  Scene, Baghdad: time of the Khalif Haroun er Reshid. Salih ben Tarif speaks. With Imam Hassan I had reached the khan Outside of Ambar. Jaafer at the door Of his pavilion watched a caravan Inbound from Yemen.—Ah, the bales it bore Of richest stuffs and spices!—'Mid the rout Of porters, camel-drivers, old and poor, A singer stood,—a blindman, singing out With luted preludes. Imam Hassan then: "'Tis Zekkar; he, t' whom, with the blind about The Mosque of Moons, I with our holy men Scattered my silver at the hour of prayer, When hearts are open unto Allah's ken.— Danic or dirhem, though, were wasted there: Yea, by the Prophet! had one sown dinars He had not budged one finger or that stare. And so the beggars and the scavengers Got all." Then I: "The very same whom I— Guard at the Western Portal—'neath the stars Some midnights past heard singing. Dim the dry Hot night; and Baghdad only knew of us Until, gray shadows shuffling slowly by, Pilgrims for Mecca passed, all vaporous In dust and darkness; them we challenged not. —Slaves, with the tribute of Nicephorus The Roman, from long shallops, as they shot Along the moonlit Tigris far away, Timing their oars, raised languid chanting.— What This blindman sang was sweeter than—let's say— The songs of Ibrahim, the dulcet frets Of Zulzul's lute. I listened till the day Made gold of all the city's minarets, And the muezzin summoned us to pray." Now while we gossiped, lounging slow along The packed bazaar, a fisher with his nets Passed, singing Abou Newas' newest song: A honey-merchant, then, his tinkling mule All hanap-hung with sweetness: then a throng Of scholars and their Sheikh from mosque or school: A milk-white woman on a cream-white ass, Black slaves attending.... And—I am no fool!— I knew her of the Court, the noblest class, By her gem-bangled bracelets.... Let Haroun On the Euphrates with Zubeideh pass A single day, at royal Rekkeh,—noon And night his harem here, so it is said, Is all intrigue.—Then drawling out his tune, "Ten thousand pieces to be paid, be paid, For Yehya's head, Er Reshid's late vizier," A crier passed us. Then the market's shade Glittered with weapons; and we seemed to hear, Sword of the Khalif, Mesrour, and commands Naming the Khalif. One swart officer Flamed forth the Sultan's signet. And harsh hands Were laid on—whom?—I saw not! For my sight Was dazzled by the scimitars,—from bands Of jeweled belts that burned,—and, keen and bright, Swift hedged us out. Then broad the red blood dyed The ground around a body—and, hoar white, Was raised a severed head.—And, stupefied, Elbowing the rabble, "By my beard!" I cried, Marking the face, "Jaafer the Barmecide!" |
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