Page:Lippincotts Monthly Magazine-13.pdf/219

In ghiaours' mouths despite our cleansing Faith,
Within whose vault the triumph of the arch.
In combination vast and multiform,
Shines in primeval splendor ages through,
To shame the mockeries of modern art.
He saw the airy minarets, the towers,
The many ant-hills of the great bazar;
And rising slowly out of Marmora,
A cloud with lightning shining on its breast,
That growled and grumbled to itself, and frowned
A distant menace over sea and land.
All this he saw, half conscious of the sight.
Lost in a dream evoked by hope as false
As ever cheated boyhood of its toys.
The day was close and hot beneath the tree,
And countless bees were flying in the air,
Lured by the honeyed blossoms; and a beam
Of blinding sunlight, turn howe'er he would.
Seemed ever piercing through the foliage, bent
On finding out the Pacha's dazzled eyes.
The bees buzzed fiercely round his creeping ears.
The wicked sunbeam more persistent grew,
And Halil Pacha, with a pettish stamp,
Arose and, all unconscious of his aim,
Walked to the shadow of the wall again,
And in the grateful quiet sat him down,
Unvexed by bees or sunbeams. When the lad
Came running forward, with another pipe
Lighted and fuming, and beheld his lord
Reseated, smiling, by the dreaded wall,
He muttered something to himself, then fell.
And laid his master's slipper to his cheek,
And, like a dog just spurned away, looked up
With such imploring eyes of stricken love.
That Halil Pacha, uttering not a word,
Arose once more, and, following the boy,
Went moodily into his new kiosk,
And on the yielding cushions flung him down
With half a groan of discontent, and frowned,
And motioned sternly to the open door,
Through which the stripling stole reluctantly,
Turning half round upon the garden-walk,
And looking sadly back, a score of times,
Through flowing tears. He dared not disobey.
But when he reached the palace, through the glass
Of the great window, facing the kiosk,
He fixed his eyes upon the gilded door
As though he never meant to quit his ward:
While thus he stood, a pebble from the street
Flew o'er the wall, and crashing through the glass
Powdered his eyes with splinters sharp and cruel.
And he, in raging suffering fled, and sought
The fountain-side, to bathe his wounded eyes.
Summoned the waiting eunuchs to his aid,