  Khalifah Haroun, surnamed Er-Rasheed, In the calm evening of a festal day, Ordered his bard, Abu-l’Atahiyeh, To praise the life it pleased his lord to lead. The poet bowed and stirred the silver wires, And sang, ‘Khalifah, peace and pleasure wait Within the shadow of your palace gate, And deep fulfilment of your heart’s desires.’ Said Haroun, smiling, ‘Here is silver speech That shall be sealed with silver; speak again, And find my bounty boundless as the main Which knows, so poets say, no further beach.’ Again the poet’s voice and lute allied, ‘Let not the day star nor the night star shine Upon the hour that leaves a wish of thine, Thy lightest wish, Haroun, ungratified.’ Still Haroun smiled, ‘This time thy words are gold, And shall be guerdoned with a golden fee; Sing on, sweet voice, sing on and comfort me, Nor ever fear to find thy master cold.’ Then sang Abu-l’Atahiyeh aloud, ‘In those dark moments when thy faltering breath Shall strive in vain against all-conquering death, These things shall seem like shadows on a shroud.’ There fell a fearful silence on the place, While the scared guests saw Haroun from his throne Frown at the bard, and then, with a deep groan, Hide in his trembling hands his weeping face. Straightway a supple courtier standing by Cried to the singer, ‘Blasted be the throat Which frights our master with a boding note In lieu of mirthful music; look to die.’ ‘Nay,’ Haroun whispered, ‘do not blame the bard; He saw our soul benighted, and, like wind, Dispersed the veil of error. Let him find My richest gems too poor for his reward.’ |
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