Arnold The Poetical Works of Edwin Arnold

The Light of Asia, Light of the World or The Great Consummation, The Indian Song of Songs...
1. Auflage 2017
ISBN: 978-80-7583-795-0
Verlag: Musaicum Books
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, 490 Seiten

The Poetical Works of Edwin Arnold is a collection of poems that showcases Arnold's literary talent and profound spirituality. Written in a lyrical and picturesque style, the poems transport readers to exotic locations and explore themes of love, nature, and Eastern philosophy. Arnold's works are deeply influenced by his travels to the East, particularly India and Japan, and his unique perspective shines through in his evocative and sensory-rich writing. The book is a testament to Arnold's skill as a wordsmith and his ability to capture the beauty and spirituality of the world in verse. Edwin Arnold was a British poet and journalist known for his travels and fascination with Eastern culture. His experiences in India and Japan greatly influenced his work, leading him to incorporate elements of Eastern spirituality and philosophy into his poetry. Arnold's deep connection to Eastern traditions is evident in The Poetical Works of Edwin Arnold, where readers can see his admiration for the mystical and transcendent aspects of life. I highly recommend The Poetical Works of Edwin Arnold to readers who appreciate vivid and contemplative poetry that delves into themes of spirituality and nature. Arnold's unique perspective and beautiful writing style make this collection a must-read for poetry enthusiasts and lovers of Eastern philosophy.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Arnold, Edwin

