Volume Ii Part 16 (1/2)
_ABU MIDJAN_.
”If I sit in the dust For lauding good wine, Ha, ha! it is just: So sits the vine!”
Abu Midjan sang as he sat in chains, For the blood of the grape ran the juice of his veins.
The Prophet had said, ”O Faithful, drink not!”
Abu Midjan drank till his heart was hot; Yea, he sang a song in praise of wine, He called it good names--a joy divine, The giver of might, the opener of eyes, Love's handmaid, the water of Paradise!
Therefore Saad his chief spake words of blame, And set him in irons--a fettered flame; But he sings of the wine as he sits in his chains, For the blood of the grape runs the juice of his veins:
”I will not think That the Prophet said _Ye shall not drink Of the flowing red!_”
”'Tis a drenched brain Whose after-sting Cries out, _Refrain: 'Tis an evil thing!_
”But I will dare, With a goodly drought, To drink, nor spare Till my thirst be out.
”_I_ do not laugh Like a Christian fool But in silence quaff The liquor cool
”At door of tent 'Neath evening star, With daylight spent, And Uriel afar!
”Then, through the sky, Lo, the emerald hills!
My faith swells high, My bosom thrills:
”I see them hearken, The Houris that wait!
Their dark eyes darken The diamond gate!
”I hear the float Of their chant divine, And my heart like a boat Sails thither on wine!
”Can an evil thing Make beauty more?
Or a sinner bring To the heavenly door?
”The sun-rain fine Would sink and escape, But is drunk by the vine, Is stored in the grape:
”And the prisoned light I free again: It flows in might Through my s.h.i.+ning brain
”I love and I know; The truth is mine; I walk in the glow Of the sun-bred wine.
”_I_ will not think That the Prophet said _Ye shall not drink Of the flowing red!_
”For his promises, lo, Sevenfold they s.h.i.+ne When the channels o'erflow With the singing wine!
”But I care not, I!--'tis a small annoy To sit in chains for a heavenly joy!”
Away went the song on the light wind borne; His head sank down, and a ripple of scorn Shook the hair that flowed from his curling lip As he eyed his brown limbs in the iron's grip.
Sudden his forehead he lifted high: A faint sound strayed like a moth-wing by!
Like beacons his eyes burst blazing forth: A dust-cloud he spied in the distant north!
A noise and a smoke on the plain afar?
'Tis the cloud and the clang of the Moslem war!
He leapt aloft like a tiger snared; The wine in his veins through his visage flared; He tore at his fetters in bootless ire, He called the Prophet, he named his sire; From his lips, with wild shout, the Techir burst; He danced in his irons; the Giaours he cursed; And his eyes they flamed like a beacon dun, Or like wine in the crystal twixt eye and sun.
The lady of Saad heard him shout, Heard his fetters ring on the stones about The heart of a warrior she understood, And the rage of the thwarted battle-mood: Her name, with the cry of an angry prayer, He called but once, and the lady was there.
”The Giaour!” he panted, ”the G.o.dless brute!
And me like a camel tied foot to foot!