Stay'st thou for this, who didst not stay for them.—
Draupadí, Bhima?»

But the King yet spake:

'Tis known that none can hurt or help the dead.
They, the delightful ones, who sank and died,
Following my footsteps, could not live again
Though I had turned, therefore I did not turn;
But could help profit, I had stayed to help.
There be four sins, O Sâkra, grievous sins:
The first is making suppliants despair,

The second is to slay a nursing wife,

The third is spoiling Brahmans' goods by force,
The fourth is injuring an ancient friend.
These four I deem not direr than the crime,
If one, in coming forth from woe to weal,
Abandon any meanest comrade then."

Straight as he spake, brightly great Indra smiled; Vanished the hound, and in its stead stood there The Lord of Death and Justice, Dharma's self! Sweet were the words which fell from those dread lips, Precious the lovely praise:-"O thou true King, Thou that dost bring to harvest the good seed Of Pandu's righteousness; thou that hast ruth As he before, on all which lives!-O son!

I tried thee in the Dwaita wood, what time

They smote thy brothers, bringing water; then
Thou prayedst for Nakula's life-tender and just-
Nor Bhima's nor Arjuna's, true to both,

To Madri as to Kunti, to both queens.

Hear thou my word! Because thou didst not mount
This car divine, lest the poor hound be shent
Who looked to thee, lo! there is none in heaven

Shall sit above thee, King!-Bhârata's son!

Enter thou now to the eternal joys,

Living and in thy form. Justice and Love

Welcome thee, Monarch! thou shalt throne with us.”

"SHE

HE AND SHE

HE is dead!" they said to him: "come away;
Kiss her and leave her,- thy love is clay!"
They smoothed her tresses of dark-brown hair;
On her forehead of stone they laid it fair;

Over her eyes that gazed too much
They drew the lids with a gentle touch;

With a tender touch they closed up well
The sweet thin lips that had secrets to tell;

About her brows and beautiful face

They tied her veil and her marriage lace,

And drew on her white feet her white-silk shoes,-
Which were the whitest no eye could choose,-

And over her bosom they crossed her hands,
"Come away!" they said, "God understands."

And there was silence, and nothing there
But silence, and scents of eglantere,

And jasmine, and roses and rosemary;

And they said, "As a lady should lie, lies she."

And they held their breath till they left the room, With a shudder, to glance at its stillness and gloom.

But he who loved her too well to dread

The sweet, the stately, the beautiful dead,

He lit his lamp, and took the key
And turned it-alone again, he and she.

He and she; but she would not speak,

Though he kissed, in the old place, the quiet cheek.

He and she; yet she would not smile,

Though he called her the name she loved erewhile.

He and she; still she did not move

To any passionate whisper of love.

Then he said, "Cold lips and breasts without breath, Is there no voice, no language of death,

"Dumb to the ear and still to the sense, But to heart and to soul distinct, intense?

"See, now; I will listen with soul, not ear: What was the secret of dying, dear?

"Was it the infinite wonder of all
That you ever could let life's flower fall?

"Or was it a greater marvel to feel The perfect calm o'er the agony steal?

"Was the miracle greater to find how deep Beyond all dreams sank downward that sleep?

"Did life roll back its record dear,

And show, as they say it does, past things clear?

"And was it the innermost heart of the bliss

To find out so, what a wisdom love is?

"O perfect dead! O dead most dear!
I hold the breath of my soul to hear.

"I listen as deep as to horrible hell,
As high as to heaven, and you do not tell.
"There must be pleasure in dying, sweet,
To make you so placid from head to feet!

"I would tell you, darling, if I were dead,
And 'twere your hot tears upon my brow shed, -

"I would say, though the Angel of Death had laid His sword on my lips to keep it unsaid,

"You should not ask vainly, with streaming eyes, Which of all deaths was the chiefest surprise.

"The very strangest and suddenest thing
Of all the surprises that dying must bring."

Ah, foolish world! O most kind dead!

Though he told me, who will believe it was said?

Who will believe that he heard her say,

With the sweet, soft voice, in the dear old way,

"The utmost wonder is this, I hear
And see you, and love you, and kiss you, dear;

"And am your angel, who was your bride, And know that though dead, I have never died."

AFTER DEATH

From 'Pearls of the Faith'

He made life-and He takes it—but instead
Gives more: praise the Restorer, Al-Mu'hid!

E who died at Azan sends

HE

This to comfort faithful friends:

Faithful friends! it lies, I know,
Pale and white and cold as snow;
And ye say, "Abdullah's dead!"
Weeping at my feet and head.
I can see your falling tears,
I can hear your cries and prayers,
Yet I smile and whisper this:-
"I am not that thing you kiss;
Cease your tears and let it lie:
It was mine, it is not I."

Sweet friends! what the women lave
For its last bed in the grave
Is a tent which I am quitting,
Is a garment no more fitting,
Is a cage from which at last
Like a hawk my soul hath passed.

Love the inmate, not the room;

The wearer, not the garb; the plume

Of the falcon, not the bars

Which kept him from the splendid stars.

Loving friends! be wise, and dry
Straightway every weeping eye:
What ye lift upon the bier

Is not worth a wistful tear.

'Tis an empty sea-shell, one
Out of which the pearl is gone.

The shell is broken, it lies there;
The pearl, the all, the soul, is here.
'Tis an earthen jar whose lid
Allah sealed, the while it hid
That treasure of His treasury,

A mind which loved Him: let it lie!
Let the shard be earth's once more,
Since the gold shines in His store!

Allah Mu'hid, Allah most good!
Now Thy grace is understood:
Now my heart no longer wonders
What Al-Barsakh is, which sunders

Life from death, and death from Heaven;
Nor the "Paradises Seven »

Which the happy dead inherit;

Nor those "birds" which bear each spirit
Toward the Throne, "green birds and white,"
Radiant, glorious, swift their flight!

Now the long, long darkness ends.
Yet ye wail, my foolish friends,
While the man whom ye call "dead"
In unbroken bliss instead

Lives, and loves you: lost, 'tis true
By any light which shines for you;
But in light ye cannot see

Of unfulfilled felicity,

And enlarging Paradise;

Lives the life that never dies.

Farewell, friends! Yet not farewell;
Where I am, ye, too, shall dwell.

I am gone before your face

A heart-beat's time, a gray ant's pace.
When ye come where I have stepped,
Ye will marvel why ye wept;

Ye will know, by true love taught,
That here is all, and there is naught.

Weep awhile, if ye are fain,—
Sunshine still must follow rain!

Only not at death, for death

Now I see is that first breath

Which our souls draw when we enter

Life, that is of all life centre.