  Produced by Al Haines. [image] Cover AKRA THE SLAVE BY LONDON Six years ago, I wrote this story down, While yet the light of Eastern skies Was in my eyes, And still my heart, aglow with memories Of sun-enraptured seas, And that old sea-girt town. Where, down dark alleys of enchanted night, We stole, until we came To where the great dome glimmered white. And every minaret, A shaft of pearly flame, Beneath the cloudy moon... Six years ago! Ah! soon--too soon, Our tale, too, will be told: And yet, and yet, From this old Eastern tale we know, Love's story never can grow old, Till Love, himself, forget. AKRA THE SLAVE He thought to see me tremble And totter as an oar-snapt reed, When he spake death to me-- My courage, toppled in the dust, Even as the head of cactus The camel-keeper slashes That his beasts may browse, unscathed, The succulent, wounded green. He thought to have me, broken, And grovelling at his feet; Mouthing and mumbling to his sandal-ties, In stammering dread of death-- Aye! even as a king, Who, having from death's hand, Received his crown and kingdom, For ever treads in terror of the hour When death shall jog his elbow, Twitch the purple from his shoulders, And claim again the borrowed crown. But, little need have I to fear The crouching, lean camp-follower, Unto whose ever-gaping maw, Day after day, I flung The spoils of bow and arrow, Ere I was taken captive-- I, who have often, at my mother's breast, Awakened in the night-time, To see death leering on me from the cave-mouth, A gaunt and slinking shape That snuffed the dying embers, Blotting out the friendly stars-- I, who, a scarce-weaned boy, Have toddled, gay and fearless, Down the narrow jungle-track, Through bodeful forest-darkness, panther-eyed; And have felt cold snakes uncoiling And gliding 'neath my naked sole, From clammy slumber startled; While, with sharp snap and crackle, Beast-trodden branches strained behind me, My father's hand scarce snatching me Before the spring of crouching death! But, naught of this the King could know, He only knew that, on that far-off morning, When first I came before him, captive, Among my captive brothers, And, as he lightly held, in idle fingers, Above my unbowed head, In equal poise Death's freedom Or the servitude of life, I clutched at life: And cared but little that his lips Should curl, to see me, broken, A slave among his slaves. Yet, never slave of his was I; Nor did I take my new life from his nod-- I ... I who could have torn The proud life out of him, Before his guards could stay me... Had she not sat beside him, on her throne. And he, who knew not then, Nor ever, till to-day, Has known me aught but slave, Remembering that time, Spake doom of death to me, Idly, as to a slave: And I await the end of night, And dawn of death, Even as a slave awaits... Nay! as the unvanquished veteran Awaits the hour of victory. In silence, wheels the night, Star-marshalled, over dreaming Babylon; And none in all the sleeping city stirs, Save the cloaked sentries on the outer walls Who tread out patience 'twixt the gates of brass, Numb with scarce-baffled slumber, Or, maybe, some unsleeping priest of Bel, A lonely warder of eternity, Who watches on the temple's seventh stage, With the unslumbering gods. Yet, may not she, the Queen, Whose beauty, slaying my body, Brings my soul to immortal birth, Although she does not know Of my last vigil on the peak of life-- Yet, may not she awaken, troubled By strange, bewildering dreams, With heart a little fearful of the dawn Of day, yet unrevealed? There is no sound at all, Save only the cool plashing Of fountains in the courtyard Without my lonely cell: For fate has granted to me This last, least consolation of sweet sound Though in the plains I perish, I shall hear the noise of waters, The noise of running waters, As I die. My earliest lullaby shall sing My heart again to slumber. And, even now, I hear Stream-voices, long-forgotten, calling me Back to the hills of home; And, dreaming, I remember The little yellow brooks That ever, day and night, Gush down the mountains singing, Singing by the caves: And hearkening unto them, Once more a tiny baby, A wee brown fist I dabble In the foaming cool, Frothing round my wrist, Spurting up my arm, Spraying my warm face; And then again I chuckle, As I see an empty gourd, Fallen in the swirling waters, Bobbing on the tawny eddies, Swiftly out of sight. And yet most clearly to remembrance comes That far-off night, in early Spring, When, loud with melted snow from Northern peaks, The torrent roared and fretted; While, couched within the cavern, The clamour kept me wakeful; And, even when I slept, Tumbled, tumultuous, through my dreams, And seemed to surge about me, As the brawl of armÈd men. And once I sprang from slumber, Hot and startled, Dreaming that I felt A warm breath on my cheek, As if a jackal nuzzled me; Or some dread, slinking foe Made certain of my sleeping Before he plunged the steel. But nothing stirred within the glimmering cavern, Where, all around me, lay my sleeping kindred; And, when I stole without, with noiseless footsteps, To rouse the smouldering watchfire into flame, And cast fresh, crackling brushwood on the blaze, I caught no glint