And by their owmers far more loved than were
Their youthless wives, mere handmaids of the brutes—
In the noon, lo! the Tribe.
"'Came these with thee ?'
The Dervish asked.
"And Othman, pleased to mark
His wonder, smiled, and said, 'I am their Sheik.
The Wilderness hath rendered them to me,
And they are Prophets now.'
"Then, half in quest
And half in scorn, the elder's brow and hand
Impulsive rose. But Othman meekly bowed,
And answered, patient still, 'Ah me! They were
So true thy words the day I boldly asked
The hand of Malkatoon: "For men will laugh,
And with their laughter kill." In other phrase,
The jesting critics in my father's halls
Would make a plaything of her simple soul,
And drive it weeping back to Paradise,
With none to know how lavishly of charms
And all perfections it was clothed on,
Save thou, and I, and Allah. And the thought
Went with me down into the No Man's Land,
Whither I betook myself companionless,
A question ever present, How to keep
My love the child she is, and harmless save
Her from the courtly brood? At last I had
An answer. You must know the land was wild,
Uncastled, townless, and the people dwelt
Apart as enemies, and ruthless preyed
Upon each other, making mock of love
And Allah; and when I shewed them trust
They laughed at me, and let me go in peace,
A dreaming madman. But in time there came
A hopeful change. By what 'twas wrought I leave
The necklace and yon bale of robes to tell.
Out of the farther South there one day rose
A cloud of war with grim necessities
They knew not of before; and it blew fire
Upon them, and calamities so fierce
They came to me, and in large charity
I yielded to their prayer, and ordered them,
And with them took the field. And as we charged
I shouted Allah! Allah! And they caught
The holy name, and with it swung their swords,
And aimed their lances, all so joyously.
It seemed the blood they shed had turned to wine,
And made them sudden drunk. We won the fight,
And they are Moslem now. Then as I sat
My horse the children and the women came
And kissed his bloody front, and caught my hand
And stirrups, painted with the same red drip,
Proclaiming, Live Sheik Othman ! And the men
Made answer, Live Sheik Othman ! Then a new,
Exquisite pleasure wrapt me in a glow
Of strange delight, and, looking up, I saw
The moon a crescent in the day-sky's depth,
And by it, lustrous clear, the star assigned
To wait on it, as page upon a queen.
Some childish thought—a wonder if the sun
Were not enough to show the havoc strewn
Along the field—was passing through my mind,
When suddenly the face of Malkatoon
Appeared to me, a fleck of brighter light,
Resilvering the silver of the moon.
I raised my hands as worshippers are wont;
I could not speak, for all my senses swam
In dim confusion; and before I woke
The apparition drew the coarser rays
Of star and planet round it, and was veiled
From sight. And when 'twas gone, I knew myself,
By certain intuition of the soul,
In Allah's care. I knew that Malkatoon
Would be my wife. I knew the warrior-cries
For me as Sheik was Allah making known
What He would have. Wherefore, behold my Tribe—
The Tribe of Othman ! Prophets of the State
Which I will build with them! And as thou lovest
His officers, the little and the great,
Look kindly on them, father, for they know
Right well to follow where I dare to lead.
And think'st thou they will laugh at Malkatoon?
Or wound her gentle soul with glance or speech
Unseemly? Nay, good Dervish, say the word,
And here before thy door the Tribe shall pitch
My great black tent and set the wedding - feast,
And hold it on with story, meat, and drink,
And merry joust, until the new year come,
Unless thou sooner say that never bride
Had truer welcome to a truer home.
I ask it—I, Othman—who never prayed
To other man.'
"And then the Dervish said,
Slow speaking, 'To my cave there often come
Ambassadors of kings, and yesterday
The high Sultan of ancient Samarkand
Saluted me in person royally,
And in his shower of gifts my feet were hid,
Or had I stept, it would have been on pearls
And precious stones; and yet more welcome thou,
O son of Ertoghrul, than all of them—
A messenger from Allah with the key
He keeps upon the door above the vault
Where things to come lie hidden' gainst their day—
Take thou salute, and hear, then go thy way.
The wise man reads the name of Allah writ
On everything in Nature—on the stone,
The wasting leaf, the glittering water-drop—
And comes at last to look for prophecy
In all the unaccounted trifles strewn
By chance along the blind-worn paths of life.
These trophies are not voiceless as they seem.
I listen, and they tell me of the East
By thee again restored and masterful;
I listen, and they tell how turbaned hosts
Devout shall come from every land to light
The ready torches of their faith