  "Ho! Master of the wondrous art! Instruct me in fair archery, And buy for aye,—a grateful heart That will not grudge to give thy fee." Thus spoke a lad with kindling eyes, A hunter's low-born son was he,— To Dronacharjya, great and wise, Who sat with princes round his knee. Up Time's fair stream far back,—oh far, The great wise teacher must be sought! The Kurus had not yet in war With the Pandava brethren fought. In peace, at Dronacharjya's feet, Magic and archery they learned, A complex science, which we meet No more, with ages past inurned. "And who art thou," the teacher said, "My science brave to learn so fain? Which many kings who wear the thread Have asked to learn of me in vain." "My name is Buttoo," said the youth, "A hunter's son, I know not Fear;" The teacher answered, smiling smooth, "Then know him from this time, my dear." Unseen the magic arrow came, Amidst the laughter and the scorn Of royal youths,—like lightning flame Sudden and sharp. They blew the horn, As down upon the ground he fell, Not hurt, but made a jest and game;— He rose,—and waved a proud farewell, But cheek and brow grew red with shame. And lo,—a single, single tear Dropped from his eyelash as he past, "My place I gather is not here; No matter,—what is rank or caste? In us is honour, or disgrace, Not out of us," 'twas thus he mused, "The question is,—not wealth or place, But gifts well used, or gifts abused." "And I shall do my best to gain The science that man will not teach, For life is as a shadow vain, Until the utmost goal we reach To which the soul points. I shall try To realize my waking dream, And what if I should chance to die? None miss one bubble from a stream." So thinking, on and on he went, Till he attained the forest's verge, The garish day was well-nigh spent, Birds had already raised its dirge. Oh what a scene! How sweet and calm! It soothed at once his wounded pride, And on his spirit shed a balm That all its yearnings purified. What glorious trees! The sombre saul On which the eye delights to rest, The betel-nut,—a pillar tall, With feathery branches for a crest, The light-leaved tamarind spreading wide, The pale faint-scented bitter neem, The seemul, gorgeous as a bride, With flowers that have the ruby's gleam, The Indian fig's pavilion tent In which whole armies might repose, With here and there a little rent, The sunset's beauty to disclose, The bamboo boughs that sway and swing 'Neath bulbuls as the south wind blows, The mangoe-tope, a close dark ring, Home of the rooks and clamorous crows, The champac, bok, and South-sea pine, The nagessur with pendant flowers Like ear-rings,—and the forest vine That clinging over all, embowers, The sirish famed in Sanscrit song Which rural maidens love to wear, The peepul giant-like and strong, The bramble with its matted hair, All these, and thousands, thousands more, With helmet red, or golden crown, Or green tiara, rose before The youth in evening's shadows brown. He passed into the forest,—there New sights of wonder met his view, A waving Pampas green and fair All glistening with the evening dew. How vivid was the breast-high grass! Here waved in patches, forest corn,— Here intervened a deep morass,— Here arid spots of verdure shorn Lay open,—rock or barren sand,— And here again the trees arose Thick clustering,—a glorious band Their tops still bright with sunset glows.— Stirred in the breeze the crowding boughs, And seemed to welcome him with signs, Onwards and on,—till Buttoo's brows Are gemmed with pearls, and day declines. Then in a grassy open space He sits and leans against a tree, To let the wind blow on his face And look around him leisurely. Herds, and still herds, of timid deer Were feeding in the solitude, They knew not man, and felt no fear, And heeded not his neighbourhood, Some young ones with large eyes and sweet Came close, and rubbed their foreheads smooth Against his arms, and licked his feet, As if they wished his cares to soothe. "They touch me," he exclaimed with joy, "They have no pride of caste like men, They shrink not from the hunter-boy, Should not my home be with them then? Here in this forest let me dwell, With these companions innocent, And learn each science and each spell All by myself in banishment. "A calm, calm life,—and it shall be Its own exceeding great reward! No thoughts to vex in all I see, No jeers to bear or disregard;— All creatures and inanimate things Shall be my tutors; I shall learn |
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