosy tints of dawn
  Tinge all his thoughts.  ‘Excelsior!’ he cries,
  And fain would scale the unsubstantial clouds
  To find a light that knows no night, no change;
  We Brahmans chant our hymns in solemn wise,
  The vulgar listen with profoundest awe;
  But still our muffled heart-throbs beat the march
  Onward, forever onward, to the grave,
  When one ahead cries, ‘Lo!  I see a light!’
  And others clutch his garments, following on. 
  Till all in starless darkness disappear,
  There may be day beyond this starless night,
  There may be life beyond this dark profound—­
  But who has ever seen that changeless day? 
  What steps have e’er retraced that silent road? 
  Fables there are, hallowed by hoary age,
  Fables and ancient creeds, that men have made
  To give them power with ignorance and fear;
  Fables of gods with human passions filled: 
  Fables of men who walked and talked with gods;
  Fables of kalpas passed, when Brahma slept
  And all created things were wrapped in flames,
  And then the floods descended, chaos reigned,
  The world a waste of waters, and the heavens
  A sunless void, until again he wakes,
  And sun and moon and stars resume their rounds,
  Oceans receding show the mountain-tops,
  And then the hills and spreading plains—­
  Strange fables all, that crafty men have feigned. 
  Why waste your time pursuing such vain dreams—­
  As some benighted travelers chase false