| Hussein |
Three days since, at the time of prayer,
A certain Mullah, with his robe
All rent, and dust upon his hair,
Watch’d my lord’s coming forth, and push’d
The golden mace-bearers aside,
And fell at the King’s feet, and cried;
“Justice, O King, and on myself!
On this great sinner, who hath broke
The law, and by the law must die!
Vengeance, O King!” But the King spoke:
“What fool is this, that hurts our ears
With folly? or what drunken slave?
My guards, what, prick him with your spears!
Prick me the fellow from the path!”
As the King said, so it was done,
And to the mosque my lord pass’d on.
But on the morrow, when the King
Went forth again, the holy book
Carried before him, as is right,
And through the square his path he took;
My man comes running, fleck’d with blood
From yesterday, and falling down
Cries out most earnestly: “O King,
My lord, O King, do right, I pray!
“How canst thou, ere thou hear, discern
If I speak folly? but a king,
Whether a thing be great or small,
Like Allah, hears and judges all.
“Wherefore hear thou! Thou know’st, how fierce
In these last days the sun hath burn’d:
That the green water in the tanks
Is to a putrid puddle turn’d:
And the canal, which from the stream
Of Samarkand is brought this way,
Wastes, and runs thinner every day.
“Now I at nightfall had gone forth
Alone, and in a darksome place
Under some mulberry trees I found
A little pool; and in brief space,
With all the water that was there
I fill’d my pitcher, and stole home
Unseen: and having drink to spare,
I hid the can behind the door,
And went up on the roof to sleep.
“But in the night, which was with wind
And burning dust, again I creep
Down, having fever, for a drink.
“Now meanwhile had my brethren found
The water-pitcher, where it stood
Behind the door upon the ground,
And call’d my mother: and they all,
As they were thirsty, and the night
Most sultry, drain’d the pitcher there;
That they sate with it, in my sight,
Their lips still wet, when I came down.
“Now mark! I, being fever’d, sick
(Most unblest also) at that sight
Brake forth, and curs’d them—dost thou hear?—
One was my mother—Now, do right!”
But my lord mused a space, and said:
“Send him away, Sirs, and make on.
It is some madman,” the King said:
As the King said, so was it done.
The morrow at the self-same hour
In the King’s path, behold, the man,
Not kneeling, sternly fix’d: he stood
Right opposite, and thus began,
Frowning grim down:—“Thou wicked King,
Most deaf where thou shouldst most give ear!
What, must I howl in the next world,
Because thou wilt not listen here?
“What, wilt thou pray, and get thee grace,
And all grace shall to me be grudg’d?
Nay but, I swear, from this thy path
I will not stir till I be judg’d.”
Then they who stood about the King
Drew close together and conferr’d:
Till that the King stood forth and said,
“Before the priests thou shalt be heard.”
But when the Ulemas were met,
And the thing heard, they doubted not;
But sentenc’d him, as the law is,
To die by stoning on the spot.
Now the King charg’d us secretly:
“Ston’d must he be, the law stands so:
Yet, if he seek to fly, give way:
Hinder him not, but let him go.”
So saying, the King took a stone,
And cast it softly: but the man,
With a great joy upon his face,
Kneel’d down, and cried not, neither ran.
So they, whose lot it was, cast stones;
That they flew thick and bruis’d him sore:
But he prais’d Allah with loud voice,
And remain’d kneeling as before.
My lord had cover’d up his face:
But when one told him, “He is dead,”
Turning him quickly to go in,
“Bring thou to me his corpse,” he said.
And truly, while I speak, O King,
I hear the bearers on the stair.
Wilt thou they straightway bring him in?
—Ho! enter ye who tarry there!
|
