light
  That made him shade his blinded, dazzled eyes,
  And seated on that throne a ghastly form
  That seemed a giant human skeleton,
  But yet in motion terrible and quick
  As lightning, killing ere the thunders roll;
  His fleshless skull had on a seeming crown,
  While from his sunken sockets glared his eyes
  Like coals of fire or eyes of basilisk,
  And from his bony hand each instant flew
  Unerring darts that flew to pierce and kill,
  Piercing the infant in its mother’s arms,
  The mother when she feels her first-born’s breath,
  Piercing the father in his happy home,
  Piercing the lover tasting love’s first kiss,
  Piercing the vanquished when his banners fall,
  Piercing the victor ’mid triumphant shouts,
  Piercing the mighty monarch on his throne;
  While from a towering cypress growing near
  Every disease to which frail flesh is heir
  Like ravening vultures watch each arrow’s flight,
  And quick as thought glide off on raven’s wings
  To bring the wounded, writhing victim in—­
  As well-trained hunters mark their master’s aim,
  Then fly to bring the wounded quarry home. 
  Meanwhile a stifling stench rose from below—­
  As from a battle-field where nations met
  And fiery ranks of living valor fought,
  Now food for vultures, moldering cold and low—­
  And bleaching bones were scattered everywhere.

  Startled he wakes and rises from his couch. 
  The lamps shine down with soft and mellow light. 
  The fair Yasodhara still lay in sleep,
  But not in quiet sleep.  Her bosom heaved
  As if a sigh were seeking to escape;
  Her brows were knit as if in pain or fear,
  And tears were stealing from her close-shut lids. 
  But sweet Rahula slept, and sleeping smiled
  As if he too those cherub faces saw. 
  In haste alone he noiselessly stole forth
  To wander in the park, and cool his brow
  And calm his burdened, agitated soul. 
  The night had reached that hour preceding dawn
  When nature seems in solemn silence hushed,
  Awed by the glories of the coming day. 
  The moon hung low above the western plains;
  Unnumbered stars with double brightness shine,
  And half-transparent mists the landscape veil,
  Through which the mountains in dim grandeur rise. 
  Silent, alone he crossed the maidan wide
  Where first he saw the sweet Yasodhara,
  Where joyful multitudes so often met,
  Now still as that dark valley of his dream. 
  He passed the lake, mirror of heaven’s high vault,
  Whose ruffled waters ripple on the shore,
  Stirred by cool breezes from the snow-capped peaks;
  And heedless of his way passed on and up,
  Through giant cedars and the lofty pines,
  Over a leafy carpet, velvet soft,
  While solemn voices from their branches sound,
  Strangely in unison with his sad soul;
  And on and up until he reached a spot