Leseproben

Book The Second
Table of Contents Now, when our Lord was come to eighteen years, The King commanded that there should be built Three stately houses, one of hewn square beams With cedar lining, warm for winter days; One of veined marbles, cool for summer heat; And one of burned bricks, with blue tiles bedecked, Pleasant at seed-time, when the champaks bud— Subha, Suramma, Ramma, were their names. Delicious gardens round about them bloomed, Streams wandered wild and musky thickets stretched, With many a bright pavilion and fair lawn In midst of which Siddartha strayed at will, Some new delight provided every hour; And happy hours he knew, for life was rich, With youthful blood at quickest; yet still came The shadows of his meditation back, As the lake's silver dulls with driving clouds. Which the King marking, called his Ministers: "Bethink ye, sirs I how the old Rishi spake," He said, "and what my dream-readers foretold. This boy, more dear to me than mine heart's blood, Shall be of universal dominance, Trampling the neck of all his enemies, A King of kings—and this is in my heart;— Or he shall tread the sad and lowly path Of self-denial and of pious pains, Gaining who knows what good, when all is lost Worth keeping; and to this his wistful eyes Do still incline amid my palaces. But ye are sage, and ye will counsel me; How may his feet be turned to that proud road Where they should walk, and all fair signs come true Which gave him Earth to rule, if he would rule?" The eldest answered, "Maharaja! love Will cure these thin distempers; weave the spell Of woman's wiles about his idle heart. What knows this noble boy of beauty yet, Eyes that make heaven forgot, and lips of balm? Find him soft wives and pretty playfellows; The thoughts ye cannot stay with brazen chains A girl's hair lightly binds." And all thought good, But the King answered, "if we seek him wives, Love chooseth ofttimes with another eye; And if we bid range Beauty's garden round, To pluck what blossom pleases, he will smile And sweetly shun the joy he knows not of." Then said another, "Roams the barasingh Until the fated arrow flies; for him, As for less lordly spirits, some one charms, Some face will seem a Paradise, some form Fairer than pale Dawn when she wakes the world. This do, my King! Command a festival Where the realm's maids shall be competitors In youth and grace, and sports that Sakyas use. Let the Prince give the prizes to the fair, And, when the lovely victors pass his seat, There shall be those who mark if one or two Change the fixed sadness of his tender cheek; So we may choose for Love with Love's own eyes, And cheat his Highness into happiness." This thing seemed good; wherefore upon a day The criers bade the young and beautiful Pass to the palace, for 't was in command To hold a court of pleasure, and the Prince Would give the prizes, something rich for all, The richest for the fairest judged. So flocked Kapilavastu's maidens to the gate, Each with her dark hair newly smoothed and bound, Eyelashes lustred with the soorma-stick, Fresh-bathed and scented; all in shawls and cloths Of gayest; slender hands and feet new-stained With crimson, and the tilka-spots stamped bright. Fair show it was of all those Indian girls Slow-pacing past the throne with large black eyes Fixed on the ground, for when they saw the Prince More than the awe of Majesty made beat Their fluttering hearts, he sate so passionless, Gentle, but so beyond them. Each maid took With down-dropped lids her gift, afraid to gaze; And if the people hailed some lovelier one Beyond her rivals worthy royal smiles, She stood like a scared antelope to touch The gracious hand, then fled to join her mates Trembling at favour, so divine he seemed, So high and saint-like and above her world. Thus filed they, one bright maid after another, The city's flowers, and all this beauteous march Was ending and the prizes spent, when last Came young Yasodhara, and they that stood Nearest Siddartha saw the princely boy Start, as the radiant girl approached. A form Of heavenly mould; a gait like Parvati's; the Eyes like a hind's in love-time, face so fair Words cannot paint its spell; and she alone Gazed full-folding her palms across her breasts On the boy's gaze, her stately neck unbent. "Is there a gift for me?" she asked, and smiled. "The gifts are gone," the Prince replied, "yet take This for amends, dear sister, of whose grace Our happy city boasts;" therewith he loosed The emerald necklet from his throat, and clasped Its green beads round her dark and silk-soft waist; And their eyes mixed, and from the look sprang love. Long after—when enlightenment was full— Lord Buddha—being prayed why thus his heart Took fire at first glance of the Sakya girl, Answered, "We were not strangers, as to us And all it seemed; in ages long gone by A hunter's son, playing with forest girls By Yamun's spring, where Nandadevi stands, Sate umpire while they raced beneath the firs Like hares at eve that run their playful rings; One with flower-stars crowned he, one with long plumes Plucked from eyed pheasant and the junglecock, One with fir-apples; but who ran the last Came first for him, and unto her the boy Gave a tame fawn and his heart's love beside. And in the wood they lived many glad years, And in the wood they undivided died. Lo! as hid seed shoots after rainless years, So good and evil, pains and pleasures, hates And loves, and all dead deeds, come forth again Bearing bright leaves or dark, sweet fruit or sour. Thus I was he and she Yasodhara; And while the wheel of birth and death turns round, That which hath been must be between us two." But they who watched the Prince at prize-giving Saw and heard all, and told the careful King How sate Sidddrtha heedless till there passed Great Suprabuddha's child, Yasodhara; And how—at sudden sight of her—he changed, And how she gazed on him and he on her, And of the jewel-gift, and what beside Passed in their speaking glance. The fond King smiled: "Look! we have found a lure; take counsel now To fetch therewith our falcon from the clouds. Let messengers be sent to ask the maid In marriage for my son." But it was law With Sakyas, when any asked a maid Of noble house, fair and desirable, He must make good his skill in martial arts Against all suitors who should challenge it; Nor might this custom break itself for kings. Therefore her father spake: "Say to the King, The child is sought by princes far and near; If thy most gentle son can bend the bow, Sway sword, and back a horse better than they, Best would he be in all and best to us But how shall this be, with his cloistered ways?" Then the King's heart was sore, for now the Prince Begged sweet Yasodhara for wife—in vain, With Devadatta foremost at the bow, Ardjuna master of all fiery steeds, And Nanda chief in sword-play; but the Prince Laughed low and said, "These things, too, I have learned; Make proclamation that thy son will meet All comers at their chosen games. I think I shall not lose my love for such as these." So 't was given forth that on the seventh day The Prince Siddartha summoned whoso would To match with him in feats of manliness, The victor's crown to be Yasodhara. Therefore, upon the seventh day, there went The Sakya lords and town and country round Unto the maidan; and the maid went too Amid her kinsfolk, carried as a bride, With music, and with litters gaily dight, And gold-horned oxen, flower-caparisoned. Whom Devadatta claimed, of royal line, And Nanda and Ardjuna, noble both, The flower of all youths there, till the Prince came Riding his white horse Kantaka, which neighed, Astonished at this great strange world without Also Siddartha gazed with wondering eyes On all those people born beneath the throne, Otherwise housed than kings, otherwise fed, And yet so like—perchance—in joys and griefs. But when the Prince saw sweet Yasodhara, Brightly he smiled, and drew his silken rein, Leaped to the earth from Kantaka's broad back, And cried, "He is not worthy of this pearl Who is not...