rise.  His followers round him, in a circle gathered, sigh dolefully:  “The eye of the world is now put out!” The wind is hushed, the forest streams are silent, no voice is heard of bird or beast.  The trees sweat out large flowing drops, flowers and leaves out of season singly fall, whilst men and Devas, not yet free from desire, are filled with overwhelming fear.  Thus were they like men wandering through the arid desert, the road full dangerous, who fail to reach the longed-for hamlet; full of fear they go on still, dreading they might not find it, their heart borne down with fear they faint and droop.  And now Tathagata, aroused from sleep, addressed Ananda thus:  “Go! tell the Mallas, the time of my decease is come; they, if they see me not, will ever grieve and suffer deep regret.”  Ananda listening to the bidding of his master, weeping went along the road.  And then he told those Mallas all—­“The lord is near to death.”  The Mallas hearing it, were filled with great, excessive grief.  The men and women hurrying forth, bewailing as they went, came to the spot where Buddha was; with garments torn and hair dishevelled, covered with dust and sweat they came.  With piteous cries they reached the grove, as when a Deva’s day of merit comes to an end, so did they bow weeping and adoring at the feet of Buddha, grieving to behold his failing strength.  Tathagata, composed and quiet, spake:  “Grieve not! the time is one for joy; no call for sorrow or for anguish here; that which for ages I have aimed at, now am I just about to obtain; delivered now from the narrow bounds of sense, I go to the place of never-ending rest and peace.  I leave these things, earth, water, fire, and air, to rest secure where neither birth nor death can come.  Eternally delivered there from grief, oh! tell me! why should I be sorrowful?  Of yore on Sirsha’s mount, I longed to rid me of this body, but to fulfil my destiny I have remained till now with men in the world; I have kept this sickly, crumbling body, as dwelling with a poisonous snake; but now I am come to the great resting-place, all springs of sorrow now forever stopped.  No more shall I receive a body, all future sorrow now forever done away; it is not meet for you, on my account, for evermore, to encourage any anxious fear.”

The Mallas hearing Buddha’s words, that he was now about to die, their minds confused, their eyes bedimmed, as if they saw before them nought but blackness, with hands conjoined, spake thus to Buddha:  “Buddha is leaving now the pain of birth and death, and entering on the eternal joy of rest; doubtless we ought to rejoice thereat.  Even as when a house is burnt a man rejoices if his friends are saved from out the flames; the gods! perhaps they rejoice—­then how much more should men!  But—­when Tathagata has gone and living things no more may see him, eternally cut off from safety and deliverance—­in thought of this we grieve and sorrow.  Like as a band of merchants crossing with careful steps a desert, with only a single guide, suddenly he dies!  Those merchants now without a protector, how can they but lament!  The present age, coming to know their true case, has found the omniscient, and looked to him, but yet has not obtained the final conquest; how will the world deride!  Even as it would laugh at one who, walking o’er a mountain full of treasure, yet ignorant thereof, hugs still the pain of poverty.”