"Ay! quail and cringe and crook the supple knee,
And beg thy life of me, thine enemy,
Whom thou, a moment since, didst doom to death.
I will not breathe suspicion's lightest breath
Against thy vaunted fame: and even though
Before all men thou'st sworn thyself my foe,
And pledged thyself wrongly to wreak on me
Thy utmost power of mortal injury,
In spite of this, should I be first to die
And win the bowers of the blest on high,
Beside the golden gate of Paradise
Thee will I wait with ever-watchful eyes,
Ready to plead forgiveness for thy sin,
If thou shouldst come, and shouldst not enter in.
"Should Allah hear my plea, how sweet! how sweet!
For then would Kafur's vengeance be complete."
THE WISHING WELL.
BY VIRGINIA WOODWARD CLOUD.
Around its shining edge three sat them down,
Beyond the desert, 'neath the palms' green ring.
"I wish," spake one, "the gems of Izza's crown,
For then would I be Izza and a King!"
Another, "I the royal robe he wears,
To hear men say, 'Behold, a King walks here!'"
And cried the third, "Now by his long gray hairs
I'd have his throne! Then should men cringe and fear!"
They quaffed the blessed draught and went their way
To where the city's gilded turrets shone;
Then from the shadowed palms, where rested they,
Stepped one, with bowed gray head, and passed alone.
His arms upon his breast, his eyes down bent,
Against the fading light a shadow straight;
Across the yellow sand, musing, he went
Where in the sunset gleamed the city's gate.
Lo, the next morrow a command did bring
To three who tarried in that city's wall,
Which bade them hasten straightway to the King,
Izza, the Great, and straightway went they all,
With questioning and wonder in each mind.
Majestic on his gleaming throne was he,
Izza the Just, the kingliest of his kind!
His eagle gaze upon the strangers three