Stirred in the breeze the crowding boughs,
    And seemed to welcome him with signs,
    Onwards and on—­till Buttoo’s brows
    Are gemmed with pearls, and day declines. 
    Then in a grassy open space
    He sits and leans against a tree,
    To let the wind blow on his face
    And look around him leisurely.

    Herds, and still herds, of timid deer
    Were feeding in the solitude,
    They knew not man, and felt no fear,
    And heeded not his neighborhood,
    Some young ones with large eyes and sweet
    Came close, and rubbed their foreheads smooth
    Against his arms, and licked his feet,
    As if they wished his cares to soothe.

    “They touch me,” he exclaimed with joy,
    “They have no pride of caste like men,
    They shrink not from the hunter-boy,
    Should not my home be with them then? 
    Here in this forest let me dwell,
    With these companions innocent,
    And learn each science and each spell
    All by myself in banishment.

    A calm, calm life, and it shall be
    Its own exceeding great reward! 
    No thoughts to vex in all I see,
    No jeers to bear or disregard;—­
    All creatures and inanimate things
    Shall be my tutors; I shall learn
    From beast, and fish, and bird with wings,
    And rock, and stream, and tree, and fern.

    With this resolve, he soon began
    To build a hut, of reeds and leaves,
    And when that needful work was done
    He gathered in his store, the sheaves
    Of forest corn, and all the fruit,
    Date, plum, guava, he could find,
    And every pleasant nut and root
    By Providence for man designed,

    A statue next of earth he made,
    An image of the teacher wise,
    So deft he laid, the light and shade,
    On figure, forehead, face and eyes,
    That any one who chanced to view
    That image tall might soothly swear,
    If he great Dronacharjya knew,
    The teacher in his flesh was there.

    Then at the statue’s feet he placed
    A bow, and arrows tipped with steel,
    With wild-flower garlands interlaced,
    And hailed the figure in his zeal
    As Master, and his head he bowed,
    A pupil reverent from that hour
    Of one who late had disallowed
    The claim, in pride of place and power.

    By strained sense, by constant prayer,
    By steadfastness of heart and will,
    By courage to confront and dare,
    All obstacles he conquered still;
    A conscience clear—­a ready hand,
    Joined to a meek humility,
    Success must everywhere command,
    How could he fail who had all three!

    And now, by tests assured, he knows
    His own God-gifted wondrous might,
    Nothing to any man he owes,
    Unaided he has won the fight;
    Equal to gods themselves—­above
    Wishmo and Drona—­for his worth
    His name, he feels, shall be with love
    Reckoned with great names of the earth.