Page:Little Clay Cart (Ryder 1905).djvu/84

48 At other walls that I have pierced by night,

And at my less successful ventures too,

The crowd of neighbors gazed by morning light,

Assigning praise or blame, as was my due.

Praise to the boon-conferring god, to Skanda of immortal youth! Praise to him, the Bearer of the Golden Lance, the Brahman's god, the pious! Praise to him, the Child of the Sun! Praise to him, the teacher of magic, whose first pupil I am! For he found pleasure in me and gave me magic ointment,

With which so I anointed be,

No watchman's eye my form shall see;

And edgèd sword that falls on me

From cruel wounds shall leave me free.

[He anoints himself.] Alas, I have forgotten my measuring line. [Reflecting.] Aha! This sacred cord shall be my measuring line. Yes, the sacred cord is a great blessing to a Brahman, especially to one like me. For, you see,

With this he measures, ere he pierce a wall,

And picks the lock, when jewels are at stake.

It serves as key to bolted door and hall,

As tourniquet for bite of worm and snake.

The measuring is done. I begin my task. [He does so, then takes a look.] My breach lacks but a single brick. Alas, I am bitten by a snake. [He binds his finger with the sacred cord, and manifests the workings of poison.] I have applied the remedy, and now I am restored. [He continues his work, then gazes.] Ah, there burns a candle. See!

Though jealous darkness hems it round,

The golden-yellow candle from its place

Shines through the breach upon the ground,

Like a streak of gold upon the touchstone's face.