PART OF THE SONG OF THE DEVAS TO PRINCE SIDDARTHA

From Sir Edwin Arnold's « Light of Asia ».

We are the voices of the wandering wind Which moan for rest ; and rest can never find ; Such as the wind is, so is mortal life, A moan, a sigh!, a sob, a storm, a strife. Wherefore and whence we are you cannot know. Nor where life springs, nor whither life doth go; We are as ye are, ghosts from the inane. What pleasure have we of our changeful pain ? 0 Maya's son ! because we roam through earth We moan upon these strings : we make no mirth. So many woes we see in many lands, So many streaming eyes and wringing hands. The first Truth is of Sorrow. Be not mocked ! Life which ye prize is long drawn agony : Only its pains abide; its pleasures are As birds which light and fly.

Ache of the birth, ache of the helpless days, Ache of hot youth and ache of manhood's prime ; Ache of the chill grey years and choking death, These fill your piteous time.

LABMUS ET SOURIRES 481

Ask of the sick, the mourners, ask of Time

Who tottereth on his staff, lone and forlorn : « Likest thou life » — these say the babe is wise That weepeth, — being born.