| |
1889
ABDHUR RAHMAN, the Durani Chief, of him is the story told. | |
| His mercy fills the Khyber hills—his grace is manifold; | |
| He has taken toll of the North and the South—his glory reacheth far, | |
| And they tell the tale of his charity from Balkh to Kandahar. | |
| |
| Before the old Peshawur Gate, where Kurd and Kaffir meet, | 5 |
| The Governor of Kabul dealt the Justice of the Street, | |
| And that was strait as running noose and swift as plunging knife, | |
| Tho’ he who held the longer purse might hold the longer life. | |
| There was a hound of Hindustan had struck a Euzufzai, | |
| Wherefore they spat upon his face and led him out to die. | 10 |
| It chanced the King went forth that hour when throat was bared to knife; | |
| The Kaffir grovelled under-hoof and clamoured for his life. | |
| |
| Then said the King: “Have hope, O friend! Yea, Death disgraced is hard. | |
| “Much honour shall be thine;” and called the Captain of the Guard, | |
| Yar Khan, a bastard of the Blood, so city-babble saith, | 15 |
| 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. | 20 |
| |
| “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. | 25 |
| 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-Heratis 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? | 30 |
| “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, | 35 |
| 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. | 40 |
| |
| But as he groped against the wall, two hands upon him fell, | |
| The King behind his shoulder spake: “Dead man, thou dost not well! | |
| “’T is 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, | 45 |
| “Thou shalt demand one boon of me and bless me in thy pain. | |
| “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 swollen banks break forth, | 50 |
| When the red-coats crawl to the sungar wall, and his Usbeg lances fail: | |
| Ye have heard the song—How long? How long? Wolves of the Zuka Kheyl! | |
| |
| 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, | 55 |
| 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. | 60 |
| 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; | 65 |
| “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. | 70 |
| |
| 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 story told, | |
| He has opened his mouth to the North and the South, they have stuffed his mouth with gold. | |
| Ye know the truth of his tender ruth—and sweet his favours are: | 75 |
| Ye have heard the song—How long? How long?—from Balkh to Kandahar. | |
| |
