THE KING.
And the king said: "Thou livest! And thy words
Are more for peril than a thousand swords!
Is it king's custom to bear two men's scorn
In the short compass of a single morn?
Go to thine house and wait until thou know
The king's hand follows when his voice says, Go."
Ben Ali from the court went forth in shame,
And after him the shivering Afghan came,
Whom, taking by the garment, he led down
Through the packed highways of the busy town,
To where in flowers and shadows, peace and pride,
His gardened palace by the river side
Lay like a lotus in perfumed repose;
There set a feast for him as for the king,
With friendly words and courteous welcoming
Sat with the ragged Afghan, while beneath
The dancing girls, each with her jasmine wreath,—
And one that dallied with a crimson rose,—
Sang softly in the garden cool, that sank.
By lawn and terrace to the river's bank:
"So dear thou art,
The seed that thou hast planted in the mould
And fertile fallow of my heart
Hath borne a thousand-fold,
So dear thou art.
"Sweet love, wild love,
Love will I sow and love will reap,
And where the golden harvest bends above
There will I find sleep,
Sweet love, child love."
And when the feast was over, and remained
Only the fruits, and wine in flasks contained,
And costly drinking cups, Ben Ali rose
And left the chattering Afghan with a smile,
To walk among his aloe trees awhile,
Thinking: "Day closes. Ere another close
These things I see no more, for a king's wrath
Leaps foaming down and falls, as cataracts leap
And fall from sleeping pools to pools asleep,
And either ere to-morrow night I die,
Or all my days in exiled penury
Among strange peoples tread the strangers' path."
And while in shadows with slow pace he went
The ruddy daylight faded in the west,
And she that held the rose against her breast
Sang to the stirring of some instrument:
"The sea
That rounds in gloom
The pallid pearl,
Where corals curl
The rosy edges of their barren bloom,
And cold seamaidens wear
Inwoven in their hair
A light that draws the sailor down the wet ways of
despair,
In whose green silken glisten
They drift and wait and listen,
And the sea-monsters lift their heads and stare!
The sorrowing sea,
Like life in me,
Wavers in homeless dreams till love is known
And love for life atone."
Meanwhile the Afghan, glancing here and there,
Saw no one by him, and arose in haste,
And took the drinking cups with jewels graced,
And hid them in his rags, from stair to stair
Slid like a shadow, and from hall to hall;
So vanished, like a shadow from the wall.
Ben Ali from his aloe-planted lawn
Returned, and saw the drinking cups were gone,
And smiled and leaned him in the window dim
To watch the dancing girls, who, seeing him
Began again to weave, to part, to close,
With tinkling bells and shimmer of white feet,
And she that drooped her head above a rose
Sang in the twilight, languid, slow, and sweet:
"Close-curtained rose,
Open thy petals and the dew disclose.
Hide not so long
Those crimson shades among,
In silken splendour
That nestling tender,
That dewdrop cradled in the heart of thee,
God meant for me.
"A little while,
And naught to me the blossom of thy smile.
Forgive all men;
Yea, love, forgive the false and trust again,
For life deceiveth,
And love believeth;
Within love's merciful chambers let us stay,
The while we may."
The singing ceased. There rose a storm of calls
And sudden clangour in his outer halls;
And these were hushed, and some one cried: "The
king!"
Followed the tread of armed men entering.
Ben Ali rose, thinking, "My time was brief;"
And lo, not only the tall king stood there,
His bracelets glittering in the torches' glare,
And gloomy eyes beneath his sweeping hair,
But at his feet cringed the swart Afghan thief.
"Thus saith the law: 'The thief shall have his hands
Struck from his wrists, in payment of the wage
Belonging to his sin.' The king commands