To cleanse the life and make the flinty heart
As soft as sinews of the new-born babe.
And when he saw whither he bent his steps,
He sent three wrinkled hags, deformed and foul,
The willing agents of his wicked will--
Life-wasting Idleness, the thief of time;
Lascivious Lust, whose very touch defiles,
Poisoning the blood, polluting all within;
And greedy Gluttony, most gross of all,
Whose ravening maw forever asks for more--
To that delightful garden near his way,
To tempt the Master, their true forms concealed--
For who so gross that such coarse hags could tempt?--
But clothed instead in youthful beauty's grace.
And now he saw him pass unmoved by lust,
Nor yet with cold, self-righteous pride puffed up,
But breathing pity from his inmost soul
E'en for the ministers of vice themselves.

Defeated, not discouraged, still he thought
To try one last device, for well he knew
That Buddha's steps approached the sacred tree
Where light would dawn and all his power would end.
Upon a seat beside the shaded path,
A seeming aged Brahman, Mara sat,
And when the prince approached, his tempter rose,
Saluting him with gentle stateliness,
Saluted in return with equal grace.

"Whither away, my son?" the tempter said,