that sacred pledge,[214]
Which, once partaken, blunts the sabre's edge,
Makes even contending tribes in peace unite,
And hated hosts seem brethren to the sight!
Which, once partaken, blunts the sabre's edge,
Makes even contending tribes in peace unite,
And hated hosts seem brethren to the sight!
Byron
700
Pacha! my limbs are faint--and nature craves
Food for my hunger, rest from tossing waves:
Permit my absence--peace be with thee! Peace
With all around! --now grant repose--release. "
"Stay, Dervise! I have more to question--stay,
I do command thee--sit--dost hear? --obey!
More I must ask, and food the slaves shall bring;
Thou shall not pine where all are banqueting:
The supper done--prepare thee to reply,
Clearly and full--I love not mystery. " 710
'Twere vain to guess what shook the pious man,
Who looked not lovingly on that Divan;
Nor showed high relish for the banquet prest,
And less respect for every fellow guest.
Twas but a moment's peevish hectic passed
Along his cheek, and tranquillised as fast:
He sate him down in silence, and his look
Resumed the calmness which before forsook:
The feast was ushered in--but sumptuous fare
He shunned as if some poison mingled there. 720
For one so long condemned to toil and fast,
Methinks he strangely spares the rich repast.
"What ails thee, Dervise? eat--dost thou suppose
This feast a Christian's? or my friends thy foes?
Why dost thou shun the salt?
that sacred pledge,[214]
Which, once partaken, blunts the sabre's edge,
Makes even contending tribes in peace unite,
And hated hosts seem brethren to the sight! "
"Salt seasons dainties--and my food is still
The humblest root, my drink the simplest rill; 730
And my stern vow and Order's[215] laws oppose
To break or mingle bread with friends or foes;
It may seem strange--if there be aught to dread
That peril rests upon my single head;
But for thy sway--nay more--thy Sultan's throne,
I taste nor bread nor banquet--save alone;
Infringed our Order's rule, the Prophet's rage
To Mecca's dome might bar my pilgrimage. "
"Well--as thou wilt--ascetic as thou art--
One question answer; then in peace depart. 740
How many? --Ha! it cannot sure be day?
What Star--what Sun is bursting on the bay?
It shines a lake of fire! --away--away!
Ho! treachery! my guards! my scimitar!
The galleys feed the flames--and I afar!
Accursed Dervise! --these thy tidings--thou
Some villain spy--seize--cleave him--slay him now!
Pacha! my limbs are faint--and nature craves
Food for my hunger, rest from tossing waves:
Permit my absence--peace be with thee! Peace
With all around! --now grant repose--release. "
"Stay, Dervise! I have more to question--stay,
I do command thee--sit--dost hear? --obey!
More I must ask, and food the slaves shall bring;
Thou shall not pine where all are banqueting:
The supper done--prepare thee to reply,
Clearly and full--I love not mystery. " 710
'Twere vain to guess what shook the pious man,
Who looked not lovingly on that Divan;
Nor showed high relish for the banquet prest,
And less respect for every fellow guest.
Twas but a moment's peevish hectic passed
Along his cheek, and tranquillised as fast:
He sate him down in silence, and his look
Resumed the calmness which before forsook:
The feast was ushered in--but sumptuous fare
He shunned as if some poison mingled there. 720
For one so long condemned to toil and fast,
Methinks he strangely spares the rich repast.
"What ails thee, Dervise? eat--dost thou suppose
This feast a Christian's? or my friends thy foes?
Why dost thou shun the salt?
that sacred pledge,[214]
Which, once partaken, blunts the sabre's edge,
Makes even contending tribes in peace unite,
And hated hosts seem brethren to the sight! "
"Salt seasons dainties--and my food is still
The humblest root, my drink the simplest rill; 730
And my stern vow and Order's[215] laws oppose
To break or mingle bread with friends or foes;
It may seem strange--if there be aught to dread
That peril rests upon my single head;
But for thy sway--nay more--thy Sultan's throne,
I taste nor bread nor banquet--save alone;
Infringed our Order's rule, the Prophet's rage
To Mecca's dome might bar my pilgrimage. "
"Well--as thou wilt--ascetic as thou art--
One question answer; then in peace depart. 740
How many? --Ha! it cannot sure be day?
What Star--what Sun is bursting on the bay?
It shines a lake of fire! --away--away!
Ho! treachery! my guards! my scimitar!
The galleys feed the flames--and I afar!
Accursed Dervise! --these thy tidings--thou
Some villain spy--seize--cleave him--slay him now!