of arms betwixt the branches, Nor any sound or rumour, save The choral noise of cold hill-waters, Cold hill-waters singing, Singing to the stars. And so I turned me from the brooding night; And, couched again upon the leopard-skins, I slept, till dawn, in dream-untroubled sleep. I woke to see the cold sky kindling red, Beyond the mounded ash of the spent fire; And lay, a moment, watching The pearly light, caught, trembling, In dewy-beaded spiders' webs About the cave-mouth woven. Then I arose; And left my kindred, slumbering-- My mother, by my father, And, at her breast, her youngest babe, With dimpled fingers clutching at her bosom; And, all around them, lying Their sons and daughters, beautiful in sleep, With parted lips, And easy limbs outstretched Along the tumbled bedskins: And while they slumbered yet in shades of night, I sprang out naked Into eager dawn. The sun had not yet scaled the eastern ridge: And still the vales were hidden from my eyes By snowy wreaths of swathing mist: But, high upon a scar That jutted sheer and stark, In cold grey light, There stood an antelope, With lifted muzzle snuffing the fresh day; When scenting me afar, He plunged into the mist With one quick, startled bound: And, from the smoking vapour, Arose a gentle pattering, As, down the rocky trail, The unseen herd went trotting Upon their leader's heels. And from the clear horizon The exultant sun sprang god-like: And on a little mound I stood, With eager arms outstretched, That, over my cold body, The first warm golden beams Of his life-giving light might fall. And thus, awhile, I stood. In radiant adoration tranced, Until I caught the call of waters; And, running downwards to the stream, That plunged into a darkling pool, Where, in the rock was scooped a wide, deep basin; Upon the glassy brink, A moment, I hung, shivering, And gazing down through deeps of lucent shadow; And then I leapt headlong, And felt the cloven waters Closing, icy-cold, above me, And, again, with sobbing breath, Battled to the light and air: And I ran into the sunshine, Shaking from my tingling limbs Showers of scintillating drops Over radiant, dewy beds Of the snowy cyclamen, And dark-red anemone, Till my tawny body glowed With warm, ruddy, pulsing life. And then again I sought the stream, And plunged; and now, more boldly, I crossed the pool, with easy stroke; And climbed the further crag; And, turning, plunged again. And so, I dived and swam, Till pangs of hunger pricked My idle fancy homeward: And eagerly I climbed the hill; When, not a sling's throw from the cavern, Stooping to pluck a red anemone, To prank the wet, black tangle of my hair, I heard a shout; And looking up, I saw strange men With lifted spears Bear down on me: And as I turned, A javelin sang Above my shrinking shoulder, And bit the ground before me. But, swift as light I sped, Until I reached the pool, And leapt therein: And he who pressed most hotly on my heels, Fell stumbling after. Still I never slackened, Although I heard a floundering splash, And then the laughter of his comrades: And, as I swam for life, Betwixt my thrusting heels, Another spear that clove the crystal waters Glanced underneath my body, And in the stream-bed quivered bolt upright, Caught in a cleft of rock. With frantic arm I struck Straight as a snake across the pool, And climbed the further bank; And plunging through deep brake, Ran wildly onward, Startling as I went A browsing herd of antelope, That, bounding, fled before me down the valley And after them I raced, As though the hunter, Not the hunted, Until the chase sang in my blood, And braced my straining thews. I knew not if men followed, Yet, on I sped, impetuously, As speeds the fleet-foot onaga, That breasts the windy morning, With lifted head, and nostrils wide, Exultant in his youth. So, on and ever on, Scarce knowing why I ran-- Enough for me to feel Earth beaten back behind my heels, And hear the loud air singing The blood-song in my ears: Till, stumbling headlong over An unseen, fallen branch, I rolled in a deep bed of withered leaves; And lay, full-length in shuddering ecstasy Of hot, tumultuous blood that rioted Through every throbbing vein. But when again, I breathed more easily, And my wild, fluttering heart kept slower beat, Hot-foot, my thoughts ran, wondering, backward: And I arose and followed them With swift and stealthy pace, Until I reached the stream. Along the bank I stole with wary step, Until I came to where the waters Narrowed, raging through a gorge, Nigh the threshold of my home: And across the thunderous flood, From crag to crag I leapt: And then I climbed a cedar, From whose close ambush I could watch Who came or went about the cavern-mouth. I lay along a level branch: And, through the thick, dark screen, I peered with eager eyes: But no one crossed my sight. The whole land lay before me, drowsing In deepest noonday slumber: No twig stirred in the breathless blaze; And underneath the boughs no serpent rustled: And, in the earth and air, Naught waked, save one lone eagle, nigh the sun, With wings, unbaffled, beating Up the blue, unclouded heavens. A dreamless, suave security Seemed brooding o'er the valley's golden slumber, Whence rang or flashed no hint