COMMODUS & THE WOOING OF MALKATOON (Illustrated). Lew Wallace

COMMODUS & THE WOOING OF MALKATOON (Illustrated) - Lew Wallace


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While Allah swings the moon-lamp overhead.

       And Othman, strong-armed, rides, and riding cries,

       'Be still, O baby-hearts, be still, and sleep,

       For I am here.'

       "And 'gainst the friendly folk

       Who loved him so there one day chanced to come

       A horde of camel-drivers, skurrying

       From parched Oasian orchards in the South.

       To them sweet water was of more account

       Than blood of women. Then from far and wide

       The harried residents to Othman drew

       For guidance, and he led them never knight

       More truly. And the battle done and won,

       In league and gratefully, as warriors should,

       They flung the clashing of their steel-bossed shields

       Into the upper deeps, with rhythmic stops

       For outcry. 'Hear, O Allah !'—thus they said—

       'The Wilderness hath travailed, and to-day

       A Tribe is born to Thee. Thy palm is large,

       And hollowed roomfully, and lined with gifts

       For all who couch their asking in the form

       Of humble prayer.' Thus Kara5 Othman saith; And, as there is no fervid friend like him Of helpless things, who—who shall better speak To us of Thee, or better serve the Tribe, So in its new birth blind? Then live the Sheik— Sheik Othman ! Live the Tribe!'

      Othman Renews His Prayer for Malkatoon

       Table of Contents

      "And when the spring,

       The second of his love-lorn wandering,

       Was pluming all the land, our Othman rose,

       And with the chosen of his just-fledged Tribe,

       A motley train of wild men, homeward rode,

       And coming to the cave where yet the sage

       And saintly Dervish dwelt, 'Is it not time,'

       He said, full risen from his low salaam,

       'That love like mine should have surcease of test?

       Behold what it has done!'

       "And from his breast

       He drew a double string of eagle beaks,

       Each amber-hued and set with polished gold,

       And clear as honey from the comb thrice pressed

       Into a crystal cup.

       "'Thou didst require

       Of me a bird—dost thou remember it,

       Edebali? It was to be a sign

       From Allah, so thou saidst. Nor that alone—

       Right well I knew thy purpose by the task

       To try my faith, and find if well or ill

       The Prophet held me. Wherefore be thou judge.

       These were the blades with which the Kings of Air

       Were wont to rend the hapless feathered tribes,

       And keep their blue domain. Upon their thrones

       I slew the monsters. Count them if thou wilt,

       And take the trophies, trinkets now to please

       A maiden fair. Perhaps young Malkatoon

       Will wear them; only when thou comest to put

       Them in her hand—which in my dreams I kiss,

       The many thousand times I dare not say—

       I pray thee tell her how the gift was won,

       And fairly speak my name. Then if she smile,

       And ask of me, and why I dared such deeds,

       And what love is—ah, more than well enough!

       As singing birds in hush of summer nights,

       Calling their mates through green acacia groves,

       Have answer in the self-same melody

       Of speech, so she will love me for my love.'

       The Dervish stayed his hand. 'It was a bird

       I asked of thee, my son—a living bird—

       A pigeon'—

       "'Nay,' said Othman, patiently,

       'I have no bird.'

       "'Oh, then thou hast the lamb ?'

       "'Nor lamb have I. Yet, saintly though thou art,

       Be not in haste, as saying, "All the ways

       Are Allah's, and I know them." '

       "Answering

       The sign he made, a servant brought a bale

       Of lion skins, and cast it on the floor,

       And spread the pelts to view; and they were soft

       To eye and touch as rugs of Indian silk,

       Yet terrible withal, for each retained

       The head with all its armature of teeth,

       And bulk of yellow mane, the jaws agape

       And snarling.

       "'These were royal draperies,

       Good Dervish, yielded to me but with life.

       And when I took them, it was with the thought

       That thou, for whom all things, the quick and still

       Alike, have tongues, wouldst kindly hear them tell

       Of Allah's love for me, and ask not more

       Of sign from Him. And scarce less sweet it was

       To think that when their tale was haply told,

       They might find favor with young Malkatoon;

       And should she hear it said the hand that won

       The necklace from the eagles was the hand

       That spoiled the lions thus, and all for love,

       As carpets on her stony chamber floor,

       Or dressing for her couch such days and nights

       As chilly blow the mountain winds, they might

       Well keep me in her mind, and even nurse

       A wish to learn yet more of that which drove

       Me to the errantry. And now thy hand?—

       And graciously, I pray. A crown were reft

       Of half its honor did the giver give

       It grudgingly. No ? Oh, I see! It is

       Because these witnesses are in their speech

       Uncertain. I have better. Wilt thou go

       And hear them ?—Only to the door; they wait

       Us there.'

       "And to the vine-clad door they went,

       The old man in the leading of the young;

       And looking out, lo! cumbering the road,

       In the white noon, and plainly not yet used

       To bonds of lawfulness, a medley blent

       Of lowing cows, and camels malcontent

       And overladen, hungry, wolf-like dogs,

       And travel-stained sheep,


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