Golden Histories, etc :: :: 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.