University of Virginia Library

Omar sits on Abu's mystic throne,
Omar, lord of all that moving war,
That resplendent wandering soldier-race,
Dark and coloured by the fiery sun,
Which the wild Arabian prophet led.
Lord of all the thousand sheathless swords,—
Swords of sorrow, that were swords of love,
Swords that taught the nations faith in God,
Swords that made a people, gave it law,
Gave it knowledge, manners, noble arts,
Drew it from the dens of endless fire,
Brought it to the gates of Paradise.
To the eternal light of emerald bowers—
So the wild Arabian prophet dream'd.

There was battle in the Syrian land,
Mailèd men met mailèd men in fight,
Angry lightning leapt from swarthy eyes,
Hand and foot were washed with kindred blood,
And the impious rain made red the grass.

Khaled was the first of heroes then;
Like a restless warhorse breathing fire
When the battle-trumpets call to die;
Like the thirsty arrow, when it springs,
Mad for blood, from off the sounding bow;
So was Khaled, first of heroes then.
Him had Bozra, from her throne of towers,
Seen the waster of her happy fields,
Seen the victor of her stately halls;
Him Damascus, old and beautiful,
Lovely river-child of ancient days,
Throned, where Pharphar and Amana flow,
Had beheld, and shudder'd to behold,
Wasting all her odorous cedar-glades,
Wasting all her golden orange-bowers,
Sullying all her pleasant garden-groves,
Where a twilight radiance, silver-red—
Silver-red from rose and lily falls-
Falls, ah me! it fell, but falls no more!
Lord was Khaled of the Syrian host,
Crown'd with all sweet praises in the tent,
Crown'd, where Shepherds sing, with all sweet praise.

So it fell while noble Abu liv'd;
But when Omar sate on Abu's throne,
Strange, unwelcome were the words that came
To the soldiers loving Khaled well,
Words that made “Obeidah, gentle, true,
“Leader in the snowy-tented field,
“Leader in the crimson halls of strife.”
Hast thou heard a sudden-blowing wind,
That athwart some lonely forest-land,
Comes and goes, and ever goes again,
Herald of a storm? Then hast thou heard
All the hollow moan that rose and fell,
All the innumerous murmur eddying round—
Murmur of those children of the sun.
“What,” they muttered,—“what,” more loudly cried,
“Check the lord of victory in the field?
“Check the steed that rises to the spring?
“Check the eagle that beholds the sun?
“Is not Khaled as the Sword of God?
“Who shall sheathe the sword which God has drawn?”
Then Obeidah paus'd, and true as brave,
—True as brave, and proud, but meek in pride—
Turned to Khaled all his loyal heart,
Followed Khaled with a loyal eye,
Strong to do, and stronger to obey.

But the busy Hours that bring the Dawn,
And the drowsy Hours that call the Night,
Bear the unwelcome message once again:
“Omar bids Obeidah lead the host—
“Lord of prudence as of courage he,
“Knowing how to spare heroic blood,
“Hoarding all the lives of valiant men.”
Mid the storm of voices billowing round,
Mid the sound of that tumultuous sea,
Humble, calm, majestic Khaled stood,
Clothing kingly thoughts in simple words.
“Glad had Khaled been of Omar's love,
“Griev'd is Khaled Omar loves him not;
“But since Omar sits on Abu's throne,
“Khaled hears, and Khaled will obey.”
Thus he spake, nor left the camp that night,
Thus he spake, nor left the camp at dawn,
But with noble sweetness tarried there,
Great in love and in humility.

“Who,” Obeidah asked, “will go for me—
“Who will go for me to Abyla?
“Gold and jewels, silks and shining robes,
“At the Fair of Easter may be won
“By the man that rides to Abyla.
“'Tis a goodly guerdon. Who will go?”
Thus Obeidah questioned all his chiefs,
And he glanced aside where Khaled stood.
Khaled heard, but Khaled answered not;
Then said young Abdallah, “I will go.”

Slowly from the city rode the chief,
Slowly thence five hundred warriors rode,
Battle-scar'd and bronz'd by wind and sun;
Slowly from the city rode the Chief,
And his banners to the wooing breeze,
Streamed like some bright meteor, as he past,
Or the folds of some resplendent cloud.

