The Governor of Kabul spoke: 'My King, hast thou no fear? Thou knowest-thou hast heard,'-his speech died at his master's face. And grimly said the Afghan King: 'I rule the Afghan race. My path is mine-see thou to thine-to-night upon thy bed Think who there be in Kabul now that clamour for thy head.' That night when all the gates were shut to City and to throne, Within a little garden house the King lay down alone. Before the sinking of the moon, which is the Night of Night, Yar Khan came softly to the King to make his honour white. The children of the town had mocked beneath his horse's hoofs, The harlots of the town had hailed him 'butcher!' from their roofs. But as he groped against the wall, two hands upon him fell, The King behind his shoulder spake: 'Dead man, thou dost not well! 'Tis ill to jest with Kings by day and seek a boon by night; And that thou bearest in thy hand is all too sharp to write. But three days hence, if God be good, and if thy strength remain, Thou shalt demand one boon of me and bless me in thy pain. THE BALLAD OF THE KING'S MERCY For I am merciful to all, and most of all to thee. My butcher of the shambles, rest-no knife hast thou for me!' Abdhur Rahman, the Durani Chief, holds hard by the South and the North; But the Ghilzai knows, ere the melting snows, When the red-coats crawl to the sungar wall, and his Ye have heard the song-How long? How long? They stoned him in the rubbish-field when dawn was in the sky, According to the written word, 'See that he do not die.' They stoned him till the stones were piled above him on the plain, And those the labouring limbs displaced they tumbled back again. One watched beside the dreary mound that veiled the battered thing. And him the King with laughter called the Herald of the King. It was upon the second night, the night of Ramazan, The watcher leaning earthward heard the message of Yar Khan. From shattered breast through shrivelled lips broke forth the rattling breath, 'Creature of God, deliver me from agony of Death.' They sought the King among his girls, and risked their lives thereby: 'Protector of the Pitiful, give orders that he die!' 'Bid him endure until the day,' a lagging answer came; "The night is short, and he can pray and learn to bless my name.' Before the dawn three times he spoke, and on the day once more: 'Creature of God, deliver me, and bless the King therefor!' They shot him at the morning prayer, to ease him of his pain, And when he heard the matchlocks clink, he blessed the King again. Which thing the singers made a song for all the world to sing, So that the Outer Seas may know the mercy of the King. Abdhur Rahman, the Durani Chief, of him is the He has opened his mouth to the North and the Ye have heard the song-How long? How long? THE BALLAD OF THE KING'S JEST W (1890) HEN spring time flushes the desert grass, As the snowbound trade of the North comes down In a turquoise twilight, crisp and chill, And the tribesmen bellowed to hasten the food; A murmur of voices, a reek of smoke, The lid of the flesh-pot chattered high, To Mahbub Ali the muleteer, Patching his bridles and counting his gear, We cleansed our beards of the mutton-grease, In the fashion of one who is weaving lies. But we look that the gloom of the night shall die Friend of my heart, is it meet or wise To warn a King of his enemies? We know what Heaven or Hell may bring, |