"Comes this way one a friend
Of mine, and leaves his slippers at my door,
Why then, 'tis his."
"And whose the hills that look
Upon the plain?"
"My flocks go there at morn,
And thence they come at night—I take my right
Of Allah."
"No," the stranger mildly said,
"'Twas Allah made them mine."
Frowned Ertoghrul,
While darkened all the air; but from his side
Full pleasantly the stranger took a sword,
Its carven hilt one royal emerald,
Its blade both sides with legends overwrought,
Some from the Koran, some from Solomon,
All by the cunning Eastern maker burned
Into the azure steel-his sword he took,
And held it, belt, and scabbard too, in sign
Of gift.
"The herds, the plain, the hills were mine;
But take thou them, and with them this in proof
Of title."
Lifted Ertoghrul his brows,
And opened wide his eyes.
"Now who art thou?"
He asked in turn.
"Oh, I am Alaeddin—
Sometimes they call me Alaeddin the Great."
"I take thy gifts—the herds, the plain, the hills,"
Said Ertoghrul; "and so I take the sword;
But none the less, if comes a need, 'tis thine.
Let others call thee Alaeddin the Great;
To me and mine thou'rt Alaeddin the Good
And Great."
With that, he kissed the good King's hand;
And making merry, to the Sheik's dowar
They rode. And thus from nothing came the small;
And now the lonely vale which erst ye knew,
And scorned, because it nursed the mountain's feet,
Doth cradle mornings on the mountain's top.