"'Say, holy man, what makes thee weep
And deeply sigh? Does any fate
Malign the child await?
May heavenly powers my infant keep!

"'For thy fair infant's weal no fears
Disturb me, king,' the Rishi cried;
'No ill can such a child betide;
My own sad lot commands my tears.

"'In every grace complete, thy son
Of truth shall perfect insight gain,
And far sublimer fame attain
Than ever lawgiver has won.

"'He such a wheel of sacred lore
Shall speed on earth to roll, as yet
Hath never been in motion set
By priest, or sage, or god of yore.

"'The world of men and gods to bless,
The way of rest and peace to teach,
A holy law thy son shall preach--
A law of stainless righteousness.

"'By him shall suffering men be freed
From weakness, sickness, pain, and grief;
From all the ills shall find relief
Which hatred, love, illusion breed.

"'His hands shall loose the chains of all
Who groan in earthly bonds confined;
With healing touch the wounds shall bind
Of those whom pain's sharp arrows gall.

"'His words of power shall put to flight
The dull array of leaden clouds
Which helpless mortals' vision shrouds,
And clear their intellectual sight.

"'By him shall men, who, now untaught,
In devious paths of error stray,
Be led to find a perfect way--
To final calm at last be brought.

"'But once, O king, in many years,
The fig-tree somewhere flowers, perhaps;
So, after countless ages lapse,
A Buddha once on earth appears.

"'And now, at length, this blessed time
Has come: for he, who cradled lies
An infant there before thine eyes,
Shall be a Buddha in his prime.

"'Full, perfect insight gaining, he
Shall rescue endless myriads tost
On life's rough ocean waves, and lost,
And grant them immortality.

"'But I am old, and frail, and worn;
I shall not live the day to see
When this thy wondrous child shall free
From woe the suffering world forlorn.

"''Tis thus mine own unhappy fate
Which bids me mourn, and weep, and sigh;
The Buddha's triumph now is nigh,
But, ah! for me it comes too late!'

"When thus this aged saint, inspired,
Had all the infant's greatness told,
The king his wondrous son extolled,
And sang, with pious ardour fired--

"'Thee, child, th' immortals worship all,
The great Physician, born to cure
All ills that hapless men endure;
I, too, before thee prostrate fall!'