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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=341516" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Meditations of a Hindu Prince</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">ALL the world over, I wonder, in lands that I never have trod, <br>Are the people eternally seeking for the signs and steps of a God? <br>Westward across the ocean, and Northward across the snow, <br>Do they all stand gazing, as ever, and what do the wisest know? <br> <br>Here, in this mystical India, the deities hover and swarm <br>Like the wild bees heard in the treetops, or the gusts of a gathering storm; <br>In the air men hear their voices, their feet on the rocks are seen, <br>Yet we all say, “Whence is the message, and what may the wonders mean?” <br> <br>A million shrines stand open, and ever the censer swings, <br>As they bow to a mystic symbol, or the figures of ancient kings; <br>And the incense rises ever, and rises the endless cry <br>Of those who are heavy laden, and of cowards loth to die. <br> <br>For the Destiny drives us together, like deer in a pass of the hills; <br>Above is the sky, and around us the sound of the shot that kills; <br>Push’d by a power we see not, and struck by a hand unknown, <br>We pray to the trees for shelter, and press our lips to a stone. <br> <br>The trees wave a shadowy answer, and the rock frowns hollow and grim, <br>And the form and the nod of the demon are caught in the twilight dim; <br>And we look to the sunlight falling afar on the mountain crest,— <br>Is there never a path runs upward to a refuge there and a rest? <br> <br>The path, ah! who has shown it, and which is the faithful guide? <br>The haven, ah! who has known it? for steep is the mountain side, <br>Forever the shot strikes surely, and ever the wasted breath <br>Of the praying multitude rises, whose answer is only death. <br> <br>Here are the tombs of my kinsfolk, the fruit of an ancient name, <br>Chiefs who were slain on the war-field, and women who died in flame; <br>They are gods, these kings of the foretime, they are spirits who guard our race: <br>Ever I watch and worship; they sit with a marble face. <br> <br>And the myriad idols around me, and the legion of muttering priests, <br>The revels and rites unholy, the dark unspeakable feasts! <br>What have they wrung from the Silence? Hath even a whisper come <br>Of the secret, Whence and Whither? Alas! for the gods are dumb. <br> <br>Shall I list to the word of English, who come from the uttermost sea? <br>“The Secret, hath it been told you, and what is your message to me?” <br>It is nought but the wide-world story how the earth and the heavens began, 35 <br>How the gods are glad and angry, and a Deity once was man. <br> <br>I had thought, “Perchance in the cities where the rulers of India dwell, <br>Whose orders flash from the far land, who girdle the earth with a spell, <br>They have fathom’d the depths we float on, or measur’d the unknown main—” <br>Sadly they turn from the venture, and say that the quest is vain. <br> <br>Is life, then, a dream and delusion, and where shall the dreamer awake? <br>Is the world seen like shadows on water, and what if the mirror break? <br>Shall it pass as a camp that is struck, as a tent that is gathered and gone <br>From the sands that were lamp-lit at eve, and at morning are level and lone? <br> <br>Is there nought in the heaven above, whence the hail and the levin are hurl’d, 45 <br>But the wind that is swept around us by the rush of the rolling world? <br>The wind that shall scatter my ashes, and bear me to silence and sleep <br>With the dirge, and the sounds of lamenting, and voices of women who weep.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Alfred+Comyn+Lyall">Alfred Comyn Lyall</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=341516" data-title="Meditations of a Hindu Prince de Alfred Comyn Lyall" data-description="ALL the world over, I wonder, in lands that I never have trod, 
Are the people eternally seeking for the signs and steps of a God? 
Westward across the ocean, and Northward across the snow, 
Do they all stand gazing, as ever, and what do the wises..."></div>
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