Under Vrihaspati's own eyes
Entrenched on heaven's height
Wielding th' artillery of the skies,
Followed by gods in fight,
Indra, in spite of all his skill,
Has seen his host give way;
Strength nought avails.--To whom she will Fortune assigns the day.
Our fates, our minds, depend on deeds
Don in the soul's career,
But each can gain the wit he needs
By careful conduct here.
A bald man felt the sun's fierce rays
Scorch his defenseless head,
In haste to shun the noontide blaze
Beneath a palm he fled:
Prone as he lay, a heavy fruit
Crashed through his drowsy brain:
Whom fate has sworn to persecute
Finds every refuge vain.
When sun and moon eclipsed I see,
And elephants in bonds,
And wise men vexed with poverty;
I own, my soul desponds.
No wonder sages figure Fortune blind;
She first creates a hero to her mind,
Whom all men own the glory of the age,
Then breaks her model in her childish rage.
If thorns and briars bear no leaves we do not blame the Spring,
Nor yet the sun, if blinking owls fly not till evening,
That châtaks gape in vain for showers is not the cloud's disgrace;
Fate's sentence written on the brow no hand can e'er efface.