 | A Summer Christmas and a Sonnet upon The S.S. "Ballaarat." |  |
SAIDA, THE BELOVED OF THE CALIPH.
Haroun Al Raschid, it is said,Was in his palace at Baghdad,
Sitting one summer day at noon,
And ready with the heat to swoon;
When in the dusty shadeless square
He spied an Arab drawing near,
Jaded, and limping sore, and wan.
And when the Caliph looked thereon,
And saw him toiling up the road,
He cried out, “Hath Almighty God,
Ever since heaven and earth began,
Made such a wholly wretched man
As this who drags his blistered feet
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And, turning to the vizier,
He bade that if the traveller
Craved audience with him that day,
He should be brought to him straightway.
And so it fell out as he thought,
And the poor man to him was brought,
And, supplicating much, began
To make complaint against Merwan—
Who, at Medina's holy gate,
Gave justice for the Caliphate.
“Commander of the Faithful, I—
Now eaten by calamity—
Was once of all men happiest,
With a fair wife and loving blest,
And a young camel trained, whereby
Our food and raiment to supply:
But one by one misfortunes came,
And false friends fell of, as the flame
Dies when the substance of the wood
Is into empty ash subdued;
And last of all came my wife's sire,
And, with well simulated ire,
Snatched my last treasure from me too.
And so I took my staff, and drew
To Merwan, our lord Governor,
And made complaint with groanings sore:
19
And bade mine enemy appear;
Who, when he came, with lying word,
Cried that of her own free accord
She had left me and sought her home,
And that when, after I had come
To crave her to return to me,
She had entreated him that he
Would not allow her to be led
Back to the loathsomeness she fled.
So that I, fearing that his tale
Would with the Governor prevail,
Asked whether, if my wife were brought
Before him, and herself besought
To be restored to me once more,
He would compel them to restore:
Who answered that it should be so,
And bade mine adversary go
And bring the woman to his seat,
That he might judge her as was meet—
Who, coming back, with him did bring
My wife, shamefaced and quivering.
And she, when bidden to declare
Which of us two the truth did swear,
Spake up for me in such a wise
That Merwan—fain with his own eyes
To see the woman, who could say
That which he would in such a way—
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And show the fashon of her face.
And she did so with shame and wince,
And he—whereas a minute since
He had adjudged her mine—perforce
Now made me crave him for divorce,
And took my wife to be his bride.
And therefore, weary and red-eyed,
In the mid-heat of a noonday
I drag my swollen feet, to lay
Suit for redress at thy divan,
And justice on the lord Merwan.”
Nor did he sue without avail—
For when the Caliph heard his tale
Dark grew his eyeballs, and he sent
Letters of passionate intent
That bade Merwan give back the wife,
If he set any worth on life,
Or, by the Prophet's holy beard,
And by the sepulchre revered,
His headless body should be meat
For dogs and vultures in the street.
Then Merwan, as the Caliph bade,
Did send the woman to Baghdad.
And sent before her couriers,
Bearing such words as these, in verse:—
21
Bend low to thine authority.
This Arab came to me to crave
Justice: and ready ear I gave,
As might beseem the judge who stands
To execute thy just commands.
He said that when prosperity
Had run ahead and passed him by,
The father of his wife had come
And haled her back to her old home,
And kept her there in his despite,
And prayed that I would do him right.
I, willing to do what was meet,
Called forthwith to the judgment seat
The wrong-doer, who, when he came,
And heard the count, denied the same,
Asserting that his child had fled
For succour, and yet lived in dread
Of being forced to dwell again
With the most hateful of all men.
Whereat the suppliant craved that I
Would have her brought to make reply,
And if so 'twere that she, when brought,
To be restored to him, besought,
That I would bid her sire restore
The woman unto him once more.
22
With one who seemed in the young prime
Of comely graceful womanhood,
Out of whose close-drawn veil there glowed
Two eyes that shot a mingled flame
Of sorrow, love, surprise and shame;
Who, when I bade her to declare
Which of the twain the truth did swear,
Spake for her lord in such a wise
That I was fain with mine own eyes
To see the fashioning of face
And somewhat further of the grace
Of this wise woman, who could say
That which she would in such a way,
And bade her draw her veil aside:
Whereat with shame the ruddy tide
Filled all the fairness of her cheeks,
And mid the shamefacedness that speaks
Of gentleness and modesty,
With trembling touch, she did comply,
And stood before my greedy eyes
A houri out of paradise,
Unmatched for soft alluring grace.
