Page:Complete Poetical Works of John Greenleaf Whittier (1895).djvu/129

Rh The sad, reproachful look of pity, born Of love that hath no part in wrath or scorn,) Began, with low voice and moist eyes, to tell Of the all-loving Christ, and what befell When the fierce zealots, thirsting for her blood, Dragged to his feet a shame of womanhood. How, when his searching answer pierced within Each heart, and touched the secret of its sin, And her accusers fled his face before, He bade the poor one go and sin no more. And Akbar said, after a moment’s thought, “Wise is the lesson by thy prophet taught; Woe unto him who judges and forgets What hidden evil his own heart besets! Something of this large charity I find In all the sects that sever humankind; I would to Allah that their lives agreed More nearly with the lesson of their creed! Those yellow Lamas who at Meerut pray By wind and water power, and love to say: ‘He who forgiveth not shall, unforgiven, Fail of the rest of Buddha,’ and who even Spare the black gnat that stings them, vex my ears With the poor hates and jealousies and fears Cursed in their human hives. That lean, fierce priest Of thy own people, (be his heart increased By Allah’s love!) his black robes smelling yet Of Goa’s roasted Jews, have I not met Meek-faced, barefooted, crying in the street The saying of his prophet true and sweet,— ‘He who is merciful shall mercy meet!’ ”


 * But, next day, so it chanced, as night began

To fall, a murmur through the hareem ran That one, recalling in her dusky face The full-lipped, mild-eyed beauty of a race Known as the blameless Ethiops of Greek song, Plotting to do her royal master wrong, Watching, reproachful of the lingering light, The evening shadows deepen for her flight, Love-guided, to her home in a far land, Now waited death at the great Shah’s command.


 * Shapely as that dark princess for whose smile

A world was bartered, daughter of the Nile Herself, and veiling in her large, soft eyes The passion and the languor of her skies, The Abyssinian knelt low at the feet Of her stern lord: “O king, if it be meet, And for thy honor’s sake,” she said, “that I, Who am the humblest of thy slaves, should die, I will not tax thy mercy to forgive. Easier it is to die than to outlive All that life gave me,—him whose wrong of thee Was but the outcome of his love for me, Cherished from childhood, when, beneath the shade Of templed Axum, side by side we played. Stolen from his arms, my lover followed me Through weary seasons over land and sea; And two days since, sitting disconsolate Within the shadow of the hareem gate, Suddenly, as if dropping from the sky, Down from the lattice of the balcony Fell the sweet song by Tigre’s cowherds sung In the old music of his native tongue. He knew my voice, for love is quick of ear, Answering in song. This night he waited near To fly with me. The fault was mine alone: He knew thee not, he did but seek his own; Who, in the very shadow of thy throne, Sharing thy bounty, knowing all thou art, Greatest and best of men, and in her heart Grateful to tears for favor undeserved, Turned ever homeward, nor one moment swerved From her young love. He looked into my eyes, He heard my voice, and could not otherwise Than he hath done; yet, save one wild embrace When first we stood together face to face, And all that fate had done since last we met Seemed but a dream and left us children yet, He hath not wronged thee nor thy royal bed: Spare him, O king! and slay me in his stead!”


 * But over Akbar’s brows the frown hung black,

And, turning to the eunuch at his back, “Take them,” he said, “and let the Jumna’s waves Hide both my shame and these accursed slaves!”