dwelt a Sheik,
Edebali by name. A chambered cave
He had for house, and wild vines made his door,
Which was a nesting-place for singing birds.
Two paths, divided by an olive-tree,
Led from the door: one to a spring of cool,
Sweet water bubbling out from moss-grown rocks,
And it was narrow; while the other, broad
And beaten, told of travel to and fro,
And of the world a suitor to the man,
For it is never proud when it has need.
He had been Sheik in fact, but now was more—
A Dervish old and saintly, and so close
To Allah that the Golden Gate of Gifts
Up Heaven's steep did open when he prayed.
Wherefore the sick were brought him for a touch;
And in their crowns his amulets were worn
By kings and queens, and scarce a morning came
Without a message— In my tent last night
A foal was born to me, and that in truth
It grace its blood, I pray thee send a name
To know it by.' Or, from a knight whose brand
Had failed him, 'Hearken, O Edebali!
Thou knowest by chosen texts to temper swords.
The craftsman hath a new one now in hand,
And in the rough it waits.' And men of high
Degree came often asking this and that
Of Heaven, and the Prophet, and the laws
Of holy life. Nor was there ever one
To go away unanswered, for he knew
The Kur-an, verse and chapter, and to speak
With finger on the line
Othman and Malkatoon
"And to the cave
Our Othman often went, because he knew
The good man loved him. Once he thither turned
While hawking and athirst, and at the door
Bethought him of the spring. So down the path,
The narrow path, he went, but sudden stopt—
Stopt with the babble of the brook in ear,
And straight forgot his thirst in what he saw.
Below the fountain's lip there was a pool
O'er which a mottled rock of gray and green
Rose high enough to cast the whole in shade;
And in the shade unconscious sate a fair
And slender girl. A yellow earthen jar,
Which she had come to fill for household use,
Stood upright by her, and he saw her face
Above a fallen veil, a gleam of white,
Made whiter by the blackness of the hair
Through which it shone. And she, all childlike, hummed
A wordless tune of sweet monotony,
As in the hushed dowar at dead of night
The Arab women, low-voiced, sing to dull
The grinding of their mills. And to her knees
Her limbs were bare, and as the eddies brought
The bubbles round she beat them with her foot,
Which glistened mid the splashes like the pink
And snow enamel of a sea-washed shell;
And by the throbbing of his heart he knew
Her beautiful, and turned and walked away,
Himself unseen. And up the path he went,
A stately youth, and tall, and self-contained
As any proven man.
Othman and Edebali
"'A quest I bring,
O saintly Dervish!' Thus, when in the cave,
Our Othman spake.
"The elder to him turned
His face benignant.
"'Is there in the Book2 A saying that would make it sin for me To marry ?' "'Nay, son, speak thou whole of heart.' "'Then be it whole of heart,' young Othman said, 'And to thy saintliness.' And stooping low, He raised the other's hand, and kissed it once, And then again, and humbly. 'At the brook But now I saw thy daughter Malkatoon— Nay, be thou restful!— Drink for soothe of thirst Was what I sought. Her presence made the place In holiness a Mosque, and bade me off, And I ran trembling here. And that which was Not more than thirst is now a fever grown, A fever of the soul. And if I may Not wed her, then it were not well to let My morning run to dismal noon of life; Nor shall it. See, now, O Edebali! Here at thy feet my soul. Save Malkatoon's, Thou canst not find one whiter.' "And he knelt, And laid his forehead lowly in the dust; And at the sight, Edebali made haste, And both hands helpful raised the suppliant, Saying,' O gentle son of Ertoghrul! What Allah of his love and bounty gives, That we shall keep, and in the keeping make Our care of it becoming thanks and praise. Thou knowest I love thee'— "His farther speech Was tearful. "'I remember well the day A woman beautiful, and mine in love And wifely bonds, and dying of the birth, Gave me her baby, saying, I have named It Malkatoon,3 and as thou dost by it, So Allah will by thee. Ah, verily! The Prophet measureth the very show Of evil gainst the good; and dost thou think It full enough with Him that I have kept. The child in bread and happy singing all The morning through, if now, her noon at hand, I give her up to certain misery? A prince art thou, and she but dervish born; And men will laugh, and with their laughter kill.' "And to and fro he walked, and wrung his hands, While all the lineless wrinkling on his face From thought, and fast, and vigils long endured, The deeper pursed itself; and when he stopt, It was to say, 'To Allah let us leave The judgment, prince. Who dares in Him to trust May always hope. So canst thou hither bring A pigeon from an eagle's nest escaped Unruffled, or a lamb that overnight Hath harmless lain with lions, it will be As speech to me, and I will do His will. Knowest thou the Legend on the seal of God? Our lives are but the wax on which 'tis stamped. They call it Kismet.' "And with that he drew His robe, long, loose, and trimmed with yellow fur About him close, and left the youth alone And wonder-struck, but none the less in love. Then down the broad and travel-beaten road Our Othman, pensive, went to where his train Of tribesmen waited.
Othman and His Tribesmen
"'Ho, now! Hood the hawks,
And leash the whimpering hounds. The day is done.'
Thus he to them.
"They stared, and in his palm
One whispered, l Oh! It is the evil eye.'
"A bolder spake, 'My lord, it is but noon.'
"And yet a third addressed his hunter's love
In strain more cunning,