MULEY MALEK, THE KING.
31
Rode straight and strong, holding his sword
Soldierly, gripped on the thigh, grim as a king in iron!
Stiff in the saddle, stark, frowning—one hand is raised,
The mailed finger is laid on the mouth:
"Silence!" the warning said to Hamah Tabah the Captain.
Help from his horse they give, moving him, still unbending,
Down to the bed, and lay him within the curtains.
Mutely they answer his frown, like ridges of bronze, and sternly
Again is the mailed hand raised and laid on the lips in warning:
"Silence!" it said, and the meaning smote through their blood like flame,
As the tremor passed through his armor and the grayness crept o'er his features
Muley the King was dead!
