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; Then the Caliph was stirred and he flushed in his ire as And the groinings were traced, and the arch-heads were chasen, When lo! in hot haste there came flying a mason, THE MOSQUE OF THE CALIPH. 203 Then the Caliph's beard curled, and he foamed in his rage as 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; 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, But the Mosque that he builded shines still by the river; And the pilgrims up-stream to this day slacken sail if They catch the first gleam of the "Mosque of the Caliph." IN THE BELFRY. 205 IN THE BELFRY. WRITTEN UNDER RETHEL'S "DEATH, THE FRIEND. TOLL! Is it night, or daylight yet? Somewhere the birds seem singing still, Though surely now the sun has set. Toll! But who tolls the Bell once more? 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! ARS VICTRIX. (IMITATED FROM THEOPHILE Gautier.) ES; when the ways oppose YES When the hard means rebel, Fairer the work out-grows,— O Poet, then, forbear The loosely-sandalled verse, The buskin-strait and terse; Leave to the tiro's hand The limp and shapeless style; See that thy form demand The labour of the file. Sculptor, do thou discard The yielding clay,-consign To Paros marble hard The beauty of thy line ; Model thy Satyr's face For bronze of Syracuse ; |