THEBALLADS OF HAROUN AL RASCHID.

I.THE SPILT PEARLS.

His courtiers of the Caliph crave—“Oh, say how this may be,That of thy slaves, this Ethiop slaveIs best beloved by thee?II.“For he is hideous as the Night:But when has ever choseA nightingale for its delight,A hueless, scentless rose?”III.The Caliph then—“No features fairNor comely mien are his:Love is the beauty he doth wear,And Love his glory is.IV.“Once when a camel of my trainThere fell in narrow street,From broken casket rolled amainRich pearls before my feet.V.“I winking to my slaves, that IWould freely give them these,At once upon the spoil they fly,The costly boon to seize.VI.“One only at my side remained—Beside this Ethiop, none:He, moveless as the steed he reined,Behind me sat alone.VII.“‘What will thy gain, good fellow, be,Thus lingering at my side?’——‘My King, that I shall faithfullyHave guarded thee,’ he cried.VIII.“‘True servant’s title he may wear,He only who has not,For his Lord’s gifts, how rich soe’er,His Lord himself forgot!’”IX.—So thou alone dost walk beforeThy God with perfect aim,From him desiring nothing moreBeside himself to claim.X.For if thou not to him aspire,But to his gifts alone,Not Love, but covetous desire,Has brought thee to his throne.XI.While such thy prayer, it climbs aboveIn vain—the golden keyOf God’s rich treasure-house of love,Thine own will never be.II.THE BARMECIDES.Haroun the Just!—yet once that nameOf Just the ruler ill became,By whose too hasty sentence diedThe royal-hearted Barmecide.O Barmecide, of hand and heartSo prompt, so forward to impart,Of bounty so unchecked and free,That once a Poet sung, how heWould fear thy very hand to touch,Lest he should learn to give too much,Lest, catching the contagion thenceOf thy unmatched munificence,A beggar he should soon remain,Helpless his bounty to restrain—O Barmecide of royal heart,My childhood’s tears again will startInto mine eyes, the tears I shed,As I remember, when I readOf harsh injustice done to thee,And all thy princely family.—What marvel that the Caliph, stungWith secret consciousness of wrong,Or now desiring every traceOf that large bounty to efface,With penalty of death forbadeThat mourning should for them be made;That any should with grateful songTheir memory in men’s hearts prolong?—“And who art thou, that day by dayHast dared my mandate disobey?Who art thou whom my guards have found,Now standing on some grass-grown mound,Now wandering ’mid the ruined towers,Fall’n palaces, and wasted bowersOf those, at length for traitors known,And by my justice overthrown—Singing a plaintive dirge for themWhom my just vengeance did condemn;Till ever, as I learn, aroundThy steps a listening crowd is found,Who still unto thy sad lamentDo with their sobs and tears consent;While in the bosom of that throngRise thoughts that do their Monarch wrong?What doom I did for this assignThou knewest, and that doom is thine.”But then the offender,—“Give me room,And I will gladly take my doom,O King, to spend my latest breath,Ere I am hurried to my death,In telling for what highest graceI was beholden to that race,Whose memory my heart hath kept,Whose sunken glories I have wept.For then, at least, it will appearThat not in disobedience mereThy mandate high I overpast.—O King, I was the least and lastOf all the servitors of him,Whose glory in thy frown grew dim,—The least and last—yet he one dayTo me, his meanest slave, did sayThat he was fain my guest to be,And the next day would sup with me.More time I willingly had craved,But my excuses all he waved,And by no train accompanied,His two sons only at his side,At my poor lodging lighted down,Which at the limits of the townStood in a close and narrow street.Him I and mine did humbly greet,Standing before him while he sharedWhat we meanwhile had best preparedOf entertainment, though the bestWas poor and mean for such a guest.“But supper done, with cheerful mien,‘Thy house,’ he cried, ‘I have not seen,Thy gardens;—let me pace awhileAlong some cool and shadowy aisle.’I thought he mocked me, but replied,‘Possessions have I not so wide:For house, another room with thisOur only habitation is;And garden have I none to show,Unless that narrow court below,Shut in with lofty walls, that nameIn right of four dwarf shrubs may claim.’—‘Nay, nay,’ he answered, ‘there is more,If only we could find the door.’Again I told him, but in vain,That he had seen my whole domain.—‘Nay, go then quick, a mason call.’Him bade he straightway pierce the wall.—‘But shall we in this wise invadeA neighbour’s house?’—No heed he paid,And I stood dumb, and wonderingWhereto he would the issue bring.Anon he through the opening past,He and his sons, and I the last;When suddenly myself I foundIn ample space of garden ground,Or rather in a ParadiseOf rare and wonderful device,With stately walks and alleys wide,Far stretching upon every side;And streams, upon whose either bankStood lofty platanes, rank by rank,And marble fountains, scattering highIllumined dew-drops in the sky;And making a low tinkling sound,As sliding down from mound to mound,They did at last their courses takeDown to a calm and lucid lake,By which, on gently sloping height,There stood a palace of delight;And many slaves, but all of rareAnd perfect beauty, marshalled there,Did each to me incline the knee,Exclaiming all—‘Thy servants we.’