Which found the wide wing of the foremost swan
     Broad-spread to glide upon the free blue road,
     So that it fell, the bitter arrow fixed,
     Bright scarlet blood-gouts staining the pure plumes. 
     Which seeing, Prince Siddartha took the bird
     Tenderly up, rested it in his lap,—­
     Sitting with knees crossed, as Lord Buddha sits,—­
     And, soothing with a touch the wild thing’s fright,
     Composed its ruffled vans, calmed its quick heart,
     Caressed it into peace with light kind palms
     As soft as plantain leaves an hour unrolled;
     And while the left hand held, the right hand drew
     The cruel steel forth from the wound, and laid
     Cool leaves and healing honey on the smart. 
     Yet all so little knew the boy of pain,
     That curiously into his wrist he pressed
     The arrow’s barb, and winced to feel it sting,
     And turned with tears to soothe his bird again. 
     Then some one came who said, “My Prince hath shot
     A swan, which fell among the roses here;
     He bids me pray you send it.  Will you send?”
     “Nay,” quoth Siddartha:  “If the bird were dead,
     To send it to the slayer might be well,
     But the swan lives; my cousin hath but killed
     The godlike speed which throbbed in this white wing.” 
     And Devadatta answered, “The wild thing,
     Living or dead, is his who fetched it down;
     ’Twas no man’s in the clouds, but fallen ’tis mine. 
     Give me my prize, fair cousin.”  Then our Lord
     Laid the swan’s neck beside his own smooth cheek
     And gravely spake:—­“Say no! the bird is mine,
     The first of myriad things which shall be mine
     By right of mercy and love’s lordliness. 
     For now I know, by what within me stirs. 
     That I shall teach compassion unto men
     And be a speechless world’s interpreter,
     Abating this accursed flood of woe. 
     Not man’s alone; but if the Prince disputes,
     Let him submit this matter to the wise
     And we will wait their word.”  So was it done;
     In full divan the business had debate,
     And many thought this thing and many that,
     Till there arose an unknown priest who said,
     “If life be aught, the savior of a life
     Owns more the living thing than he can own
     Who sought to slay; the slayer spoils and wastes,
     The cherisher sustains:  give him the bird.” 
     Which judgment all found just; but when the King
     Sought out the sage for honor, he was gone;
     And some one saw a hooded snake glide forth. 
     The gods come oft-times thus!  So our Lord Buddha
     Began his works of mercy.