A little book of tribune verse A number of hitherto uncollected poems, grave and gay |
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THE FATE OF TOMATO KAHN. |
 | A little book of tribune verse |  |
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THE FATE OF TOMATO KAHN.
Old Ragbag Bey, a venerable man,
Arose one morning and to his servant said,
“Send hither, slave, my son, Tomato Khan,
If, by the Prophet's beard, he's out of bed.”
Tomato Khan responded in all haste,
And, kneeling on the earth before his sire,
Kissed thrice his feet, and clinging to his waist,
“Why hast thou called?” respectful did inquire.
Arose one morning and to his servant said,
“Send hither, slave, my son, Tomato Khan,
If, by the Prophet's beard, he's out of bed.”
Tomato Khan responded in all haste,
And, kneeling on the earth before his sire,
Kissed thrice his feet, and clinging to his waist,
“Why hast thou called?” respectful did inquire.
“Mush Allah!” cried the old man in a breath,
Our country is in dire complaint, I see,
On every hand is desolation, death,
And she demands a sacrifice of me
From Am el Telba unto Goghar's wall,
From Batra's palms to Ondig's sandy plain,
I hear the roll of drum, the trumpet's call,
The clash of arms and war's intense refrain.
Our country is in dire complaint, I see,
On every hand is desolation, death,
And she demands a sacrifice of me
From Am el Telba unto Goghar's wall,
From Batra's palms to Ondig's sandy plain,
I hear the roll of drum, the trumpet's call,
The clash of arms and war's intense refrain.
Bind on this scimeter, my son, and go
This day to Goghar on thy fiery, dauntless steed,
Join thou the army of the Faithful, show
Thy zest for Allah in thy country's hour of need!
Tomato Khan bound on old Ragbag's sword,
His love, the fair Amirie, begged him stay,
In vain the maiden wept, in vain implored,
Tomato Khan strode on his vengeful way.
This day to Goghar on thy fiery, dauntless steed,
Join thou the army of the Faithful, show
Thy zest for Allah in thy country's hour of need!
Tomato Khan bound on old Ragbag's sword,
His love, the fair Amirie, begged him stay,
In vain the maiden wept, in vain implored,
Tomato Khan strode on his vengeful way.
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He did not die, as Ragbag hoped he might,
Nor as Amirie thought a warrior should,
He did not perish on the field of fight,
No Christian hands are reeking with his blood.
Kicked by a mule, he fell at Sneez-el-Snuff,
A cheap, Arabian mule, a vulgar beast,
He faintly murmured, “Allah! this is rough!”
And then the throbbings of his sick heart ceased.
Nor as Amirie thought a warrior should,
He did not perish on the field of fight,
No Christian hands are reeking with his blood.
Kicked by a mule, he fell at Sneez-el-Snuff,
A cheap, Arabian mule, a vulgar beast,
He faintly murmured, “Allah! this is rough!”
And then the throbbings of his sick heart ceased.
So, for his country died Tomato Khan,
A youth equipped for great, chivalric scenes,
Dead by a mule, a martyred, glorious man,
A patriot, since the end doth glorify the means.
A mausoleum hath old Ragbag built,
As tribute to Tomato Khan's brave deeds,
At morn, at night his bitter tears are spilt,
The fair Amirie wears a widow's weeds.
A youth equipped for great, chivalric scenes,
Dead by a mule, a martyred, glorious man,
A patriot, since the end doth glorify the means.
A mausoleum hath old Ragbag built,
As tribute to Tomato Khan's brave deeds,
At morn, at night his bitter tears are spilt,
The fair Amirie wears a widow's weeds.
June 30th, 1882.
| A little book of tribune verse | |