_Scene, Baghdad: time of the Khalif Haroun er Reshid. Salih ben Tarif
speaks._
With Imam Hassan I had reached the khan
Outside of Ambar. Jaafer at the door
Of his pavilion watched a caravan
Inbound from Yemen.--Ah, the bales it bore
Of richest stuffs and spices!--'Mid the rout
Of porters, camel-drivers, old and poor,
A singer stood,--a blindman, singing out
With luted preludes. Imam Hassan then:
"'Tis Zekkar; he, t' whom, with the blind about
The Mosque of Moons, I with our holy men
Scattered my silver at the hour of prayer,
When hearts are open unto Allah's ken.--
Danic or dirhem, though, were wasted there:
Yea, by the Prophet! had one sown dinars
_He_ had not budged one finger or that stare.
And so the beggars and the scavengers
Got all."
Then I: "The very same whom I--
Guard at the Western Portal--'neath the stars
Some midnights past heard singing. Dim the dry
Hot night; and Baghdad only knew of us
Until, gray shadows shuffling slowly by,
Pilgrims for Mecca passed, all vaporous
In dust and darkness; them we challenged not.
--Slaves, with the tribute of Nicephorus
The Roman, from long shallops, as they shot
Along the moonlit Tigris far away,
Timing their oars, raised languid chanting.--
What
This blindman sang was sweeter than--let's say--
The songs of Ibrahim, the dulcet frets
Of Zulzul's lute. I listened till the day
Made gold of all the city's minarets,
And the muezzin summoned us to pray."
Now while we gossiped, lounging slow along
The packed bazaar, a fisher with his nets
Passed, singing Abou Newas' newest song:
A honey-merchant, then, his tinkling mule
All hanap-hung with sweetness: then a throng
Of scholars and their Sheikh from mosque or school:
A milk-white woman on a cream-white ass,
Black slaves attending.... And--I am no fool!--
I knew her of the Court, the noblest class,
By her gem-bangled bracelets.... Let Haroun
On the Euphrates with Zubeideh pass
A single day, at royal Rekkeh,--noon
And night his harem here, so it is said,
Is all intrigue.--Then drawling out his tune,
"Ten thousand pieces to be paid, be paid,
For Yehya's head, Er Reshid's late vizier,"
A crier passed us. Then the market's shade
Glittered with weapons; and we seemed to hear,
Sword of the Khalif, Mesrour, and commands
Naming the Khalif. One swart officer
Flamed forth the Sultan's signet. And harsh hands
Were laid on--whom?--I saw not! For my sight
Was dazzled by the scimitars,--from bands
Of jeweled belts that burned,--and, keen and bright,
Swift hedged us out. Then broad the red blood dyed
The ground around a body--and, hoar white,
Was raised a severed head.--And, stupefied,
Elbowing the rabble, "By my beard!" I cried,
Marking the face, "Jaafer the Barmecide!"