The prince himself joining the joyful throng,
Forgetting now the sorrows of the world.
Devising and directing new delights
Until the park became a fairy scene.

Behind the palace lay a maidan wide
For exercise in arms and manly sports,
Its sides bordered by gently rising hills,
Where at their ease the city's myriads sat
Under the shade of high-pruned spreading trees,
Fanned by cool breezes from the snow-capped peaks;
While north, and next the lake, a stately dome
Stood out, on slender, graceful columns raised,
With seats, rank above rank, in order placed,
The throne above, and near the throne were bowers
Of slender lattice-work, with trailing vines,
Thick set with flowers of every varied tint,
Breathing perfumes, where beauty's champions
Might sit, unseen of all yet seeing all.

At length Siddartha's natal day arrives
With joy to rich and poor, to old and young---
Not joy that wealth can buy or power command,
But real joy, that springs from real love,
Love to the good old king and noble prince.

When dawning day tinges with rosy light
The snow-capped peaks of Himalaya's chain,
The people are astir. In social groups,
The old and young, companions, neighbors, friends,