Slow speaking, 'To my cave there often comeAmbassadors of kings, and yesterday
The high Sultan of ancient Samarkand
Saluted me in person royally,
And in his shower of gifts my feet were hid,
Or had I stept, it would have been on pearls
And precious stones; and yet more welcome thou,
O son of Ertoghrul, than all of them—
A messenger from Allah with the key
He keeps upon the door above the vault
Where things to come lie hidden' gainst their day—
Take thou salute, and hear, then go thy way.
The wise man reads the name of Allah writ
On everything in Nature—on the stone,
The wasting leaf, the glittering water-drop—
And comes at last to look for prophecy
In all the unaccounted trifles strewn
By chance along the blind-worn paths of life.
These trophies are not voiceless as they seem.
I listen, and they tell me of the East
By thee again restored and masterful;
I listen, and they tell how turbaned hosts
Devout shall come from every land to light
The ready torches of their faith at thine;
I listen, and from out the upper depths
I hear a voice declare thy name shall be
Forever on the lips of fighting men
A battle-cry, and that in times of peace
Even the winds, unsteady passengers
And lawless though they are, shall take and blow
It up and down the world a melody
Of bugles. Up—up to the storied plains
Of glory thine forewritten 'tis to climb;
And bending ear, and listening wistfully,
I hear the music thence of horns and drums,
And cymbals ringing, and the high acclaims
Of countless men in arms; and if I look,
It is at thee enthroned on battle-fields,
And conquered cities crowding with their keys
On golden plates, and clamorous to buy
Thy better will. And yet, alas! I dare
Not speak the word besought. In truth, it is
Thy destiny I fear. When greatness cloaks
Thee like a tabard more than courtly dight,
What then of Malkatoon ? Mayhap, 'twill be
For me, O son of Ertoghrul, to seek
A lion's den or eagle's nest for lamb
Alive or dove unharmed, and fail as thou
Hast failed. A question—one; then peace to thee,
And all of thine. Where doth that holy thing,
A trusting woman's simple love, fare worst ?
And I will tell: Tis in the heart by years
Of kingly usage into marble turned—
Thou hast my answer.'
"And with that he took
The young man's hand in both of his, and held
It tenderly, as loath to let him go
So sadly burdened; then when he had back
His voice, he said, 'The Wilderness hath- kept
Itself unlocked, and rendered thee the Tribe
In sacred trust for Allah; whence 'tis thine
To wait on it, and bend its stubborn will
To honor Him. The truest blades are those
Most frequent in the fire, and thus may He
Be chastening thee. Thy faith to this hath been
In purity like pearls in Heaven's gate.
Forget not now that all the times are His,
The morrows and the years, in which to send
The sign I ask.'
"He turned, but at the door,
The inner door of heavy camel's-hair,
He left the parting speech. 'A woman dead,
And in her grave, but with a promise had,
May hold a man when even Allah's word
Hath spent its force with him. Now, good my lord
In going ponder this: The world is old,
And there were loves and lovers ere thou earnest.'
"The daylight, gray along the cavern floor,
Went out on Othman, yet, with upraised face,
He prayed— 'O Allah ! To a moon's scant breadth
The sky is shrunk; for I am in a well,
And darkness, cold as water, covers me
Still sinking. Atnin ! Thou didst dig the deeps,
Or else there were no heights; and I will find
Thee at the bottom.'
"Then a lightning flashed
Within his mind, that he alone might see
The answer Allah made—A woman dead,
And in her grave, but oh ! so beautiful,
And so like Malkatoon ! Her hair as dark,
Her face as oval, with a brow as white,
And even in its childishness her form
The very same!
