pent; gleaming but a moment like a strip of evening cloud; fragile by nature, like the bubbles on water; ungrateful as the substance of man's body; lost in the moment of attainment, like the treasure of a dream. And furthermore:
Whenever kings anointed are,
Let wit spy trouble from afar;
Anointing-jars too often spill,
With holy water, pending ill.
"And no man in the wide world is beyond the clutch of pending ill. As the poet sings:
Remember Rama, wandering far;
Remember Nala's sinking star;
With Bali's bonds, the Vrishnis' tomb,
And Lanka's monster-monarch's doom;
The Pandus' forest-borne disaster,
And knightly Arjun, dancing-master.
Time brings us woe in countless shapes.
What savior is there? Who escapes?
Ah, where is Dasharath, who rose to heaven
And dwelt its king beside?
Ah, where King Sagar, he to whom 'twas given
To bind the ocean's tide?
Where arm-born Prithu? Where is Manu gone,
Sun-child (yet suns still rise)?
Imperious Time awakened them at dawn,
At evening closed their eyes.
And again:
Where is Mandhatar, conqueror supreme?
Where Satyavrat, the king?
God-ruling Nahush? Keshav, e'er the gleam
Of science following?