My heart leapt from me in that place
To touch the lips that could confess
With such sweet wisdom her distress,
And to be lord of her whose love
Misfortunes only helped to prove,
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Her husband to obtain divorce,
And had the woman to my heart,
The which she took in loving part
Until thy firman came to me.
Her to this end I send to thee,
That thou may'st look on her and know
What gifts hath Allah to bestow
On woman if he mindeth to.
Nor do I think that, when thine eyes
Have looked on her, thou wilt despise
Thy servant for what he hath done,
But that thou'lt take her for thine own
Unto the grand Seraglio
Whereby the Tigris' waters flow.”
Whereat the Caliph chafed again,
And cried, “This shameless one of men
Shall die the death who first deprives
My faithful Arabs of their wives,
And afterward accuseth me,
Saying that I have but to see
Her who hath brought about his blame
And that my sin will be the same;”
Then, turning to his vizier, bade
Bring forward him who sought his aid,
And said, “Thy wife to-day hath come,
And thou shalt have her to thine home;
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What manner of woman this may be
Who speaketh with such honied lips,
And whose eyes' magic doth eclipse
The magic of all eyes in glance,
Of which Merwan hath cognizance.
And then do thou and she depart
Whereso on earth it likes thy heart.”
Now she, for all her late resort
With Merwan at Medina's court,
Was as shamefaced and full of dread
When to the Caliph she was led,
And bidden to unveil her head,
As she had been when she was brought
To Merwan's palace and besought;
And, when before the throne, she stood
In all her peerless womanhood,
As beautiful as Ayesha,
Upon whose fragrant bosom lay
The prophet's cheek in happy hours,
And whose fair hands, like lily flowers,
Were wreathed about his dying head,
Or Zeineb who was wife of Zeid,
Or Mary the Egyptian,
While down her face a tear there ran,
As pure as Zemzem's sacred spring,
From eyes, like dog's eyes, questioning
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Of those whose gaze on her was bent
Whether it boded good or ill.
Meanwhile the Caliph drank his fill
Of this love-potion, and did muse
If he might not e'en now refuse
The boon he gave a moment since,
And yet do nothing that a prince
Who loved his people might not do.
And seemed it that, if it were so
That he might win the man's consent
With princely presents well content,
There should be little harm though he
Kept back the houri-eyed to be
A crown of loving to his life.
Natheless the Arab loved his wife
So graciously that for her sake,
Though beggared, he was loath to take
Three virgins, fair as the full moon,
And each of them as portion
Having a thousand gold dinars,
And for himself in the bazaars
To have all men bow low to him,
With downcast eyes and bended limb,
Like a great officer of state,
And to take from the Caliphate
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But answer made with many a tear,
“Caliph of Islam, I indeed
Came to thee in my utmost need
To claim thy hand's protection
Against the arm of Hakam's son:
But lo, thy little finger is
Thicker than Merwan's loin, I wis,
Nor do I know to whom to turn
For aid against thy purpose stern.
Take back thy gifts—I heed them not,
Though poor and painful be my lot;
I would not change my low estate
To have the very Caliphate,
If to have it were to lose her.”
The Caliph said, “Thou didst aver
That thou hadst put her from thy breast,
And Merwan's letter hath confessed
That he hath also done likewise.
How was she pleasing in thine eyes
Whom thou didst put away from thee?
Now shall she choose between us three,
Thyself, and Hakam's son, and me:
If she choose thee, she shall be thine,
And, if she choose thee not, be mine.
Dost thou agree?”
Came to thee in my utmost need
To claim thy hand's protection
Against the arm of Hakam's son:
But lo, thy little finger is
Thicker than Merwan's loin, I wis,
Nor do I know to whom to turn
For aid against thy purpose stern.
Take back thy gifts—I heed them not,
Though poor and painful be my lot;
I would not change my low estate
To have the very Caliphate,
If to have it were to lose her.”
The Caliph said, “Thou didst aver
That thou hadst put her from thy breast,
And Merwan's letter hath confessed
That he hath also done likewise.
