Читать книгу The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 13, No. 80, June, 1864 - Various - Страница 2

Into the city of Kambalu,

By the road that leadeth to Ispahan,

At the head of his dusty caravan,

Laden with treasure from realms afar,

Baldacca and Kelat and Kandahar,

Rode the great captain Alaù.

The Khan from his palace-window gazed:

He saw in the thronging street beneath,

In the light of the setting sun, that blazed

Through the clouds of dust by the caravan raised,

The flash of harness and jewelled sheath,

And the shining scimitars of the guard,

And the weary camels that bared their teeth,

As they passed and passed through the gates unbarred

Into the shade of the palace-yard.

Thus into the city of Kambalu

Rode the great captain Alaù;

And he stood before the Khan, and said,—

"The enemies of my lord are dead;

All the Kalifs of all the West

Bow and obey his least behest;

The plains are dark with the mulberry-trees,

The weavers are busy in Samarcand,

The miners are sifting the golden sand,

The divers are plunging for pearls in the seas,

And peace and plenty are in the land.

"Only Baldacca's Kalif alone

Rose in rebellion against thy throne:

His treasures are at thy palace-door,

With the swords and the shawls and the jewels he wore;

His body is dust o'er the Desert blown.

"A mile outside of Baldacca's gate

I left my forces to lie in wait,

Concealed by forests and hillocks of sand,

And forward dashed with a handful of men

To lure the old tiger from his den

Into the ambush I had planned.

Ere we reached the town the alarm was spread,

For we heard the sound of gongs from within;

With clash of cymbals and warlike din

The gates swung wide; we turned and fled,

And the garrison sallied forth and pursued,

With the gray old Kalif at their head,

And above them the banner of Mahomed:

Thus we snared them all, and the town was subdued.

"As in at the gate we rode, behold,

A tower that was called the Tower of Gold!

For there the Kalif had hidden his wealth,

Heaped and hoarded and piled on high,

Like sacks of wheat in a granary;

And there the old miser crept by stealth

To feel of the gold that gave him health,

To gaze and gloat with his hungry eye

On jewels that gleamed like a glow-worm's spark,

Or the eyes of a panther in the dark.

"I said to the Kalif,—'Thou art old,

Thou hast no need of so much gold.

Thou shouldst not have heaped and hidden it here,

Till the breath of battle was hot and near,

But have sown through the land these useless hoards

To spring into shining blades of swords,

And keep thine honor sweet and clear.

These grains of gold are not grains of wheat;

These bars of silver thou canst not eat;

These jewels and pearls and precious stones

Cannot cure the aches in thy bones,

Nor keep the feet of Death one hour

From climbing the stairways of thy tower!'

"Then into this dungeon I locked the drone,

And left him to feed there all alone

In the honey-cells of his golden hive:

Never a prayer, nor a cry, nor a groan

Was heard from those massive walls of stone,

Nor again was the Kalif seen alive!

"When at last we unlocked the door,

We found him dead upon the floor;

The rings had dropped from his withered hands,

His teeth were like bones in the Desert sands;

Still clutching his treasures he had died;

And as he lay there, he appeared

A statue of gold with a silver beard,

His arms outstretched as if crucified."

This is the story, strange and true,

That the great captain Alaù

Told to his brother the Tartar Khan,

When he rode that day into Kambalu

By the road that leadeth to Ispahan.