THE SPANISH JEW'S SECOND TALE
SCANDERBEG
The battle is fought and won By King Ladislaus the Hun, In fire of hell and death's frost, On the day of Pentecost. And in rout before his path From the field of battle red Flee all that are not dead Of the army of Amurath.
In the darkness of the night Iskander, the pride and boast Of that mighty Othman host, With his routed Turks, takes flight From the battle fought and lost On the day of Pentecost; Leaving behind him dead The army of Amurath, The vanguard as it led, The rearguard as it fled, Mown down in the bloody swath Of the battle's aftermath.
But he cared not for Hospodars, Nor for Baron or Voivode, As on through the night he rode And gazed at the fateful stars, That were shining overhead But smote his steed with his staff, And smiled to himself, and said; "This is the time to laugh."
In the middle of the night, In a halt of the hurrying flight, There came a Scribe of the King Wearing his signet ring, And said in a voice severe: "This is the first dark blot On thy name, George Castriot! Alas why art thou here, And the army of Amurath slain, And left on the battle plain?"
And Iskander answered and said: "They lie on the bloody sod By the hoofs of horses trod; But this was the decree Of the watchers overhead; For the war belongeth to God, And in battle who are we, Who are we, that shall withstand The wind of his lifted hand?"
Then he bade them bind with chains This man of books and brains; And the Scribe said: "What misdeed Have I done, that, without need, Thou doest to me this thing?" And Iskander answering Said unto him: "Not one Misdeed to me hast thou done; But for fear that thou shouldst run And hide thyself from me, Have I done this unto thee.
"Now write me a writing, O Scribe, And a blessing be on thy tribe! A writing sealed with thy ring, To King Amurath's Pasha In the city of Croia, The city moated and walled, That he surrender the same In the name of my master, the King; For what is writ in his name Can never be recalled."
And the Scribe bowed low in dread, And unto Iskander said: "Allah is great and just, But we are as ashes and dust; How shall I do this thing, When I know that my guilty head Will be forfeit to the King?"