With heart disturbed and forehead hot,
Forth Ulric went, alone, and sought
The garden's grateful shade;
A spot with massive walls surrounded,
And from the outward city bounded,
Where thicket wild and tangled wood,
All silence and all solitude,
A Paradise had made;
As calm, as if the verdant sod
By human feet had ne'er been trod;
As silent, as its ground might be
Some lonely island in the sea.
So well did art the charm express
Of nature and her loveliness;
And there the head with thinking tired,
And there the heart with passion fired,
Found strange relief to rest,
Or soft delight alone to rove
Through sylvan glade, and shadowy grove,
That knew its better springs to move,
And charm to peace, and touch with love
The hot and angry breast.
"What! Mahmoud! What! Come! Sirrah! Come!"
Unloosed the leash the obedient groom;
His favorite dog, in frolic mood,
With love inspired and gratitude,
Flew to his side with bounding feet,
Frantic his glad caress to meet.
Not his the wily courtier's grace:
His buoyant joy—his rough embrace,
The master's costly dress deface.
Small heed gives he, but leans to feel
The soothing sweetness through him steal,
Which, who on earth hath never proved,
In loving, when in turn beloved?
Aye, though the dear conviction rise
E'en from the poor dog's gentle eyes!
"Come, Mahmoud, come! Old honest boy!
Thine is no false or fickle joy;
Thy virtues all that men possess—
Not theirs thy pure unselfishness.
In thee, thy love were all as sweet,
Couched at the shepherd's humble feet,
Sharing the peasant's frugal bread,
Ox by the sightless beggar led.
Thy heart, alone affectionate,
E'en in the palace of the great,
Ne'er beats with envy or with hate.
Good, good old Mahmoud! Well I may
Conjecture all thy tongue would say,
Couldst thou but answer. Well I know,
Should strike me e'er contempt and woe,
Of every servant—aye, and friend,
That on my pride and fortune tend,
Not one would share, with love like thine,
All fate, no matter what, if mine.
For where, beneath the bending sky,
Found ever man fidelity?
Content through life all pangs to brave,
And starve at last upon the grave,
More deeply felt, more clear expressed,
Than warms the dog's devoted breast."
He said, when, sudden, Steinfort stood
Close at his side, in angry mood;
Though none might tell or whence or why
That brow of cloud—that flashing eye.
The dog, in gambols circling round,
Leaped to his hand with sportive bound.
"St. Johann curse the mongrel hound!
What, is he mad?" and, with the word,
Swept through the air his glittering sword—
A growl of wrath—a yell of pain—
Poor Mahmoud ne'er will leap again!
And swifter gleamed the fury now
Through Ulric's breast and o'er his brow,
Than e'er from Heaven the lightning broke,
And struck to flame the quivering oak.
"Steinfort, enough! I bear it not!
We try our quarrel on the spot.
Thou art a villain!"
"To such word,"
Said Steinfort, "answer thou, my sword!
And, by St. Matthew! ere I dine,
The dog's base blood shall mix with thine."
They fought, but soon the faithless brand
Shivered in Steinfort's furious hand.
A moment more, and his life blood
Had drenched the verdure where he stood,
When Ulric paused, a voice to hear—
As music sweet, as morning clear,
That fell from Heaven upon his ear:
"Ulric, forbear! Thy wrath restrain!
Put up thy sword without a stain!
Thy master speaks. His will obey!
Evil, the wicked man shall slay!
I bid thee, in the name of Heaven!
Forgive! as thou wouldst be forgiven!"
He listened, and a holy charm
Composed his breast, and staid his arm.
"I do forgive!" he calmly said,
And patient sheathed his spotless blade.
"Steinfort, I leave thee to thy thought;
Our quarrel, though I sought it not—
Thy hate—thy blindness, I deplore;
Go, live, and tempt my soul no more!
Poor Mahmoud!"—and he dashed a tear—
"Thou wast my friend—my comrade dear!
And kind were Heaven, if to my vow,
It grant another true as thou!"
He went—a statue Steinfort there,
Stood fixed in fury and despair;
And near him lingered in the shade,
With beating heart, a trembling maid;
Loulou, whose mother long had swayed,
With skill and talent manifold,
The costly palace's household.
She all had heard—and all had seen—
Half hidden in the thicket green.