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Yet again to the Caliph bent Seyd the vizier :
"Who shall reason or rail if my Lord speaketh clear? Who shall strive with his might? Let my Lord live for ever!
He shall choose him a site by the side of the river."
Then the Caliph sent forth unto Kür, unto Yemen,—
Now the courses were laid and the corner-piece fitted;
And the butments and set-stones were shapen and knitted,
Then the Caliph was stirred and he flushed in his ire as He sent forth his word from Teheran to Shiraz;
And the workmen came new, and the palace, built faster, From the bases up-grew unto arch and pilaster.
And the groinings were traced, and the arch-heads were chasen,
When lo! in hot haste there came flying a mason,
Then the Caliph's beard curled, and he foamed in his rage
Once more his scouts whirled from the Tell to the Hedjaz; "Is my word not my word ?" cried the Caliph Abdallah; "I will build it up yet.
by the aiding of Allah!"
Though he spoke in his haste like King David before him, Yet he felt as he spoke that a something stole o'er him; And his soul grew as glass, and his anger passed from it As the vapours that pass from the Pool of Mahomet.
And the doom seemed to hang on the palace no longer,
Without price, without flaw. And it lay on the azure
So the Caliph looked forth on the turret-tops gilded; And he said in his pride, "Is my palace not builded? Who is more great than I that his word can avail if My will is my will," said Abdallah the Caliph.
But lo! with the light he repented his scorning,
For an earthquake had shattered the whole ere the morning;
Of the pearl-coloured dome there was left but a ruin,— But an arch as a home for the ring-dove to coo in.
Shaft, turret and spire-all were tumbled and crumbled;
I will build Him a Mosque," said the Caliph Abdallah.
And the Caliph has gone to his fathers for ever,
IN THE BELFRY.
WRITTEN UNDER RETHEL'S "DEATH, THE FRIEND."
Is it night, or daylight yet?
Toll! But who tolls the Bell once more?
He must have climbed the parapet.
Who can it be?—the Bernardine,
This must be He who, legend saith,
Good-bye, old Bell! So let it be.
IN MANUS TUAS, DOMINE!
(IMITATED FROM THEOPHILE GAUTIER.)
ES; when the ways oppose—
O Poet, then, forbear
The loosely-sandalled verse,
Leave to the tiro's hand
The labour of the file.