So from the mosque, whose arabesques above-- The marvellous work of Oriental love-- Seen with new splendors of Heaven's blue and gold, Applauding all, he, as the gates are rolled Ogival back to let the many forth, Cries war to all the unbelieving North.
Soon have they passed the tight bazaar; along Close, crooked streets, too narrow for the throng; The place of owls and tombs; the merloned wall, Camel and steed and ass. Projecting all Its towering battlements, his palace gray, Seraglios and courts, against the day Lifts, vanishes. And now, soul-set on hate, From Mekinez they pass the scolloped gate.
Two dozing beggars, baking each a sore, Sprawl in the sun the city gate before; A leprous cripple and a thief, whose eyes-- Burnt out with burning iron,--as supplies The law for thieves,--two fly-thick wounds blood-raw, Lifted shrill voices as they heard or saw; Praised God, and flung into the dust each face With words of "victory and Allah's grace Attend our Caliph, Mouley-Ismael! Even at the cost of ours his days be well!"
And grimly smiling as he grimly passed, "While God most merciful, who is, shall last,-- Now by Es Sirat!--will a liar's word And thief's prevail or prosper?--Pray the Lord!-- What! at your lives' cost?--my devout intent! Even as 't is bidden let their necks be bent! Though words be pious, evil at the soul Naught is the prayer!--So let their prayer be whole. Nay! give them gold; but when the sequins cease From the slaves' hands, by these my Soudanese They die!" he said; and even as he said Rolled in the dust each writhing, withered head.
And frowning westward, as the day grew late, Four bleeding heads stared from the city gate 'Neath this inscription, for the passer-by, "There is no virtue but in God the High."
An intimation of some previous life, Or dark dream, in the present dim-divined, Of some uncertain sleep--or lived or dreamed In some dead life--between a dusk and dawn;
From heathen battles to Toledo's gates, Far off defined, his corselet and camail, Damascened armet, shattered; in an eve's Anger of brass a galloping glitter, one Rode arrow-wounded. And the city caught A cry before him and a wail behind, Of walls beleaguered; battles; conquered kings; Triumphant Taric; broken Spain and slaves.