The Poetical Works of Leigh Hunt/Mahmoud
MAHMOUD.[1]
TO RICHARD HENRY HORNE.Horne, hear a theme that should have had its duesFrom thine own passionate and thoughtful Muse.
There came a man, making his hasty moanBefore the Sultan Mahmoud on his throne,And crying out—"My sorrow is my right,And I will see the Sultan, and to-night."Sorrow," said Mahmoud, "is a reverend thing:I recognise its right, as king with king;Speak on." "A fiend has got into my house,Exclaim'd the staring man," and tortures us:One of thine officers;—he comes, the abhorr'd,And takes possession of my house, my board,My bed:—I have two daughters and a wife,And the wild villain comes, and makes me mad with life." "Is he there now?" said Mahmoud.—"No;—he leftThe house when I did, of my wits bereft;And laugh'd me down the street, because I vow'dI'd bring the prince himself to lay him in his shroud.I'm mad with want—I'm mad with misery,And oh thou Sultan Mahmoud, God cries out for thee!"
The Sultan comforted the man, and said,"Go home, and I will send thee wine and bread,"(For he was poor) "and other comforts. Go;And, should the wretch return, let Sultan Mahmoud know."
In three days' time, with haggard eyes and beard,And shaken voice, the suitor re-appear'd,And said, "He's come."—Mahmoud said not a word,But rose and took four slaves, each with a sword,And went with the vex'd man. They reach the place,And hear a voice, and see a woman's face,That to the window flutter'd in affright:"Go in," said Mahmoud, "and put out the light;But tell the females first to leave the room;And when the drunkard follows them, we come."
The man went in. There was a cry, and hark!A table falls, the window is struck dark:Forth rush the breathless women; and behindWith curses comes the fiend in desperate mind.In vain the sabres soon cut short the strife,And chop the shrieking wretch, and drink his bloody life.
"Now light the light," the Sultan cried aloud.'Twas done; he took it in his hand, and bow'dOver the corpse, and look'd upon the face;Then turn'd, and knelt, and to the throne of gracePut up a prayer, and from his lips there creptSome gentle words of pleasure, and he wept.
In reverent silence the beholders wait,Then bring him at his call both wine and meat;And when he had refresh'd his noble heart,He bade his host be blest, and rose up to depart.
The man amaz'd, all mildness now, and tears,Fell at the Sultan's feet with many prayers,And begg'd him to vouchsafe to tell his slaveThe reason first of that command he gaveAbout the light; then, when he saw the face,Why he knelt down; and, lastly, how it wasThat fare so poor as his detain'd him in the place.
The Sultan said, with a benignant eye,"Since first I saw thee come, and heard thy cry,I could not rid me of a dread, that oneBy whom such daring villanies were done,Must be some lord of mine,—aye, e'en, perhaps, a son.Whoe'er he was, I knew my task, but fear'dA father's heart, in case the worst appear'd:For this I had the light put out; but whenI saw the face, and found a stranger slain,I knelt and thank'd the sovereign Arbiter,Whose work I had perform'd through pain and fear;And then I rose and was refresh'd with food,The first time since thy voice had marr'd my solitude."