  There is a legend, lost in some old dusty Tome of the East,—and who will question it?— Concluding ancient wisdom, rather musty, Wherein much war and wickedness and wit, Insult and wrath and love and shame are writ: Wherein is written that, when Mahomet Fled out of Mecca from the people's wrath, He met a shadow standing in his path, A naked horror, blacker than hewn jet. It in one hand held out a flaming jewel, Wherein fierce colors burnt and blent like eyes Of seven fires, merciless as cruel: The horror said, "God cursed them for their lies. These are the seven devils of the wise, And I am Satan!" And the prophet saw How he might punish Mecca for its pride; And, gazing on the Fiend, "Allah," he cried, "Let them be free!" His word, like God's, was law. Since then these seven devils have descended From nation unto nation, past the ken Of Mahomet, who left earth undefended Of any amulet of tongue or pen 'Gainst demons boring at the brains of men: Demons, whose names I dare not breathe or write, For fear of fear, despair and madness, born Of horror, and of frenzy all forlorn, And shadowy evils of the day and night. |
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