“And then my Lord cried, laughing—‘Nay,While this is thine, how could’st thou sayThat thou had’st shown me all before?Thine is it all.’—He said no more,But at my benefactor’s feetI falling, thanks would render meet.He, scarcely listening, turned his head,And to his eldest son he said:‘This house, these gardens, ’twere in vain,Unless enabled to maintain,That he should call them his;—my son,Let us not leave this grace half done:’Who then replied—‘My farms beyondThe Tigris I by sealèd bondThis night before we part, will seeMade over unto him in fee,’—‘’Tis well; but there will months ensue,Ere his incomings will be due.What shall there, the meanwhile, be done?’He turned unto his younger son,Who answered—‘I will bid that gold,Ten thousand pieces, shall be toldUnto his steward presently;These shall his urgent needs supply.’’Twas done upon that very eve;And done, anon they took their leave,And left me free to contemplateThe wonders of my novel state.“Prince of the faithful, mighty King,My fortunes from this source had spring,Which, if they since that time have grown,Him their first author still I own.Nor when that name, which was the praiseOf all the world, on evil daysHad fall’n, was I content to letBe quite forgotten the large debtI owe to him;—content to die,If such shall be thy pleasure high,And my offence shall seem to theeDeserving of such penalty.”What marvel that the King who heardWas in his inmost bosom stirred?What marvel that he owned the forceOf late regret and vain remorse?That spreading palm, whose boughs had madeFar stretching such an ample shadeFor many a wanderer through life’s waste,He had hewn down in guilty haste;That fountain free, that springing wellOf goodness inexhaustible,His hand had stopt it, ne’er againTo slake the thirst of weary men.That genial sun, which evermoreDid on a cold, chill world outpourIts rays of love and life and light,’Twas he who quenched in darkest night.What marvel that he owned the forceOf late regret and vain remorse,And (all he could) now freely gaveThe life the other did not crave?Nay more, the offender did dismissWith gifts and praise—nor only this,But did the unrighteous law reverseWhich had forbidden to rehearse,And in the minds of men prolong,By grateful speech or plaintive song,The bounteous acts and graces wide,And goodness of the Barmecide.III.THE FESTIVAL.I.Five hundred princely guests beforeHaroun Al Raschid sate:Five hundred princely guests or moreAdmired his royal state.II.For never had that glory beenSo royally displayed,Nor ever such a gorgeous sceneHad eye of man surveyed.III.He, most times meek of heart, yet nowOf spirit too elate,Exclaimed—“Before me Cesars bow,On me two empires wait.IV.“Yet all our glories something lack,We do our triumphs wrong,Until to us reflected backIn mirrors clear of song.V.“Call him then unto whom this powerIs given, this skill sublime—Now win from us some gorgeous dowerWith song that fits the time.”VI.—“My King, as I behold thee now,May I behold thee still,While prostrate worlds before thee bow,And wait upon thy will!VII.“May evermore this clear pure heaven,Whence every speck and stainOf trouble far away is driven,Above thy head remain!”VIII.The Caliph cried—“Thou wishest well;There waits thee golden storeFor this—but, oh! resume the spell,I fain would listen more.”IX.—“Drink thou life’s sweetest goblet up,O King, and may its wine,For others’ lips a mingled cup,Be all unmixed for thine.X.“Live long—the shadow of no griefCome ever near to thee:As thou in height of place art chief,So chief in gladness be.”XI.Haroun Al Raschid cried again—“I thank thee—but proceed,And now take up an higher strain,And win an higher mead.”XII.Around that high magnific hall,One glance the poet threwOn courtiers, king, and festival,And did the strain renew.XIII.—“And yet, and yet—shalt thou at lastLie stretched on bed of death:Then, when thou drawest thick and fastWith sobs thy painful breath—XIV.“When Azrael glides through guarded gate,Through hosts that camp aroundTheir lord in vain—and will not wait,When thou art sadly boundXV.“Unto thine house of dust alone,O King, when thou must die,—This pomp a shadow thou shalt own,This glory all a lie.”XVI.Then darkness on all faces hung,And through the banquet wentLow sounds the murmuring guests amongOf angry discontent.XVII.And him anon they fiercely urge—“What guerdon shall be thine?What does it, this untimely dirge,’Mid feasts, and flowers, and wine?XVIII.“One lord demanded in his mirthA strain to heighten glee;But, lo! at thine his tears come forthIn current swift and free.”XIX.—“Peace—not to him rebukes belong,But rather highest grace;He gave me what I asked, a songTo fit the time and place.”XX.All voices at that voice were stilled;Again the Caliph cried,—“He saw our mouths with laughter filled,He saw us drunk with pride;XXI.“And bade us know that every road,By monarch trod or slave,Thick set with thorns, with roses strowed,Doth issue in the grave.”

