And then Kshatriyas, warriors from their birth,
Then Sudras, to draw water and hew wood.
"But why should one for others think, when all
Must answer for themselves? Why brothers fight?
And why one born another's slave, when all
Might serve and help each other?" he would ask.
But they could only answer: "Never doubt,
For so the holy Brahmans always taught."
Still he must think, and as he thought he sighed,
Not for his petty griefs that last an hour,
But for the bitter sorrows of the world
That crush all men, and last from age to age.

The good old king saw this--saw that the prince,
The apple of his eye, dearer than life,
Stately in form, supple and strong in limb,
Quick to learn every art of peace and war,
Displaying and excelling every grace
And attribute of his most royal line,
Whom all would follow whereso'er he led,
So fit to rule the world if he would rule,
Thought less of ruling than of saving men.
He saw the glory of his ancient house
Suspended on an if--if he will rule
The empire of the world, and power to crush
Those cruel, bloody kings who curse mankind,
And power to make a universal peace;
If not this high career, with glory crowned,
Then seeking truth through folly's devious ways;
By self-inflicted torture seeking bliss,