Page:Rudyard Kipling's verse - Inclusive Edition 1885-1918.djvu/298

 Yar Khan, a bastard of the Blood, so city-babble saith, And he was honoured of the King—the which is salt to Death; And he was son of Daoud Shah, the Reiver of the Plains, And blood of old Durani Lords ran fire in his veins; And 'twas to tame an Afghan pride nor Hell nor Heaven could bind, The King would make him butcher to a yelping cur of Hind.

"Strike!" said the King. "King's blood art thou his death shall be his pride!" Then louder, that the crowd might catch: "Fear not his arms are tied!" Yar Khan drew clear the Khyber knife, and struck, and sheathed again. "O man, thy will is done," quoth he; "A King this dog hath slain."

''Abdhur Rahman, the Durani Chief, to the North and the South is sold.  The North and the South shall open their mouth to a Ghilzai flag unrolled, '' When the big guns speak to the Khyber peak, and his dog-Herat is fly:  ''Ye have heard the song—How long? How long? Wolves of the Abazai! ''

That night before the watch was set, when all the streets were clear, 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."