His courtiers of the Caliph crave—“Oh, say how this may be,That of thy slaves, this Ethiop slaveIs best beloved by thee?

His courtiers of the Caliph crave—

“Oh, say how this may be,

That of thy slaves, this Ethiop slave

Is best beloved by thee?

II.

“For he is hideous as the Night:But when has ever choseA nightingale for its delight,A hueless, scentless rose?”

“For he is hideous as the Night:

But when has ever chose

A nightingale for its delight,

A hueless, scentless rose?”

III.

The Caliph then—“No features fairNor comely mien are his:Love is the beauty he doth wear,And Love his glory is.

The Caliph then—“No features fair

Nor comely mien are his:

Love is the beauty he doth wear,

And Love his glory is.

IV.

“Once when a camel of my trainThere fell in narrow street,From broken casket rolled amainRich pearls before my feet.

“Once when a camel of my train

There fell in narrow street,

From broken casket rolled amain

Rich pearls before my feet.

“I winking to my slaves, that IWould freely give them these,At once upon the spoil they fly,The costly boon to seize.

“I winking to my slaves, that I

Would freely give them these,

At once upon the spoil they fly,

The costly boon to seize.

VI.

“One only at my side remained—Beside this Ethiop, none:He, moveless as the steed he reined,Behind me sat alone.

“One only at my side remained—

Beside this Ethiop, none:

He, moveless as the steed he reined,

Behind me sat alone.

VII.

“‘What will thy gain, good fellow, be,Thus lingering at my side?’——‘My King, that I shall faithfullyHave guarded thee,’ he cried.

“‘What will thy gain, good fellow, be,

Thus lingering at my side?’—

—‘My King, that I shall faithfully

Have guarded thee,’ he cried.

VIII.

“‘True servant’s title he may wear,He only who has not,For his Lord’s gifts, how rich soe’er,His Lord himself forgot!’”

“‘True servant’s title he may wear,

He only who has not,

For his Lord’s gifts, how rich soe’er,

His Lord himself forgot!’”

IX.

—So thou alone dost walk beforeThy God with perfect aim,From him desiring nothing moreBeside himself to claim.

—So thou alone dost walk before

Thy God with perfect aim,

From him desiring nothing more

Beside himself to claim.

For if thou not to him aspire,But to his gifts alone,Not Love, but covetous desire,Has brought thee to his throne.

For if thou not to him aspire,

But to his gifts alone,

Not Love, but covetous desire,

Has brought thee to his throne.

XI.

While such thy prayer, it climbs aboveIn vain—the golden keyOf God’s rich treasure-house of love,Thine own will never be.

While such thy prayer, it climbs above

In vain—the golden key

Of God’s rich treasure-house of love,

Thine own will never be.

II.THE BARMECIDES.

