Thou fair-haired angel of the evening,
Now, whilst the sun rests on the mountains, light
Thy bright torch of love; thy radiant crown
Put on, and smile upon our evening bed!
Smile on our loves, and while thou drawest the
Blue curtains of the sky, scatter thy silver dew
On every flower that shuts its sweet eyes
In timely sleep. Let thy west wind sleep on
The lake; speak silence with thy glimmering eyes,
And wash the dusk with silver. Soon, full soon,
Dost thou withdraw; then the wolf rages wide,
And the lion glares through the dun forest:
The fleeces of our flocks are covered with
Thy sacred dew: protect them with thine influence.
William Blake
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March 6th, 2007
Once there lived a drummer near Varanasi. Hearing that a festival was being celebrated in the city of Varanasi, he went there along with his son to play drums before the crowd. Thus, he earned a great deal of money.
On his way back he had to cross a dense forest infested with bandits. His son, however, overjoyed with his earnings kept on playing the drum incessantly. The father, however, cautioned him against the possible attraction of the bandits by the excessive drumming. He instead advised him for the occasional drumming, which could keep the robbers away by thinking that some local chieftain was on a journey along with his armed men.
The son did not listen to the advice of his father and kept on drumming in his joyous mood. Soon the robbers noticed the sound and caught them. They then beat them and ripped them off what they had. Thus what was gained by the skilful drumming was lost by the excessive drumming.
It is therefore said that excessiveness is bad; and restraint is a virtue.
Other Stories of the Buddha by CB Varma
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March 6th, 2007
