And as they pass along from street to street
  A sea of happy faces lines their way,
  Their joyful greetings answered by the prince. 
  No face once seen, no name once heard, forgot,
  While sweet Yasodhara was wreathed in smiles,
  The kind expression of her gentle heart,
  When from a little cottage by the way,
  The people making room for him to pass,
  There came an aged man, so very old
  That time had ceased to register his years;
  His step was firm, his eye, though faded, mild,
  And childhood’s sweet expression on his face. 
  The prince stopped short before him, bending low,
  And gently asked:  “What would my father have? 
  Speak freely—­what I can, I freely give.” 
  “Most noble prince, I need no charity,
  For my kind neighbors give me all unasked,
  And my poor cottage where my fathers dwelt,
  And where my children and their mother died,
  Is kept as clean as when sweet Gunga lived;
  And young and old cheer up my lonely hours,
  And ask me much of other times and men. 
  For when your father’s father was a child,
  I was a man, as young and strong as you,
  And my sweet Gunga your companion’s age. 
  But O the mystery of life explain! 
  Why are we born to tread this little round,
  To live, to love, to suffer, sorrow, die? 
  Why do the young like field-flowers bloom to fade? 
  Why are the strong like the mown grass cut down? 
  Why am I left as if by death forgot,
  Left here alone, a leafless, fruitless trunk? 
  Is death the end, or what comes after death? 
  Often when deepest sleep shuts out the world,
  The dead still seem to live, while life fades out;
  And when I sit alone and long for light
  The veil seems lifted, and I seem to see
  A world of life and light and peace and rest,
  No sickness, sin or sorrow, pain or death,
  No helpless infancy or hopeless age. 
  But we poor Sudras cannot understand—­
  Yet from my earliest memory I’ve heard
  That from this hill one day should burst a light,
  Not for the Brahmans only, but for all. 
  And when you were a child I saw a sage
  Bow down before you, calling you that light. 
  O noble, mighty prince! let your light shine,
  That men no longer grope in dark despair!”

  He spoke, and sank exhausted on the ground. 
  They gently raised him, but his life was fled. 
  The prince gave one a well-filled purse and said: 
  “Let his pile neither lack for sandal-wood
  Or any emblem of a life well spent.” 
  And when fit time had passed they bore him thence
  And laid him on that couch where all sleep well,
  Half hid in flowers by loving children brought,
  A smile still lingering on his still, cold lips,
  As if they just had tasted Gunga’s kiss,
  Soon to be kissed by eager whirling flames.

  Just then two stately Brahmans proudly passed—­
  Passed on the other side, gathering their robes
  To shun pollution from the common touch,
  And passing said:  “The prince with Sudras talks
  As friend to friend—­but wisdom comes with years.”