Cut out in galleries, with vaulted roofs[1]
  Upborne upon cyclopean columns vast,
  Chiseled with art, their capitals adorned
  With lions, elephants, and bulls, life size,
  Once dedicate to many monstrous gods
  Before the Aryan race as victors came,
  Then prisons, granaries and magazines,
  Now only known to bandits and wild beasts. 
  This cliff, extending at each end, bends north,
  And rises in two mountain-chains that end
  In two vast snow-capped Himalayan peaks,
  Between which runs a glittering glacial stream,
  A mighty moving mass of crystal ice,
  Crushing the rocks in its resistless course;
  From which bursts forth a river that had made
  Of all this valley one great highland lake,
  Which on one side had burst its bounds and cut
  In myriad years a channel through the rock,
  So narrow that a goat might almost leap
  From cliff to cliff—­these cliffs so smooth and steep
  The eagles scarce could build upon their sides;
  This yawning chasm so deep one scarce could hear
  The angry waters roaring far below.

  This stream, guided by art, now fed a lake
  Above the city and behind this cliff,
  Which, guided thence in channels through the rock,
  Fed many fountains, sending crystal streams
  Through every street and down the terraced hill,
  And through the plain in little silver streams,
  Spreading the richest verdure far and wide.[2]
  Here was the seat of King Suddhodana,
  His royal park, walled by eternal hills,
  Where trees and shrubs and flowers all native grew;
  For in its bounds all the four seasons met,
  From ever-laughing, ever-blooming spring
  To savage winter with eternal snows. 
  Here stately palms, the banyan’s many trunks,
  Darkening whole acres with its grateful shade,
  And bamboo groves, with graceful waving plumes,
  The champak, with its fragrant golden flowers,
  Asokas, one bright blaze of brilliant bloom,
  The mohra, yielding food and oil and wine,
  The sacred sandal and the spreading oak,
  The mountain-loving fir and spruce and pine,
  And giant cedars, grandest of them all,
  Planted in ages past, and thinned and pruned
  With that high art that hides all trace of art,[3]
  Were placed to please the eye and show their form
  In groves, in clumps, in jungles and alone.

  Here all a forest seemed; there open groves,
  With vine-clad trees, vines hanging from each limb,
  A pendant chain of bloom, with shaded drives
  And walks, with rustic seats, cool grots and dells,
  With fountains playing and with babbling brooks,
  And stately swans sailing on little lakes,
  While peacocks, rainbow-tinted shrikes, pheasants,
  Glittering like precious stones, parrots, and birds
  Of all rich plumage, fly from tree to tree,
  The whole scene vocal with sweet varied