Narrative Poems, part 5, Among Hill etc | Page 9

Islam also owns. Our Prophet saith?'He was a true apostle, yea, a Word?And Spirit sent before me from the Lord.'?Thus the Book witnesseth; and well I know?By what thou art, O dearest, it is so.?As the lute's tone the maker's hand betrays,?The sweet disciple speaks her Master's praise."
Then Miriam, glad of heart, (for in some sort?She cherished in the Moslem's liberal court?The sweet traditions of a Christian child;?And, through her life of sense, the undefiled?And chaste ideal of the sinless One?Gazed on her with an eye she might not shun,--?The sad, reproachful look of pity, born?Of love that hath no part in wrath or scorn,)?Began, with low voice and moist eyes, to tell?Of the all-loving Christ, and what befell?When the fierce zealots, thirsting for her blood,?Dragged to his feet a shame of womanhood.?How, when his searching answer pierced within?Each heart, and touched the secret of its sin,?And her accusers fled his face before,?He bade the poor one go and sin no more.?And Akbar said, after a moment's thought,?"Wise is the lesson by thy prophet taught;?Woe unto him who judges and forgets?What hidden evil his own heart besets!?Something of this large charity I find?In all the sects that sever human kind;?I would to Allah that their lives agreed?More nearly with the lesson of their creed!?Those yellow Lamas who at Meerut pray?By wind and water power, and love to say?'He who forgiveth not shall, unforgiven,?Fail of the rest of Buddha,' and who even?Spare the black gnat that stings them, vex my ears?With the poor hates and jealousies and fears?Nursed in their human hives. That lean, fierce priest?Of thy own people, (be his heart increased?By Allah's love!) his black robes smelling yet?Of Goa's roasted Jews, have I not met?Meek-faced, barefooted, crying in the street?The saying of his prophet true and sweet,--?'He who is merciful shall mercy meet!'"
But, next day, so it chanced, as night began?To fall, a murmur through the hareem ran?That one, recalling in her dusky face?The full-lipped, mild-eyed beauty of a race?Known as the blameless Ethiops of Greek song,?Plotting to do her royal master wrong,?Watching, reproachful of the lingering light,?The evening shadows deepen for her flight,?Love-guided, to her home in a far land,?Now waited death at the great Shah's command.?Shapely as that dark princess for whose smile?A world was bartered, daughter of the Nile?Herself, and veiling in her large, soft eyes?The passion and the languor of her skies,?The Abyssinian knelt low at the feet?Of her stern lord: "O king, if it be meet,?And for thy honor's sake," she said, "that I,?Who am the humblest of thy slaves, should die,?I will not tax thy mercy to forgive.?Easier it is to die than to outlive?All that life gave me,--him whose wrong of thee?Was but the outcome of his love for me,?Cherished from childhood, when, beneath the shade?Of templed Axum, side by side we played.?Stolen from his arms, my lover followed me?Through weary seasons over land and sea;?And two days since, sitting disconsolate?Within the shadow of the hareem gate,?Suddenly, as if dropping from the sky,?Down from the lattice of the balcony?Fell the sweet song by Tigre's cowherds sung?In the old music of his native tongue.?He knew my voice, for love is quick of ear,?Answering in song.
This night he waited near?To fly with me. The fault was mine alone?He knew thee not, he did but seek his own;?Who, in the very shadow of thy throne,?Sharing thy bounty, knowing all thou art,?Greatest and best of men, and in her heart?Grateful to tears for favor undeserved,?Turned ever homeward, nor one moment swerved?From her young love. He looked into my eyes,?He heard my voice, and could not otherwise?Than he hath done; yet, save one wild embrace?When first we stood together face to face,?And all that fate had done since last we met?Seemed but a dream that left us children yet,?He hath not wronged thee nor thy royal bed;?Spare him, O king! and slay me in his stead!"
But over Akbar's brows the frown hung black,?And, turning to the eunuch at his back,?"Take them," he said, "and let the Jumna's waves?Hide both my shame and these accursed slaves!"?His loathly length the unsexed bondman bowed?"On my head be it!"
Straightway from a cloud?Of dainty shawls and veils of woven mist?The Christian Miriam rose, and, stooping, kissed?The monarch's hand. Loose down her shoulders bare?Swept all the rippled darkness of her hair,?Veiling the bosom that, with high, quick swell?Of fear and pity, through it rose and fell.
"Alas!" she cried, "hast thou forgotten quite?The words of Him we spake of yesternight??Or thy own prophet's, 'Whoso doth endure?And pardon, of eternal life is sure'??O great and good! be thy revenge alone?Felt in thy mercy to the erring shown;?Let thwarted love and youth their pardon plead,?Who sinned but in intent, and not in deed!"
One moment the strong frame of Akbar shook?With the great storm of passion. Then