"But some weakling head,

                In its after pain,

              Moaning said,

                Drink not again.

              "But I will dare,

                With a goodly drought,

              To drink and not spare,

                Till my thirst be out.

              "For as I quaff

                The liquor cool,

              I do not laugh,

                Like a Christian fool;

              "But my bosom fills,

                And my faith is high;

              Through the emerald hills

                Goes my lightning eye.

              "I see them hearken,

                I see them wait;

              Their light eyes darken

                The diamond gate.

              "I hear the float

                Of their chant divine;

              Each heavenly note

                Mingles with mine.

              "Can an evil thing

                Make beauty more?

              Or a sinner bring

                To the heavenly door?

              "'Tis the sun-rays fine

                That sink in the earth,

              And are drunk by the vine,

                For its daughters' birth.

              "And the liquid light,

                I drink again;

              And it flows in might

                Through the shining brain,

              "Making it know

                The things that are

              In the earth below,

                Or the farthest star.

              "I will not think

                That the Prophet said,

              Ye shall not drink

                Of the flowing Red.

              "For his promise, lo!

                Shows more divine,

              When the channels o'erflow

                With the singing wine.

              "But if he did, 'tis a small annoy

              To sit in chains for a heavenly joy."

      Away went the song on the light wind borne.

      His head sank down, and a ripple of scorn,

      At the irons that fettered his brown limbs' strength.

      Waved on his lip the dark hair's length.

      But sudden he lifted his head to the north—

      Like a mountain-beacon his eye blazed forth:

      'Twas a cloud in the distance that caught his eye,

      Whence a faint clang shot on the light breeze by;

      A noise and a smoke on the plain afar—

      'Tis the cloud and the clang of the Moslem war.

      And the light that flashed from his black eyes, lo!

      Was a light that paled the red wine's glow;

      And he shook his fetters in bootless ire,

      And called on the Prophet, and named his sire.

      But the lady of Saad heard the clang,

      And she knew the far sabres his fetters rang.

      Oh! she had the heart where a man might rest,

      For she knew the tempest in his breast.

      She rose. Ere she reached him, he called her name,

      But he called not twice ere the lady came;

      And he sprang to his feet, and the irons cursed,

      And wild from his lips the Tecbir burst:

      "Let me go," he said, "and, by Allah's fear,

      At sundown I sit in my fetters here,

      Or lie 'neath a heaven of starry eyes,

      Kissed by moon-maidens of Paradise."

      The lady unlocked his fetters stout,

      Brought her husband's horse and his armour out,

      Clothed the warrior, and bid him go

      An angel of vengeance upon the foe;

      Then turned her in, and from the roof,

      Beheld the battle, far aloof.

      Straight as an arrow she saw him go,

      Abu Midjan, the singer, upon the foe.

      Like home-sped lightning he pierced the cloud,

      And the thunder of battle burst more loud;

      And like lightning along a thunderous steep,

      She saw the sickle-shaped sabres sweep,

      Keen as the sunlight they dashed away

      When it broke against them in flashing spray;

      Till the battle ebbed o'er the plain afar,

      Borne on the flow of the holy war.

      As sank from the edge the sun's last flame,

      Back to his bonds Abu Midjan came.

      "O lady!" he said, "'tis a mighty horse;

      The Prophet himself might have rode a worse.

      I felt beneath me his muscles' play,

      As he tore to the battle, like fiend, away.

      I forgot him, and swept at the traitor weeds,

      And they fell before me like broken reeds;

      Dropt their heads, as a boy doth mow

      The poppies' heads with his unstrung bow.

      They fled. The faithful follow at will.

      I turned. And lo! he was under me still.

      Give him water, lady, and barley to eat;

      Then come and help me to fetter my feet."

      He