Poems by Sir Alfred C. Lyall Revised and Slightly Enlarged from "Verses Written in India" (Sixth Edition) |
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| XVII. | XVII.
A HARD BARGAIN. |
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 | Poems by Sir Alfred C. Lyall |  |
100
XVII. A HARD BARGAIN.
Abdul Kareem, the Fadêli sheikh
Brought to the Pasha a clean-bred mare
All radiant bay with a snow-white flake;
Never a drop but of pure blood there;
“See her fearless step and her broad eyes gleam,
She's a steed for the Kaliph,” said Abdul Kareem.
Brought to the Pasha a clean-bred mare
All radiant bay with a snow-white flake;
Never a drop but of pure blood there;
“See her fearless step and her broad eyes gleam,
She's a steed for the Kaliph,” said Abdul Kareem.
Long was the chaffering, loud the discourse,
To settle her price was a day's hard work;
But the man of the desert could stay like his horse,
And he wearied the soul of the Stamboul Turk,
Who sent for his treasurer, counted the gold—
“Two thousand, I have her, the mare is sold;
To settle her price was a day's hard work;
But the man of the desert could stay like his horse,
And he wearied the soul of the Stamboul Turk,
101
“Two thousand, I have her, the mare is sold;
“But the sum is extortionate, double your due;
I am cheated and robbed by a Bedouin thief;
Should a Musulmán trade like a miserly Jew?
Should gold be the god of an Arab chief?
You can take off your booty, my cash with my curse;”
The Arab said nought, as he tied up the purse,
I am cheated and robbed by a Bedouin thief;
Should a Musulmán trade like a miserly Jew?
Should gold be the god of an Arab chief?
You can take off your booty, my cash with my curse;”
The Arab said nought, as he tied up the purse,
But—“One last farewell to the beast I've bred,
To the pride of my house, ere I leave her there”;
So he kissed the star on her stately head—
Then he leapt on the back of the bright bay mare,
He shot through the gateway, and rode down the street;
The Pasha sprang up at the clatter of feet;
To the pride of my house, ere I leave her there”;
So he kissed the star on her stately head—
Then he leapt on the back of the bright bay mare,
102
The Pasha sprang up at the clatter of feet;
Two score troopers in harness stood;
“Mount,” cried the Pasha, “and ride with a will,
Bring me the mare back, take his blood;
The money is yours if the man you kill”—
Down the steep stony causeway they closed on him fast,
But he gained the town gate and the desert at last.
“Mount,” cried the Pasha, “and ride with a will,
Bring me the mare back, take his blood;
The money is yours if the man you kill”—
Down the steep stony causeway they closed on him fast,
But he gained the town gate and the desert at last.
Mile after mile he canters in front;
They may gallop in vain, though he's always near;
Is he riding a race, is he leading a hunt?
Ten lances' length between dogs and deer—
Till he touched the mare's quarter, and lowering his hand
Sailed far out of sight o'er the level sand.
They may gallop in vain, though he's always near;
Is he riding a race, is he leading a hunt?
Ten lances' length between dogs and deer—
Till he touched the mare's quarter, and lowering his hand
Sailed far out of sight o'er the level sand.
103
Sadly the Pasha rose next day;
Who is it calls from the court without?
'Tis the Arab chief on his clean-bred bay,
With her calm wide eye and her unstained coat;
And he said, as he lighted and loosened her girth,
“O Pasha, the gold, is it double her worth?
Who is it calls from the court without?
'Tis the Arab chief on his clean-bred bay,
With her calm wide eye and her unstained coat;
And he said, as he lighted and loosened her girth,
“O Pasha, the gold, is it double her worth?
“She has shown you her paces and proved her blood;
You have lamed ten horses her mettle to try;
You have sworn more oaths than a Musulmán should—
Will you choose now your cash, or the beast to buy,
Or one more heat o'er the desert course?”
“Begone,” said the Pasha, “and leave me the horse.”
You have lamed ten horses her mettle to try;
You have sworn more oaths than a Musulmán should—
Will you choose now your cash, or the beast to buy,
Or one more heat o'er the desert course?”
“Begone,” said the Pasha, “and leave me the horse.”
| Poems by Sir Alfred C. Lyall | |