How was she pleasing in thine eyes
Whom thou didst put away from thee?
Now shall she choose between us three,
Thyself, and Hakam's son, and me:
If she choose thee, she shall be thine,
And, if she choose thee not, be mine.
Dost thou agree?”
The Arab bowed,
And straight the Caliph cried aloud,
“Say, Saida, whether wilt thou wed
The Sheik of Islam to thy bed,
Who sits upon the Prophet's seat,
With all the nations at his feet,
And dwells in golden palaces,
And hath great realms and satrapies,
And slaves, and riches, and empire,
And can give all thou canst desire?
Or wilt thou have the lord Merwan,
That tyrannous and wrongful man,
Who loveth thee so well, forsooth,
That the poor lover of thy youth,
Was driven, and constrained, perforce,
To sue unto him for divorce?
Or wilt thou have this wretched one,
Who hath not to his portion,
Save hunger and, her mother, need?”
“By Allah,” she replied, “indeed,
Caliph of Islam, know that I
Do not desert when night is nigh
Those, whom I love in the broad day,
Because the sunshine sinks away;
Nor do I change as the times do,
And, when the summer flies, fly too;
Nor can I easily forget
That I have been his amulet
And ewe-lamb, from the very first;
Nor are our old love-bonds yet burst,
That have grown like an ivy stem,
As year by year passed over them.
O Sir, should I not bear with him,
Now that the nights are wild and dim,
Who have with him lived cloudless days,
When he basked in the spring sun's rays.
It is the common way of men,
Like deer who dwell upon the plain,
While the sun shines, and peace is there,
To browse together free from care,
But when the wolves come with the night
To forget all things in their fright,
And each cry, “Save himself who can.”
As with the deer, so with the man.
But woman is not ever so;
Her love shines with as pure a glow
Right through the darkness, mist, and spray,
As the North star which guides the way
Of mariners on unknown seas.
“O Caliph, I am such as these,
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“Say, Saida, whether wilt thou wed
The Sheik of Islam to thy bed,
Who sits upon the Prophet's seat,
With all the nations at his feet,
And dwells in golden palaces,
And hath great realms and satrapies,
And slaves, and riches, and empire,
And can give all thou canst desire?
Or wilt thou have the lord Merwan,
That tyrannous and wrongful man,
Who loveth thee so well, forsooth,
That the poor lover of thy youth,
Was driven, and constrained, perforce,
To sue unto him for divorce?
Or wilt thou have this wretched one,
Who hath not to his portion,
Save hunger and, her mother, need?”
“By Allah,” she replied, “indeed,
Caliph of Islam, know that I
Do not desert when night is nigh
Those, whom I love in the broad day,
Because the sunshine sinks away;
Nor do I change as the times do,
And, when the summer flies, fly too;
Nor can I easily forget
That I have been his amulet
And ewe-lamb, from the very first;
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That have grown like an ivy stem,
As year by year passed over them.
O Sir, should I not bear with him,
Now that the nights are wild and dim,
Who have with him lived cloudless days,
When he basked in the spring sun's rays.
It is the common way of men,
Like deer who dwell upon the plain,
While the sun shines, and peace is there,
To browse together free from care,
But when the wolves come with the night
To forget all things in their fright,
And each cry, “Save himself who can.”
As with the deer, so with the man.
But woman is not ever so;
Her love shines with as pure a glow
Right through the darkness, mist, and spray,
As the North star which guides the way
Of mariners on unknown seas.
And rather had I starve and die
With yon poor Arab, miserably,
Than share the grandeur of thy court,
Or with the base Merwan consort.”
Haroun saluted as Al Raschid,
29
Who sate upon the Prophet's seat,
And had the nations at his feet,
And dwelt in golden palaces,
Had seldom such reply as this,
And greatly doubted if his ear
Retained the faculty to hear,
But to his royal word adhered
And swore that, by the Prophet's beard,
Even so he would, and more also,
Unto the son of Hakam do
If ever afterward he pressed
This Saida from her Arab's breast,
And gave him charge to use his power
For their well-faring from that hour.
The Caliph Haroun Al Raschid
Many a deed of bloodshed did,
And many evil works wrought he;
But this good shall remembered be
How that he kept his royal word
In giving Saida to her lord.
