But the King yet spake:—­
     “’Tis known that none can hurt or help the dead. 
     They, the delightful ones, who sank and died,
     Following my footsteps, could not live again
     Though I had turned,—­therefore I did not turn;
     But could help profit, I had stayed to help. 
     There be four sins, O Sakra, grievous sins: 
     The first is making suppliants despair,
     The second is to slay a nursing wife,
     The third is spoiling Brahmans’ goods by force,
     The fourth is injuring an ancient friend. 
     These four I deem not direr than the crime,
     If one, in coming forth from woe to weal,
     Abandon any meanest comrade then.”

     Straight as he spake, brightly great Indra smiled;
     Vanished the hound, and in its stead stood there
     The Lord of Death and Justice, Dharma’s self! 
     Sweet were the words which fell from those dread lips,
     Precious the lovely praise:—­“O thou true King,
     Thou that dost bring to harvest the good seed
     Of Pandu’s righteousness; thou that hast ruth
     As he before, on all which lives!—­O son! 
     I tried thee in the Dwaita wood, what time
     They smote thy brothers, bringing water; then
     Thou prayedst for Nakula’s life—­tender and just—­
     Nor Bhima’s nor Arjuna’s, true to both,
     To Madri as to Kunti, to both queens. 
     Hear thou my word!  Because thou didst not mount
     This car divine, lest the poor hound be shent
     Who looked to thee, lo! there is none in heaven
     Shall sit above thee, King!—­Bharata’s son! 
     Enter thou now to the eternal joys,
     Living and in thy form.  Justice and Love
     Welcome thee, Monarch! thou shalt throne with us.”

HE AND SHE

     “She is dead!” they said to him:  “come away;
     Kiss her and leave her,—­thy love is clay!”

     They smoothed her tresses of dark-brown hair;
     On her forehead of stone they laid it fair;

     Over her eyes that gazed too much
     They drew the lids with a gentle touch;

     With a tender touch they closed up well
     The sweet thin lips that had secrets to tell;

     About her brows and beautiful face
     They tied her veil and her marriage lace,

     And drew on her white feet her white-silk shoes,—­
     Which were the whitest no eye could choose,—­

     And over her bosom they crossed her hands,
     “Come away!” they said, “God understands.”

     And there was silence, and nothing there
     But silence, and scents of eglantere,

     And jasmine, and roses and rosemary;
     And they said, “As a lady should lie, lies she.”

     And they held their breath till they left the room,
     With a shudder, to glance at its stillness and gloom.