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| UPON a day in Ramadan— | |
| When sunset brought an end of fast, | |
| And in his station every man | |
| Prepar’d to share the glad repast— | |
| Sate Mohtasim in royal state, | 5 |
| The pillaw smok’d upon the gold; | |
| The fairest slave of those that wait | |
| Mohtasim’s jewell’d cup did hold. | |
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| Of crystal carven was the cup, | |
| With turquoise set along the brim, | 10 |
| A lid of amber clos’d it up; | |
| ’T was a great king that gave it him. | |
| The slave pour’d sherbet to the brink, | |
| Stirr’d in wild honey and pomegranate, | |
| With snow and rose-leaves cool’d the drink, | 15 |
| And bore it where the Caliph sate. | |
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| The Caliph’s mouth was dry as bone, | |
| He swept his beard aside to quaff: | |
| The news-reader beneath the throne | |
| Went droning on with ghain and kaf. | 20 |
| The Caliph drew a mighty breath, | |
| Just then the reader read a word— | |
| And Mohtasim, as grim as death, | |
| Set down the cup and snatch’d his sword. | |
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| “Ann’ amratan shureefatee!” | 25 |
| “Speak clear!” cries angry Mohtasim; | |
| “Fe lasr ind’ ilj min ulji,”— | |
| Trembling the newsman read to him | |
| How in Ammoria, far from home, | |
| An Arab girl of noble race | 30 |
| Was captive to a lord of Roum; | |
| And how he smote her on the face, | |
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| And how she cried, for life afraid, | |
| “Ya, Mohtasim! help, O my king!” | |
| And how the Kafir mock’d the maid, | 35 |
| And laugh’d, and spake a bitter thing, | |
| “Call louder, fool! Mohtasim’s ears | |
| Are long as Barak’s—if he heed— | |
| Your prophet’s ass; and when he hears, | |
| He ’ll come upon a spotted steed!” | 40 |
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| The Caliph’s face was stern and red, | |
| He snapp’d the lid upon the cup; | |
| “Keep this same sherbet, slave,” he said, | |
| “Till such time as I drink it up. | |
| Wallah! the stream my drink shall be, | 45 |
| My hallow’d palm my only bowl, | |
| Till I have set that lady free, | |
| And seen that Roumi dog’s head roll.” | |
| |
| At dawn the drums of war were beat, | |
| Proclaiming, “Thus saith Mohtasim, | 50 |
| ‘Let all my valiant horsemen meet, | |
| And every soldier bring with him | |
| A spotted steed.”’ So rode they forth, | |
| A sight of marvel and of fear; | |
| Pied horses prancing fiercely north, | 55 |
| Three lakhs—the cup borne in the rear! | |
| |
| When to Ammoria he did win, | |
| He smote and drove the dogs of Roum, | |
| And rode his spotted stallion in, | |
| Crying “Labbayki! I am come!” | 60 |
| Then downward from her prison-place | |
| Joyful the Arab lady crept; | |
| She held her hair before her face, | |
| She kiss’d his feet, she laugh’d and wept. | |
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| She pointed where that lord was laid: | 65 |
| They drew him forth, he whin’d for grace: | |
| Then with fierce eyes Mohtaism said— | |
| She whom thou smotest on the face | |
| Had scorn, because she call’d her king: | |
| Lo! he is come! and dost thou think | 70 |
| To live, who didst this bitter thing | |
| While Mohtasim at peace did drink?” | |
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| Flash’d the fierce sword—roll’d the lord’s head; | |
| The wicked blood smok’d in the sand. | |
| “Now bring my cup!” the Caliph said. | 75 |
| Lightly he took it in his hand,— | |
| As down his throat the sweet drink ran | |
| Mohtasim in his saddle laugh’d, | |
| And cried, “Taiba asshrab alan! | |
| By God! delicious is this draught!” | 80 |
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