Haroun the Just!—yet once that nameOf Just the ruler ill became,By whose too hasty sentence diedThe royal-hearted Barmecide.O Barmecide, of hand and heartSo prompt, so forward to impart,Of bounty so unchecked and free,That once a Poet sung, how heWould fear thy very hand to touch,Lest he should learn to give too much,Lest, catching the contagion thenceOf thy unmatched munificence,A beggar he should soon remain,Helpless his bounty to restrain—O Barmecide of royal heart,My childhood’s tears again will startInto mine eyes, the tears I shed,As I remember, when I readOf harsh injustice done to thee,And all thy princely family.

Haroun the Just!—yet once that name

Of Just the ruler ill became,

By whose too hasty sentence died

The royal-hearted Barmecide.

O Barmecide, of hand and heart

So prompt, so forward to impart,

Of bounty so unchecked and free,

That once a Poet sung, how he

Would fear thy very hand to touch,

Lest he should learn to give too much,

Lest, catching the contagion thence

Of thy unmatched munificence,

A beggar he should soon remain,

Helpless his bounty to restrain—

O Barmecide of royal heart,

My childhood’s tears again will start

Into mine eyes, the tears I shed,

As I remember, when I read

Of harsh injustice done to thee,

And all thy princely family.

—What marvel that the Caliph, stungWith secret consciousness of wrong,Or now desiring every traceOf that large bounty to efface,With penalty of death forbadeThat mourning should for them be made;That any should with grateful songTheir memory in men’s hearts prolong?—“And who art thou, that day by dayHast dared my mandate disobey?Who art thou whom my guards have found,Now standing on some grass-grown mound,Now wandering ’mid the ruined towers,Fall’n palaces, and wasted bowersOf those, at length for traitors known,And by my justice overthrown—Singing a plaintive dirge for themWhom my just vengeance did condemn;Till ever, as I learn, aroundThy steps a listening crowd is found,Who still unto thy sad lamentDo with their sobs and tears consent;While in the bosom of that throngRise thoughts that do their Monarch wrong?What doom I did for this assignThou knewest, and that doom is thine.”

—What marvel that the Caliph, stung

With secret consciousness of wrong,

Or now desiring every trace

Of that large bounty to efface,

With penalty of death forbade

That mourning should for them be made;

That any should with grateful song

Their memory in men’s hearts prolong?

—“And who art thou, that day by day

Hast dared my mandate disobey?

Who art thou whom my guards have found,

Now standing on some grass-grown mound,

Now wandering ’mid the ruined towers,

Fall’n palaces, and wasted bowers

Of those, at length for traitors known,

And by my justice overthrown—

Singing a plaintive dirge for them

Whom my just vengeance did condemn;

Till ever, as I learn, around

Thy steps a listening crowd is found,

Who still unto thy sad lament

Do with their sobs and tears consent;

While in the bosom of that throng

Rise thoughts that do their Monarch wrong?

What doom I did for this assign

Thou knewest, and that doom is thine.”

But then the offender,—“Give me room,And I will gladly take my doom,O King, to spend my latest breath,Ere I am hurried to my death,In telling for what highest graceI was beholden to that race,Whose memory my heart hath kept,Whose sunken glories I have wept.For then, at least, it will appearThat not in disobedience mereThy mandate high I overpast.—O King, I was the least and lastOf all the servitors of him,Whose glory in thy frown grew dim,—The least and last—yet he one dayTo me, his meanest slave, did sayThat he was fain my guest to be,And the next day would sup with me.More time I willingly had craved,But my excuses all he waved,And by no train accompanied,His two sons only at his side,At my poor lodging lighted down,Which at the limits of the townStood in a close and narrow street.Him I and mine did humbly greet,Standing before him while he sharedWhat we meanwhile had best preparedOf entertainment, though the bestWas poor and mean for such a guest.

But then the offender,—“Give me room,

And I will gladly take my doom,

O King, to spend my latest breath,

Ere I am hurried to my death,

In telling for what highest grace

I was beholden to that race,

Whose memory my heart hath kept,

Whose sunken glories I have wept.

For then, at least, it will appear

That not in disobedience mere

Thy mandate high I overpast.

—O King, I was the least and last

Of all the servitors of him,

Whose glory in thy frown grew dim,—

The least and last—yet he one day

To me, his meanest slave, did say

That he was fain my guest to be,

And the next day would sup with me.

More time I willingly had craved,

But my excuses all he waved,

And by no train accompanied,

His two sons only at his side,

At my poor lodging lighted down,

Which at the limits of the town

Stood in a close and narrow street.

