One day the Prince Siddartha saw the grooms
Gathered about a stallion, snowy white,
Descended from that great Nisaean stock
His fathers brought from Iran's distant plain,
Named Kantaka. Some held him fast with chains
Till one could mount. He, like a lion snared,
Frantic with rage and fear, did fiercely bound.
They cut his tender mouth with bloody bit,
Beating his foaming sides until the Prince,
Sterner than was his wont, bade them desist,
While he spoke soothingly, patted his head
And stroked his neck, and dropped those galling chains,
When Kantaka's fierce flaming eyes grew mild,
He quiet stood, by gentleness subdued--
Such mighty power hath gentleness and love--
And from that day no horse so strong and fleet,
So kind and true, easy to check and guide,
As Kantaka, Siddartha's noble steed.

To playmates he was gentle as a girl;
Yet should the strong presume upon their strength
To overbear or wrong those weaker than themselves,
His sturdy arm and steady eye checked them,
And he would gently say, "Brother, not so;
Our strength was given to aid and not oppress."
For in an ancient book he found a truth--
A book no longer read, a truth forgot,
Entombed in iron castes, and buried deep
In speculations and in subtle creeds--