  Surrender your soul to the spell of enchantment, And wander with me Where, river of magical fancies, Euphrates Flows down to the sea. What city sleeps fair and mysterious by moonlight Upon the dark shore? Oh, those are the minarets gleaming of Basrah That heavenward soar. And bright are her flower-lit gardens, whose fountains Unceasingly rise, Where oft, when the locust grew shrill and the summer Shone red in the skies, The caliph would hasten from camp and from council To rest and to dream. To forge, in the workshop of silence, such weapons As deadliest gleam. And with him came Selim, the friend of his spirit— Friend favored and true— Whose palace of marble Euphrates encircled With girdle of blue. There oft by the murmuring waters the caliph Would calmly recline, And mark how the stars on that earth-sullied bosom Seemed trembling to shine, Until, as one evening the moon rose serenely, Fair pearl of the sky, And filled with her presence the palace and desert, The far and the nigh, Fell dark on his king, As clouds 'twixt the sun and the sand-billowed ocean Their dusky shapes fling. "O friend of my heart!" quoth the caliph, "what sorrow Lies deep in thy breast?" And Selim, replying, the source of his anguish Thus humbly confessed: "Great lord of my being! life trembles and quivers With fulness of joy: The rays of my hopes are as gold in my pathway, Undimmed by alloy; "Thy banners float far on the breezes of India, Thy counsels are wise; The thoughts of thy valor and strength to thy people As light to their eyes; "Yet still, in the midst of thy glory and power, Thou deignest to rest Thy soul on the soul of thy servant, whom daily Thy favors have blest, "Till he who once couched on his sheepskin reposes On cushions of down, And holds a fair wife in his arms who had only A steed for his own. "Thus over the heaven thy grace has illumined No shadow appears, Save one, at whose coming thy servant unworthy Shrinks, falters and fears— "The shadow of AzraËl, angel of terror, Surpassingly strong, The roar of whose onrushing wings soundeth louder Than laughter or song; "Till I, even I, from the conflict of battle, The scimitar's sweep, Turn cowering, fearful of glory's last service And manhood's best sleep. "Behold! now the heart of thy servant is open, And bare to thy view." Then slowly the caliph replied, while his gaze sought The firmament blue: "Dread Prophet of Allah! thou knowest my spirit, My heart and my life; Thou knowest the desolate years of my manhood, Their unended strife; "Thou knowest that never a friend have I cherished Save only this one, And now I have lost him; but, Allah il Allah! Thy will still be done!" Then, turning, the caliph departed, and Selim, Like one drunk with wine, Arose all unconscious and turned to his dwelling, His heart's inmost shrine, And followed the gleam of his lamp to the chamber Where, sheltered and calm, She peacefully slumbered who faithfully loved him— That wild heart's "sweet balm." One arm half encircled her baby, who sturdily Clenched his round fist, And lay with his rosy lips parted and eager, As though lately kissed; While over them both her soft tresses, all fragrant, Had rolled in their play: How fair and how childish they looked in the moonlight, Scarce purer than they! One moment stood Selim, while over his being Hell's bitterness passed: The next, and his dagger flashed forth like the lightning, And fell like its blast. And Selim was wifeless and childless! In silence He stood by the bed Where still lay the wife and the child in the moonlight— Not sleeping, but dead. One moment he gazed at the faces, still peaceful, Still tender, still fair, Then fled to the desert, whose vastness could only Give space to despair. But when, in the red eastern morning, the caliph Stood sternly alone, And watched the proud river, now mournful for ever For all that was gone, Lo! Selim knelt calmly before him: "Great caliph! Behold now thy slave, For AzraËl, angel of death, have I conquered And bound in the grave." Annie Porter. |
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