Him I and mine did humbly greet,

Standing before him while he shared

What we meanwhile had best prepared

Of entertainment, though the best

Was poor and mean for such a guest.

“But supper done, with cheerful mien,‘Thy house,’ he cried, ‘I have not seen,Thy gardens;—let me pace awhileAlong some cool and shadowy aisle.’I thought he mocked me, but replied,‘Possessions have I not so wide:For house, another room with thisOur only habitation is;And garden have I none to show,Unless that narrow court below,Shut in with lofty walls, that nameIn right of four dwarf shrubs may claim.’—‘Nay, nay,’ he answered, ‘there is more,If only we could find the door.’Again I told him, but in vain,That he had seen my whole domain.—‘Nay, go then quick, a mason call.’Him bade he straightway pierce the wall.—‘But shall we in this wise invadeA neighbour’s house?’—No heed he paid,And I stood dumb, and wonderingWhereto he would the issue bring.Anon he through the opening past,He and his sons, and I the last;When suddenly myself I foundIn ample space of garden ground,Or rather in a ParadiseOf rare and wonderful device,With stately walks and alleys wide,Far stretching upon every side;And streams, upon whose either bankStood lofty platanes, rank by rank,And marble fountains, scattering highIllumined dew-drops in the sky;And making a low tinkling sound,As sliding down from mound to mound,They did at last their courses takeDown to a calm and lucid lake,By which, on gently sloping height,There stood a palace of delight;And many slaves, but all of rareAnd perfect beauty, marshalled there,Did each to me incline the knee,Exclaiming all—‘Thy servants we.’

“But supper done, with cheerful mien,

‘Thy house,’ he cried, ‘I have not seen,

Thy gardens;—let me pace awhile

Along some cool and shadowy aisle.’

I thought he mocked me, but replied,

‘Possessions have I not so wide:

For house, another room with this

Our only habitation is;

And garden have I none to show,

Unless that narrow court below,

Shut in with lofty walls, that name

In right of four dwarf shrubs may claim.’

—‘Nay, nay,’ he answered, ‘there is more,

If only we could find the door.’

Again I told him, but in vain,

That he had seen my whole domain.

—‘Nay, go then quick, a mason call.’

Him bade he straightway pierce the wall.

—‘But shall we in this wise invade

A neighbour’s house?’—No heed he paid,

And I stood dumb, and wondering

Whereto he would the issue bring.

Anon he through the opening past,

He and his sons, and I the last;

When suddenly myself I found

In ample space of garden ground,

Or rather in a Paradise

Of rare and wonderful device,

With stately walks and alleys wide,

Far stretching upon every side;

And streams, upon whose either bank

Stood lofty platanes, rank by rank,

And marble fountains, scattering high

Illumined dew-drops in the sky;

And making a low tinkling sound,

As sliding down from mound to mound,

They did at last their courses take

Down to a calm and lucid lake,

By which, on gently sloping height,

There stood a palace of delight;

And many slaves, but all of rare

And perfect beauty, marshalled there,

Did each to me incline the knee,

Exclaiming all—‘Thy servants we.’

“And then my Lord cried, laughing—‘Nay,While this is thine, how could’st thou sayThat thou had’st shown me all before?Thine is it all.’—He said no more,But at my benefactor’s feetI falling, thanks would render meet.He, scarcely listening, turned his head,And to his eldest son he said:‘This house, these gardens, ’twere in vain,Unless enabled to maintain,That he should call them his;—my son,Let us not leave this grace half done:’Who then replied—‘My farms beyondThe Tigris I by sealèd bondThis night before we part, will seeMade over unto him in fee,’—‘’Tis well; but there will months ensue,Ere his incomings will be due.What shall there, the meanwhile, be done?’He turned unto his younger son,Who answered—‘I will bid that gold,Ten thousand pieces, shall be toldUnto his steward presently;These shall his urgent needs supply.’’Twas done upon that very eve;And done, anon they took their leave,And left me free to contemplateThe wonders of my novel state.

“And then my Lord cried, laughing—‘Nay,

While this is thine, how could’st thou say

That thou had’st shown me all before?

Thine is it all.’—He said no more,

But at my benefactor’s feet

I falling, thanks would render meet.

