XXI

Like parrots, one and all, with shrieking tongues
The poets knew their lord, and screamed his name,
Bitter with hate; but his sweet learned songs
Had touched the Sultan with their sacred flame;
He bade the jealous poets all make way,
And did Firdausi honour to their shame,
And asked by what fair accident that day
From stately Ghaznin such a stranger came.

XXII

But when he knew, and heard of Mahmoud's rage,
He trembled, and his fingers stroked his beard;
For scarcely could his pastoral province wage
Safe war with one whom all the nations feared;
So blushing much, as one who loathes his task,
He bade his guest, whom meat and wine had cheered,
To grant the boon that he could scarcely ask
Of one so deeply loved, so long revered.

XXIII

Firdausi rose and sighed, and went his way,
But ere he reached the gate of Astrabad,
The Sultan sent three men in rich array
Laden with gifts, the lordliest that he had,
And camels, that the bard might ride at ease,
And lutes, and a Circassian serving-lad;
So after many days he passed with these
Far down the lordly Tigris to Baghdad.

XXIV

Here underneath the palm-trees, full of shade,
The poet tasted peace, and lingered long;
The Master of the Faithful he obeyed,
And searched the Koran for a theme for song.
The vizier lodged him in his own fair house,
Where wise men gathered in a learned throng,
And when the Khalif heard his pious vows,
He gave him gifts and shielded him from wrong.

XXV

There in a white-walled garden full of trees,
Through which there ran a deep cold water brook
Fringed with white tulips and anemones,
Among the tender grass he wrote the book
Of Yousouf and Zuleika; not one word
Was there of all the windy war that shook
Iran of old, nor was the ear once stirred
With any name the Faithful might rebuke.

XXVI

Nine thousand Persian verses told the tale,
And when the perfect poem was set down,
He rose, and left the plaintive nightingale
That long had tuned her throat to his sweet moan;
Before the Khalif on a broad divan,
To sound of rebecks, in a silken gown,
He sat in state, and when the dance began
Declaimed aloud that song of high renown.

XXVII

Its music sank on well-attempered ears;
The Khalif lounged upon his throne, and cried,
" Lo! I this day am as a man who hears
The angel Gabriel murmur at his side —
And dies not. " At the viewless hareem-door
The screen was swayed by bending forms that sighed,
And scheikhs and soldiers, young and old, for more
Still pressed and wished, and scarce would be denied.

XXVIII

Ah, palmy days were those for singer's craft!
Now every worldling flings his cap in rhyme,
And from an easy bow lets fly a shaft
At verse much honoured in his grandsire's time;
Now many a ghazel, soft with spices, trips
Along the alien mouth with frivolous chime,
And lightly rises from unhonoured lips
The ancient rhythm sonorous and sublime.

XXIX

But great Firdausi met with honour then,
Garments and jewels, and much store of gold;
Till one, the basest and the worst of men,
Rode out by stealth that Hasan might be told,
Who, when he heard in Ghaznin that his foe
Sat, robed and glorious, as he sat of old,
Stirred up with whispers to a fiery glow
The rage of Mahmoud, which was well-nigh cold.

XXX

So Mahmoud sent to Baghdad embassies
Demanding speedily Firdausi's head,
Or else the town among her ancient trees
Must look for instant war, the missive said;
The stately Khalif rose in wrath and pride,
And swore that till each faithful heart was dead,
His hospitable sword should leave his side,
And rolling Tigris blush in Persian red.