He ceased: and when th' applause was hushed
Which hailed his effort, somewhat flushed
At having stepped into the breach
With even this small maiden speech,
“Thank you, Professor,” Helen said,
“For the grand way in which you've pled
30
Unquestioned to heroic fame,
It is that we pause not to test
Whether our idol be the best
Of gold, or merely common clay,
And scorn with scales its worth to weigh.
Your shaft struck where you took not aim,
For ere to this bright land I came
I was betrothed for ten whole years
Of trials, disappointments, fears
And . . .” “Now wife no tales out of school!”
“And I was laughed at for a fool
For holding true so many a day
To one twelve thousand miles away.
And you, with your pretended frowns,
Were, on the day you left the Downs,
No great catch for a girl who weighed
The value of the match she made;
And I had suitors in my youth,
Instance your brother, who in truth
Were much to be preferred to you,
By one who took the worldly view.
For you were but a younger son,
Starting to try a backblock run
In Queensland, but (don't frown at me)
I always fancied you to be
A higher being, quite above
All human standards except love.”
When she had finished her romance
Will pushed the chairs back for a dance,
And Mrs Forte sat down and played
Waltz after waltz, in long cascade,
With the well-modulated touch
Of one who had herself danced much.
All danced but Mr Forte, and Kit
Who would not dance, esteeming it
Effeminate for one who tried
To break the social fetters, tied
Round the weak hands of maid and wife,
And share the liberty and life
Which men usurp: and this though she
Could, when she chose, dance faultlessly
With the proud pose and noble air
So enviable and so rare.
Will pushed the chairs back for a dance,
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Waltz after waltz, in long cascade,
With the well-modulated touch
Of one who had herself danced much.
All danced but Mr Forte, and Kit
Who would not dance, esteeming it
Effeminate for one who tried
To break the social fetters, tied
Round the weak hands of maid and wife,
And share the liberty and life
Which men usurp: and this though she
Could, when she chose, dance faultlessly
With the proud pose and noble air
So enviable and so rare.
Waltz after waltz Maud danced with Phil,
Because the Oxford man and Will,
Although they both danced fairly well,
In the last step did not excel,
And Chesterfield could only do
The deux-temps. Lachlan Smith, 'twas true,
Could dance the new step, but then he
In ease and poise failed woefully,
Although he pleased himself: and Hall
Could not be said to dance at all,
Although he briskly twisted round
His victims, whom he mostly found
In bashful, blue-eyed Margaret
(Who had not very often yet
Tried in society the steps
She did so well with Meinherr Kreps,
Who trained most Melbourne ladies' schools
In dancing and deportment's rules),
And Mary Ridley, who had come
From a strict-low-church vicar's home,
Where dancing was esteemed a sin,
And stimulant as bad as gin.
Kind-hearted Will danced turn about
With Madge, who, having not come out,
And being shy and scarce full grown,
Might have been too much left alone,
And with his sisters' governess,
As chosen by the others less,
And Ida Lewis, who could dance
Only deux-temps (the step in France
When she was there at school, she said,
Which, if she spoke correctly, made
Her sweet and thirty). Lastly, Lil
Won praise from even captious Phil,
So perfect in her steps was she,
In pose so upright and so free,
And yet so yielding and so light.
Because the Oxford man and Will,
Although they both danced fairly well,
In the last step did not excel,
And Chesterfield could only do
The deux-temps. Lachlan Smith, 'twas true,
Could dance the new step, but then he
In ease and poise failed woefully,
Although he pleased himself: and Hall
Could not be said to dance at all,
Although he briskly twisted round
His victims, whom he mostly found
In bashful, blue-eyed Margaret
(Who had not very often yet
Tried in society the steps
She did so well with Meinherr Kreps,
Who trained most Melbourne ladies' schools
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And Mary Ridley, who had come
From a strict-low-church vicar's home,
Where dancing was esteemed a sin,
And stimulant as bad as gin.
Kind-hearted Will danced turn about
With Madge, who, having not come out,
And being shy and scarce full grown,
Might have been too much left alone,
And with his sisters' governess,
As chosen by the others less,
And Ida Lewis, who could dance
Only deux-temps (the step in France
When she was there at school, she said,
Which, if she spoke correctly, made
Her sweet and thirty). Lastly, Lil
Won praise from even captious Phil,
So perfect in her steps was she,
In pose so upright and so free,
And yet so yielding and so light.
