I.
SCORNER of the pleading faces,
In the first year of his reign,
From the lean crowd and its traces
Down the open orchard-lane
Walked young Mahmoud in his glory,
In his pomp and his disdain
And beyond all oratory,
Music’s sweetness, ocean’s might,
Fell a voice from branches hoary:
‘He whose heart is at life’s height,
Who has wisdom, love, and riches,
Islam’s greatest, dies this night.’
And he crossed the rampart ditches
Blinded, and confused, and slow;
High in palaced nooks and niches
Clanged his fathers’ shields a-row;
And their turrets triple-jointed
Shook with tempests of his woe.
Long past midnight, disanointed,
Prone upon his breast he lay,
Warring on that hour appointed:
But behold! at break of day,—
As if heaven itself had spoken,—
Blown across the bannered bay,
Over mart and mosque outbroken,
Came the silver-solemn chime
For some parted spirit’s token!
Mahmoud, with free breath sublime,
Summoned one whose snow-locks heaving
Made the vision of hoar Time;
And the red tides of thanksgiving
On his lifted brow, he said:
‘In my city of the living,
Which, proclaimed of bells, is dead?’
And the gray beard answered: ‘Master,
One who yesternight for bread
At thy gateway’s bronze pilaster
Begged in vain: blind Selim, he,
Victim of the old disaster.’
And the vassal suddenly
Looked on his hard lord with wonder,
For those tears were strange to see.
II.
Yet again, where boughs asunder
Held the wavy orchard-tent,
Sun-empurpled clusters under
In changed mood the Caliph went;
And anew heard sounds upgather,
(Chidings with caressings blent,
As the voice once of his father):
‘Haughty heart! not thou wert wise,
Rich, belovèd; Selim, rather,
‘Islam’s prince in Allah’s eyes!
Even the meek, in his great station,
Freehold had of Paradise.’
III.
When the plague-wind’s desolation
Pierced Bassora’s burning wall,
Circled with a kneeling nation
Whom his mercies held in thrall,
Died the Caliph, whispering tender
Counsel to his liegemen tall:
‘One last service, children! render
Me, whose pride the Lord forgave:
Not by our supreme Defender,
‘Not beside the holy wave,
Not in places where my race is
Lay me! but in Selim’s grave.’