While the Night, beloved of God and man,
Mixt her purple shadow with the stars,
Slept the host encamp'd at Abyla,
But when Night with all her stars was gone,
And young day unclosed her azure eyes,
Tender eyes of trembling dewy light,
Calling all his men, Abdallah spake,
Spake great words which father greater deeds;
Told them what the Prophet, dear to God,
On the mystic leaf had writ of old;
Told them that the Gates of Paradise
Touch the Shadow of o'erhanging swords;
Told them:“If the angel, lord of war,
“Crown us, treading war's red-furrowed field,
“Praise of noble men and glorious spoil,
“Gold and gem and broidery shall be ours;
“But if, wrestling in the iron ring,
“Playmates in the game which heroes love,
“Face to face and knee to knee we fall,
“Fairer, sweeter life awaits us yet;
“Re-embodied then each soul shall dwell
“In a dainty bird, whose emerald plumes
“Bear him to some loving rose-hued breast,
“There to sleep and sing in warm delight;
“Or to fly and shine a colour'd star,
“Twinkling in a new celestial sky;
“Or a leaf among the gleaming leaves,
“Dance in depth of green delicious shade,
“Where the Tree of Life its shadow throws,
“Bud or bough or fruit in foliage veil'd,
“Mirror'd in the untrembling liquid glass
“Of the odorous river, flowing still,
“Flowing ever from the mystic throne;
“Or beside its radiant odorous wave,
“On the soft pomegranate's crimson heart,
“Or the golden apple's mellow core,
“Feast and sing, and quaff the fragrant dew,
“Quaff the river from the mystic throne.”
Thus he spake, but scarce had ceased to speak
When, like winds which beat on some lone tower,
Or like lions bounding on their prey,
Down the ghastly ways of five-fold death,
Rush'd five desperate bands of mailèd men,
Where, with all their gorgeous merchandise,
Gold and gem, and silk and broider'd web,
And yet costlier jewels, wife and child,
Marched the joyous, careless company,
Singing to their camels as they went,
To the Eastern Fair at Abyla.
Clouds dissolv'd before their battle-yell,
And thick cries of “Allah” shook the air,
Lovely women, lovelier in their woe,
Dearer for their danger, fainting fell
Near the prancing warsteeds, red with blood.
Tender children, beauteous girl and boy—
This a summer rose-bud soon to blow,
That a stately palm in coming days,
Coming days that yet shall never come—
Marr'd with dust and blood their raven locks,
Marr'd with blood and dust their graceful limbs,
Marr'd with wicked red their lustrous eyes.

Hither haled, and thither thro' the field,
See the chain of battle swings and sways!
Serried arm to arm and knee to knee,
Man in man, like link in link entwin'd,
Swaying here and swinging there it bends,
Here a link and there a link is loosed,
Till the chain, dissolving, melts away.

Yet, O yet, amid the gleam of swords,
Lightening from the innumerable foe,
Fights unyielding young Abdallah's band,
Dwindling, dwindling, till it mock the star
Snow-white on some sable camel's back.

All is over; from the tents of Death,
Fatal herald of unwelcome doom,
Lo! a Moslem horseman rides amain,
Rides amain to bear the doleful tale
To the distant warchief's troubled ear.
Then Obeidah, whom a lofty hope,
Lofty hope in human worth inspired,
Turned to Khaled, whispering eager words:
“Khaled, in the Prophet's sacred name,
“Khaled, in the name of Allah, go,
“Fail us not, but save the lives we love.”
Thus he pray'd, and, lowly, fronting him,
Khaled answered, with a princely grace:
“Did a child command in Omar's name,
“Meekly would I listen to his words,
“But when thou, O worthier far than I,
“Thou, mine elder in the glorious faith,
“When thou speakest, shall I not obey?”
So with noble sweetness Khaled heard,
And with noble sweetness so replied.
Then he cloth'd him with a coat of mail,
Won from that false Prophet whom he slew,
Donn'd a helmet, donned the mystic cap,
Which the mighty Mahomet had worn.
Thus attired he crossed his milk-white steed,
Called his troops, and rode to Abyla,
And his floating Eagles, black as death,
Followed as he rode to Abyla.
There the young Abdallah's soldier-band,
Dying, dead, but deathless tho' in death—
For their name, their praise, shall never die—
Dropp'd like trees which busy woodmen fell,
All a summer's day with ringing axe,
Palm or cedar, deep in forest-shade,
Till the sun that on the battle rose,
Calmly, calmly on the battle set.

Ah! what cloud, slow-moving, comes this way?
Ah! what horsemen from the cloud emerge?
Are they friends that come, or are they foes?
So they questioned, while Abdallah's band,
Snow-white star on sable camel's back,
Still fought on, and dwindled as it fought;
So they questioned and made answer thus:
“Hark! with Khaled's name the air is loud.
“Khaled's eagle blackens in the sun,
“Khaled plunges in the waves of fight.”
Yes! 'tis Khaled, Khaled come to save,
Khaled's horsemen are the moving cloud,
Khaled, Sword of God, is in the field.
Rallying, grappling, yell and shout are there,
There are havoc, flight and hot pursuit,
And the victory sits on Khaled's brow.

Then, when all the grief and dread were past,
All rare spoils the good Obeidah sent,
Silver, gold and gem and broidered robe,
To the calm, wise, Omar, and he praised
Khaled's loyal heart and gentle worth,
And his goodly service in the field,
Praying Omar of his grace to write,
Record brief of princely courtesy,
Thanking Khaled for his noble deed.
Omar wrote and wrote of common things,
Wrote of common men the common names,
But the name of Khaled wrote he not.
Still above the lordly Syrian hills,
Winter dropped his wreaths of shining snow.
Still among the hills of Lebanon,
Hollow, odorous hills of Lebanon,
Summer walked with roses garlanded.
Still, O still, the radiant orb of Heaven,
Golden measurer of months and days,
Indexed the irrevocable hours.
But in vain did season season crown,
Never word of greeting, look of grace,
Such as noble kings give noble men,
Omar gave to Khaled, never blest
Khaled's deed with one delightful smile.
So unloved, unheeded, unapprov'd,
Yet too great to balance wrong with wrong,
Khaled tarried still in Omar's camp—
Tarried until Death, that rights us all,
Bringing loving thoughts to loveless hearts,
Lighting the dead Hours with sunset hues,
Told the truth to Omar kneeling low,—
Where the dust that once was Khaled lay,
Careless now alike of smiles or frowns,—
Told how Khaled, tarrying in the camp,
With a princely patience, bowed his will;
Serving meaner men, his lords in war,
Serving meaner men, his lords in peace,
Nobler than the noblest in the camp,
Great in love and in humility.