Maud Morrison perhaps was quite
Her equal in mere stepping skill,
But lacked the gentle grace of Lil.
With Maud first the Professor danced,
Who was not much thereby advanced
In his good graces: she in fact
Repelled him with a want of tact.
The next he danced with Margaret,
Who started the new step, but yet
Adapted her step easily
To his, when she perceived that he
Preferred the trois temps, though to all
His efforts conversational
On twenty topics she replied
Laconically: then he tried
Miss Ridley, who displayed no ease
And little grace, and by degrees
Fell out of step; and then he walked
To where Kit Johnstone stood and talked
For half-an-hour, revelling
In her bright chat, and noticing
The shades of humour which gave chase
One to another o'er her face.
He did not dare ask Lil to dance,
Though he stole many a longing glance,
As round and round she floated by
On her light feet so gracefully
In the new step,—Maud Morrison
Had been so galling in her tone,
Because he danced trois temps, and she
Danced not her steps so daintily
As Lil: and so he stood with Kit,
Half satisfied with her arch wit,
Half taking his faint heart to task
That what he wished he dared not ask.
But as they talked Lil came and cried,
“Professor, dance with me, you've tried,
With all the others. I can do
Your step, for I was watching you
When you were with Maud Morrison,
And if I fail, why no harm's done.”
And then they started, and he thought
That he till then had never caught
The perfect luxury and grace
Of waltzing: so exact each pace
Fell into unison with his,
So full of subtle witcheries
Was the light form within his grasp,
So hearty-innocent the clasp
Of the small thrilling fingers thrust
Within his in such perfect trust.
And when at last the music ceased,
She thanked him with a smile as pleased
As if the honours of it lay
With him, not her, then led the way
To a broad lounge which stood before
The opening of the boudoir door,
Inside, and, making room for him,
Crossed on a stool her ankles slim,
And, leaning back, talked softly on,
How she'd enjoyed the dance just done,
And begged him once again to tell
The tale he'd lately told so well.
Her equal in mere stepping skill,
But lacked the gentle grace of Lil.
With Maud first the Professor danced,
Who was not much thereby advanced
In his good graces: she in fact
Repelled him with a want of tact.
The next he danced with Margaret,
Who started the new step, but yet
Adapted her step easily
To his, when she perceived that he
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His efforts conversational
On twenty topics she replied
Laconically: then he tried
Miss Ridley, who displayed no ease
And little grace, and by degrees
Fell out of step; and then he walked
To where Kit Johnstone stood and talked
For half-an-hour, revelling
In her bright chat, and noticing
The shades of humour which gave chase
One to another o'er her face.
He did not dare ask Lil to dance,
Though he stole many a longing glance,
As round and round she floated by
On her light feet so gracefully
In the new step,—Maud Morrison
Had been so galling in her tone,
Because he danced trois temps, and she
Danced not her steps so daintily
As Lil: and so he stood with Kit,
Half satisfied with her arch wit,
Half taking his faint heart to task
That what he wished he dared not ask.
But as they talked Lil came and cried,
“Professor, dance with me, you've tried,
With all the others. I can do
Your step, for I was watching you
When you were with Maud Morrison,
And if I fail, why no harm's done.”
And then they started, and he thought
34
The perfect luxury and grace
Of waltzing: so exact each pace
Fell into unison with his,
So full of subtle witcheries
Was the light form within his grasp,
So hearty-innocent the clasp
Of the small thrilling fingers thrust
Within his in such perfect trust.
And when at last the music ceased,
She thanked him with a smile as pleased
As if the honours of it lay
With him, not her, then led the way
To a broad lounge which stood before
The opening of the boudoir door,
Inside, and, making room for him,
Crossed on a stool her ankles slim,
And, leaning back, talked softly on,
How she'd enjoyed the dance just done,
And begged him once again to tell
The tale he'd lately told so well.
'Twas rather Lily's way to form
Quite suddenly attachments warm,
And, when she did so, all her grace
And tenderness and pretty face
Were requisitioned to advance
Development of her romance.
She was so lovingly inclined,
And so romantic in her mind,
That she had aye some idol shrined
And pedestalled within her heart,
And, when with one compelled to part,
Was hungry-souled and ill at rest
Till she was once again possessed:
Thus fiercely her hot southern blood
Strove with the cold of maidenhood.