of lurking peril. I dropped to earth, And crouching low, I stole yet nearer Through the brake: Till, drawing nigh the cavern-mouth, I heard the sound of half-hushed sobbing: And then I saw, within the gloom, My mother and my sisters clustering round My father's body, lying stark and dead, A spear-wound in his breast. And as I crept to them, they did not hear me, Nor ever lift their heads; But, shuddering, crouched together, With drooping breasts half-hid in falling hair, By that familiar form In such strange slumber bound. Only the baby, on her shoulder slung, Saw me, and crowed me greeting, As I stooped down to touch my weeping mother, Who, turning suddenly, With wild tear-fevered eyes; Arose with whispered warning; But, even then, too late. Already, from behind, Around my throat An arm was flung; And heavily I fell: Yet, with a desperate wrench, I slipped the clutch of my assailant: And picking up a slingstone that lay handy, I crashed it through his helm; And dead he dropped. And now upon me all his fellows thronged, Like hounds about an antelope; And gripped my naked limbs, And dragged me down, A struggling beast, among them: And desperately I fought, As fights the boar at bay, When all the yelling pack, With lathered lips, and white teeth gnashing, Is closing in upon him; And in his quivering flank, and gasping throat, He feels the fangs of death: Till, overcome at last, They bound me hand and foot, With knotted, leathern thongs; And dragged me out to where, beneath the trees, Trussed in like manner, with defiant eyes, My brothers lay, already, side by side. They laid me in the shade; And flicked my wincing spirit With laughter and light words: "Now is the roe-buck taken!" Then another, On whose dark, sullen face there burned a livid weal "A buck in flight's a panther brought to bay!" And then his fellow: "True enough! and yet, For such young thews they give good gold-- They give good gold in Babylon!" And, laughing thus, they left us, To lie through hours of aching silence, Until, at length, the cool of evening fell; When they returned from slumber; And loosed the ankle-cords that we might stand; And bade our mother feed us; And she, with tender fingers, held The milk-bowl to our parching lips; And thrust dried dates betwixt our teeth; And wept, to see us standing there, With helpless hands, before her. Then, bringing out their mules, they saddled them; And tied us to the girths on either hand. They drove my weeping sisters from the cavern; And sought to tear my mother from her home; But she escaped them; And they let her bide Amid the ruins of her life, Whose light had dropped, so suddenly, From out the highest heavens: And, when I turned to look on her, And win from her a last farewell, I saw her, sitting desolate betwixt Her silent husband and her wailing babe, With still, strange eyes, That stared upon the dead, unseeing, While her own children went from her, Scarce knowing that they left her, nevermore To look upon her face. Thus, we set out, as over The darkening, Southern crags The new moon's keen, curved blade was thrust: My sisters trooping on before us, Like a drove of young gazelles, Which, in the dead of night, With pards in leash, and torches flaring, The hunters have encompassed. They moved with timid steps, And little runs; Stumbling, with stifled cries; And starting, panic-shot, From every lurking shadow-- Behind them, terror's lifted lash: Before them, ever crouching, The horror of the unknown night-- While, as they moved before us, The moonlight shivered off their shrinking shoulders And naked, glancing limbs, In shimmering, strange beauty. And closely on their heels, I, with my brothers, foremost in the file, Marched, tethered 'twixt the plodding beasts, Whose stolid riders sat, Each with his javelin on the pummel couched, In watchful silence, with dark eyes alert. And once, nigh driven crazy By the tugging of the thongs, I sprang into the air, As down a rocky steep we scrambled; And strove to burst the galling bonds, Or hurl my guards on one another; But, all too sure of foot, the beasts, And too securely girths and cords Held me, and I stumbled. Instantly a thong Struck my wincing shoulders, Blow on thudding blow. I bit my lips; and strode on silently; Nor fought again for freedom. So on we journeyed through the night, And down familiar mountain-tracks, Through deep, dark forest, Ever down and down; Fording the streams, whose moon-bright waters flowed, In eddies of delicious, aching cool, About our weary thighs. And, once, when in mid-torrent, That swirled, girth-high about the plunging beasts, A startled otter, glancing Before their very hoofs, Affrighted them; and, rearing, With blind and desperate floundering, They nearly dragged us down to death: And, ere we righted, With a fearful cry, My eldest sister from the bevy broke; And struck down-stream With wild arm lashing desperately, Until the current caught her; And she sank, to rise no more. And on again we travelled, Down through the darkling woodlands: And once I saw green, burning eyes, Where, on a low-hung bough, A night-black panther crouched,LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED.
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