“His wives stiff with riches, they sit before him there. |And a second
Right hard
To stomach|
Bird and beast at his feast make song and clapping cheer.
And jugglers and enchanters, all walking on the air,
Make fall eclipse and thunder—make moons and suns appear!
“Once the Chan, by his enemies soreprest, and sorely spent, |And a third,
Which is a
Laughable
Thing.|
Lay, so they say, in a thicket ’neath a tree
Where the howl of an owl vexed his foes from their intent:
Then that fowl for a holy bird of reverence made he!
“A catch and a carol to the great, grand Chan! |We gape to
Hear them end,|
Pastmasters of disasters, our desert caravan