Quite suddenly attachments warm,
And, when she did so, all her grace
And tenderness and pretty face
Were requisitioned to advance
Development of her romance.
She was so lovingly inclined,
And so romantic in her mind,
That she had aye some idol shrined
And pedestalled within her heart,
35
Was hungry-souled and ill at rest
Till she was once again possessed:
Thus fiercely her hot southern blood
Strove with the cold of maidenhood.
She was a very child of love,
So marvellously could she move,
With glance and finger, thrill and voice,
All men, who met her, to rejoice.
She looked so full back to their eyes,
She clasped their hand in such a wise,
Her tones were pitched so sweet and low
That all she told them seemed as though
There were some special confidence.
And yet 'twas all in innocence
And worship. The professor came
Just in the nick of time: the flame
Of the last love was hardly quenched,
And no new fetters had been clenched,
And he precisely was the man
Most likely to create and fan
The ‘sacred fire’ within her breast,
Being at once the cleverest
And one of the best-looking men
Who'd ever come into her ken.
He dressed well, talked well, played at games
Well enough to support his claims
With most chance rivals, had a name
For books and scholarship, and came
Of ancient lineage. She fell
Into this new magician's spell
As soon as she had heard him tell
The legend about Saida,
So tenderly did he pourtray
A loving woman's constancy
And modest girl's timidity,
That seemed it that who thus could tell
Of woman's heart must know it well,
And set her longing to find out
What tenderness there was about
His own heart. Thus these two sat on,
And she asked many a question
About this Saida. But he
Knew nothing of her history,
Save that he'd read in volumes old
The outline of the tale he told.
So marvellously could she move,
With glance and finger, thrill and voice,
All men, who met her, to rejoice.
She looked so full back to their eyes,
She clasped their hand in such a wise,
Her tones were pitched so sweet and low
That all she told them seemed as though
There were some special confidence.
And yet 'twas all in innocence
And worship. The professor came
Just in the nick of time: the flame
Of the last love was hardly quenched,
And no new fetters had been clenched,
And he precisely was the man
Most likely to create and fan
The ‘sacred fire’ within her breast,
Being at once the cleverest
And one of the best-looking men
Who'd ever come into her ken.
He dressed well, talked well, played at games
Well enough to support his claims
With most chance rivals, had a name
For books and scholarship, and came
Of ancient lineage. She fell
Into this new magician's spell
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The legend about Saida,
So tenderly did he pourtray
A loving woman's constancy
And modest girl's timidity,
That seemed it that who thus could tell
Of woman's heart must know it well,
And set her longing to find out
What tenderness there was about
His own heart. Thus these two sat on,
And she asked many a question
About this Saida. But he
Knew nothing of her history,
Save that he'd read in volumes old
The outline of the tale he told.
She asked him if he cared again
To dance, and in condoling strain
Listened to the delinquencies
Of scornful Maud, and said that his
Was one of the most pleasant steps
She ever danced to, that Herr Kreps
Had said the “trois temps” was the best
Of all waltz steps—and all the rest
Which sympathetic girls do say
When they are carried right away
With championing some pet cause,
As ardent Lily just then was.
Their confidences were cut short
To dance, and in condoling strain
Listened to the delinquencies
Of scornful Maud, and said that his
Was one of the most pleasant steps
She ever danced to, that Herr Kreps
Had said the “trois temps” was the best
Of all waltz steps—and all the rest
Which sympathetic girls do say
When they are carried right away
With championing some pet cause,
As ardent Lily just then was.
By a stern summons to the sport
Of snapping dragons from a dish,
37
Followed by bumpers of champagne
To welcome Christmas back again.
And ere they parted, after they
Had wished a Merry Christmas-day
And many of them, each to each,
The kind host made a short neat speech:
“Welcome to Waratah, young men,
Look to the ladies first, and then
Do all that in your pow'r you can
To show our guest, the Englishman,
The pleasures with which station-life
Can be in holidays made rife.
He entertains us every night,
So it is only fair and right
That we should show him all we may
Of our life and its joys by day.”
| A Summer Christmas and a Sonnet upon The S.S. "Ballaarat." | |