He, scarcely listening, turned his head,

And to his eldest son he said:

‘This house, these gardens, ’twere in vain,

Unless enabled to maintain,

That he should call them his;—my son,

Let us not leave this grace half done:’

Who then replied—‘My farms beyond

The Tigris I by sealèd bond

This night before we part, will see

Made over unto him in fee,’

—‘’Tis well; but there will months ensue,

Ere his incomings will be due.

What shall there, the meanwhile, be done?’

He turned unto his younger son,

Who answered—‘I will bid that gold,

Ten thousand pieces, shall be told

Unto his steward presently;

These shall his urgent needs supply.’

’Twas done upon that very eve;

And done, anon they took their leave,

And left me free to contemplate

The wonders of my novel state.

“Prince of the faithful, mighty King,My fortunes from this source had spring,Which, if they since that time have grown,Him their first author still I own.Nor when that name, which was the praiseOf all the world, on evil daysHad fall’n, was I content to letBe quite forgotten the large debtI owe to him;—content to die,If such shall be thy pleasure high,And my offence shall seem to theeDeserving of such penalty.”

“Prince of the faithful, mighty King,

My fortunes from this source had spring,

Which, if they since that time have grown,

Him their first author still I own.

Nor when that name, which was the praise

Of all the world, on evil days

Had fall’n, was I content to let

Be quite forgotten the large debt

I owe to him;—content to die,

If such shall be thy pleasure high,

And my offence shall seem to thee

Deserving of such penalty.”

What marvel that the King who heardWas in his inmost bosom stirred?What marvel that he owned the forceOf late regret and vain remorse?That spreading palm, whose boughs had madeFar stretching such an ample shadeFor many a wanderer through life’s waste,He had hewn down in guilty haste;That fountain free, that springing wellOf goodness inexhaustible,His hand had stopt it, ne’er againTo slake the thirst of weary men.That genial sun, which evermoreDid on a cold, chill world outpourIts rays of love and life and light,’Twas he who quenched in darkest night.What marvel that he owned the forceOf late regret and vain remorse,And (all he could) now freely gaveThe life the other did not crave?Nay more, the offender did dismissWith gifts and praise—nor only this,But did the unrighteous law reverseWhich had forbidden to rehearse,And in the minds of men prolong,By grateful speech or plaintive song,The bounteous acts and graces wide,And goodness of the Barmecide.

What marvel that the King who heard

Was in his inmost bosom stirred?

What marvel that he owned the force

Of late regret and vain remorse?

That spreading palm, whose boughs had made

Far stretching such an ample shade

For many a wanderer through life’s waste,

He had hewn down in guilty haste;

That fountain free, that springing well

Of goodness inexhaustible,

His hand had stopt it, ne’er again

To slake the thirst of weary men.

That genial sun, which evermore

Did on a cold, chill world outpour

Its rays of love and life and light,

’Twas he who quenched in darkest night.

What marvel that he owned the force

Of late regret and vain remorse,

And (all he could) now freely gave

The life the other did not crave?

Nay more, the offender did dismiss

With gifts and praise—nor only this,

But did the unrighteous law reverse

Which had forbidden to rehearse,

And in the minds of men prolong,

By grateful speech or plaintive song,

The bounteous acts and graces wide,

And goodness of the Barmecide.

III.THE FESTIVAL.

Five hundred princely guests beforeHaroun Al Raschid sate:Five hundred princely guests or moreAdmired his royal state.

Five hundred princely guests before

Haroun Al Raschid sate:

Five hundred princely guests or more

Admired his royal state.

II.

For never had that glory beenSo royally displayed,Nor ever such a gorgeous sceneHad eye of man surveyed.

For never had that glory been

So royally displayed,

Nor ever such a gorgeous scene

Had eye of man surveyed.

III.

He, most times meek of heart, yet nowOf spirit too elate,Exclaimed—“Before me Cesars bow,On me two empires wait.

He, most times meek of heart, yet now

Of spirit too elate,

Exclaimed—“Before me Cesars bow,

On me two empires wait.

IV.

“Yet all our glories something lack,We do our triumphs wrong,Until to us reflected backIn mirrors clear of song.

“Yet all our glories something lack,

We do our triumphs wrong,

Until to us reflected back

In mirrors clear of song.

