And now his cup with every blessing filled
  Full to the brim, to overflowing full,
  What more has life to give or heart to wish? 
  Stately in form, with every princely grace,
  A very master of all manly arts,
  His gentle manners making all his friends,
  His young blood bounding on in healthful flow,
  His broad domains rich in all earth can yield,
  Guarded by nature and his people’s love,
  And now that deepest of all wants supplied,
  The want of one to share each inmost thought,
  Whose sympathy can soothe each inmost smart,
  Whose presence, care and loving touch can make
  The palace or the humblest cottage home,
  His life seemed rounded, perfect, full, complete. 
  And they were happy as the days glide on,
  And when at night, locked in each other’s arms,
  They sink to rest, heart beating close to heart,
  Their thoughts all innocence and trust and love,
  It almost seemed as if remorseless Time
  Had backward rolled his tide, and brought again
  The golden age, with all its peace and joy,
  And our first parents, ere the tempter came,
  Were taking sweet repose in paradise. 
  But as one night they slept, a troubled dream
  Disturbed the prince.  He dreamed he saw one come,
  As young and fair as sweet Yasodhara,
  But clad in widow’s weeds, and in her arms
  A lifeless child, crying:  “Most mighty prince! 
  O bring me back my husband and my child!”
  But he could only say “Alas! poor soul!”
  And started out of sleep he cried “Alas!”
  Which waked the sweet Yasodhara, who asked,
  “What ails my love?” “Only a troubled dream,”
  The prince replied, but still she felt him tremble,
  And kissed and stroked his troubled brow,
  And soothed him into quiet sleep again. 
  And then once more he dreamed—­a pleasing dream. 
  He dreamed he heard strange music, soft and sweet;
  He only caught its burden:  “Peace, be still!”
  And then he thought he saw far off a light,
  And there a place where all was peace and rest,
  And waking sighed to find it all a dream.

  One day this happy couple, side by side,
  Rode forth alone, Yasodhara unveiled—­
  “For why,” said she, “should those whose thoughts are pure
  Like guilty things hide from their fellow-men?”—­
  Rode through the crowded streets, their only guard
  The people’s love, strongest and best of guards;
  For many arms would spring to their defense,
  While some grim tyrant, at whose stern command
  A million swords would from their scabbards leap,
  Cringes in terror behind bolts and bars,
  Starts at each sound, and fears some hidden mine
  May into atoms blow his stately towers,
  Or that some hand unseen may strike him down,
  And thinks that poison lurks in every cup,
  While thousands are in loathsome dungeons thrust
  Or pine in exile for a look or word.