CALIPH HAROUN ALRASCHID, he
Of strangely storied memory,
Took empire, just within the date
Of the harsh rind of man's estate;
And whispered in the ready ear
Of his place-anxious old Vizier:
"Go, seek as far as Samarcand,
The fairest maiden in the land."
Back came the Vizier, not too soon,
Not till the second change of moon,
And brought, well trained to his device,
His daughter, to the Caliph's eyes.
Twice looking, bending twice his head,
"What is your name?" the Caliph said.
"Grave sir, two names have I," said she;
"My first name is a quality,
Which, like a mantle, wraps the wise
From Folly's laughter-dripping eyes.
It drapes the state of you and him-"
"Yes," said her sire, "her name is-"
"Dim-
Eyed Vizier, hush!"-the Caliph frowned.
The maiden, with a look profound:
"My second name, sir, is a flower,
The sign of the confiding hour;
Sweet, from the harsh, its blooms attain,
Like a sweet virtue born of pain;
And yet, no dearer flower, none,
Flaunts its fair odours to the sun."
The Caliph bowed, and truly pleased
With wit so modest, made a feast:
And, liking, in a proper place,
To crimp, with glee, his courtly face,
Assayed to show the maiden's worth
By means of dances, songs, and mirth;
But unto all she made reply:
"Oh no, sir," ver quietly.
And seemed to relish a caress,
Less than to dread a rumpled dress.
A Sheikh, who owed her sire a grudge,
Now gave them both a cruel nudge;
For, watching how the weather blew,
(Key-holes are roomy for the wing
Of secrets) he had smoked the thing;
And devil-bent, to have his due,
He sought a private hour, and threw
On the cool Caliph's love, cold water:
"She is your stiff old Vizier's daughter."
Curt are the sultans of the sun,
Their passions seldom much outpour.
Haroun made motions to Mesrour:*
"Look to it, Mesrour, see it done!"
The Vizier to a dungeon went:
His child was to another sent.
Ah! hapless child!-a dungeon where
The black magician, Gongonair,
By cursed works with drugs and smoke,
And whispers in a circle spoke,
Had wrought, that whosoever lay
A night therein, was brute next day.
Forth from his bath of morning water
Came Haroun:-"Show the old man his daughter."
Up came the Vizier, racked with moans,
Tears, from the thunder of his groans,
Made a broad shower along the stones.
But when the locks ungrappled were,
Instead of hog, or ounce, or bear,
Only a strange new flower was there.
"Mesrour," cried Haroun, angrily,
(And stabbed him with his sudden eye,)
"Mesrour, produce the maid or die!"
"Prophet of God!" the old Vizier
Exclaimed, "my daughter all is here!
God touches her for my intent,
But, God knows, she was innocent.
And witness how I prove it so:-
The base, in their afflictions, grow
Abject; their baseness is increased,
Till Sin transmutes them to the beast.
But those who in good thoughts abound,
Where the right stuff of heart is found,
Have grace, that, even in hell, would be
Unsoiled by devilish alchemy.
Changed though they be, by wreck and wear
Of Time, that juggles everywhere,
They still are something pure and fair."