“Call him then unto whom this powerIs given, this skill sublime—Now win from us some gorgeous dowerWith song that fits the time.”

“Call him then unto whom this power

Is given, this skill sublime—

Now win from us some gorgeous dower

With song that fits the time.”

VI.

—“My King, as I behold thee now,May I behold thee still,While prostrate worlds before thee bow,And wait upon thy will!

—“My King, as I behold thee now,

May I behold thee still,

While prostrate worlds before thee bow,

And wait upon thy will!

VII.

“May evermore this clear pure heaven,Whence every speck and stainOf trouble far away is driven,Above thy head remain!”

“May evermore this clear pure heaven,

Whence every speck and stain

Of trouble far away is driven,

Above thy head remain!”

VIII.

The Caliph cried—“Thou wishest well;There waits thee golden storeFor this—but, oh! resume the spell,I fain would listen more.”

The Caliph cried—“Thou wishest well;

There waits thee golden store

For this—but, oh! resume the spell,

I fain would listen more.”

IX.

—“Drink thou life’s sweetest goblet up,O King, and may its wine,For others’ lips a mingled cup,Be all unmixed for thine.

—“Drink thou life’s sweetest goblet up,

O King, and may its wine,

For others’ lips a mingled cup,

Be all unmixed for thine.

“Live long—the shadow of no griefCome ever near to thee:As thou in height of place art chief,So chief in gladness be.”

“Live long—the shadow of no grief

Come ever near to thee:

As thou in height of place art chief,

So chief in gladness be.”

XI.

Haroun Al Raschid cried again—“I thank thee—but proceed,And now take up an higher strain,And win an higher mead.”

Haroun Al Raschid cried again—

“I thank thee—but proceed,

And now take up an higher strain,

And win an higher mead.”

XII.

Around that high magnific hall,One glance the poet threwOn courtiers, king, and festival,And did the strain renew.

Around that high magnific hall,

One glance the poet threw

On courtiers, king, and festival,

And did the strain renew.

XIII.

—“And yet, and yet—shalt thou at lastLie stretched on bed of death:Then, when thou drawest thick and fastWith sobs thy painful breath—

—“And yet, and yet—shalt thou at last

Lie stretched on bed of death:

Then, when thou drawest thick and fast

With sobs thy painful breath—

XIV.

“When Azrael glides through guarded gate,Through hosts that camp aroundTheir lord in vain—and will not wait,When thou art sadly bound

“When Azrael glides through guarded gate,

Through hosts that camp around

Their lord in vain—and will not wait,

When thou art sadly bound

XV.

“Unto thine house of dust alone,O King, when thou must die,—This pomp a shadow thou shalt own,This glory all a lie.”

“Unto thine house of dust alone,

O King, when thou must die,—

This pomp a shadow thou shalt own,

This glory all a lie.”

XVI.

Then darkness on all faces hung,And through the banquet wentLow sounds the murmuring guests amongOf angry discontent.

Then darkness on all faces hung,

And through the banquet went

Low sounds the murmuring guests among

Of angry discontent.

XVII.

And him anon they fiercely urge—“What guerdon shall be thine?What does it, this untimely dirge,’Mid feasts, and flowers, and wine?

And him anon they fiercely urge—

“What guerdon shall be thine?

What does it, this untimely dirge,

’Mid feasts, and flowers, and wine?

XVIII.

“One lord demanded in his mirthA strain to heighten glee;But, lo! at thine his tears come forthIn current swift and free.”

“One lord demanded in his mirth

A strain to heighten glee;

But, lo! at thine his tears come forth

In current swift and free.”

XIX.

—“Peace—not to him rebukes belong,But rather highest grace;He gave me what I asked, a songTo fit the time and place.”

—“Peace—not to him rebukes belong,

But rather highest grace;

He gave me what I asked, a song

To fit the time and place.”

XX.

All voices at that voice were stilled;Again the Caliph cried,—“He saw our mouths with laughter filled,He saw us drunk with pride;

All voices at that voice were stilled;

Again the Caliph cried,—

“He saw our mouths with laughter filled,

He saw us drunk with pride;

XXI.

“And bade us know that every road,By monarch trod or slave,Thick set with thorns, with roses strowed,Doth issue in the grave.”

“And bade us know that every road,

By monarch trod or slave,

Thick set with thorns, with roses strowed,

Doth issue in the grave.”

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