Noting their brawny limbs and polished arms,
The pose and skill of every charioteer,
The parts and varied breed of every horse,
Aiding his comrades with his deeper skill.
But when the queens of beauty passed him by,
He was all smiles and gallantry and grace,
Until the last, Yasodhara, came near,
Whose laugh was clearest of the merry crowd,
Whose golden hair imprisoned sunlight seemed,
Whose cheek, blending the lily with the rose,
Spoke of more northern skies and Aryan blood,
Whose rich, not gaudy, robes exquisite taste
Had made to suit her so they seemed a part
Of her sweet self; whose manner, simple, free,
Not bold or shy, whose features--no one saw
Her features, for her soul covered her face
As with a veil of ever-moving life.
When she came near, and her bright eyes met his,
He seemed to start; his gallantry was gone,
And like an awkward boy he sat and gazed;
And her laugh too was hushed, and she passed on,
Passed out of sight but never out of mind,
The king and all his counselors saw this.
"Good king, our deer is struck," Asita said,
"If this love cure him not, nothing can cure."


[1]Lieutenant-General Briggs, in his lectures on the aboriginal races
of India, says the Hindoos themselves refer the excavation of caves and
temples to the period of the aboriginal kings.