The Spanish Jew's Tale - The Wayside Inn - Part Second

KAMBALU     Into the city of Kambalu,     By the road that leadeth to Ispahan,     At the head of his dusty caravan,     Laden with treasure from realms afar,     Baldacca and Kelat and Kandahar,     Rode the great captain Alau.     The Khan from his palace-window gazed,     And saw in the thronging street beneath,     In the light of the setting sun, that blazed     Through the clouds of dust by the caravan raised,     The flash of harness and jewelled sheath,     And the shining scymitars of the guard,     And the weary camels that bared their teeth,     As they passed and passed through the gates unbarred     Into the shade of the palace-yard.     Thus into the city of Kambalu     Rode the great captain Alau;     And he stood before the Khan, and said:     "The enemies of my lord are dead;     All the Kalifs of all the West     Bow and obey thy least behest;     The plains are dark with the mulberry-trees,     The weavers are busy in Samarcand,     The miners are sifting the golden sand,     The divers plunging for pearls in the seas,     And peace and plenty are in the land.     "Baldacca's Kalif, and he alone,     Rose in revolt against thy throne:     His treasures are at thy palace-door,     With the swords and the shawls and the jewels he wore;     His body is dust o'er the desert blown.     "A mile outside of Baldacca's gate     I left my forces to lie in wait,     Concealed by forests and hillocks of sand,     And forward dashed with a handful of men,     To lure the old tiger from his den     Into the ambush I had planned.     Ere we reached the town the alarm was spread,     For we heard the sound of gongs from within;     And with clash of cymbals and warlike din     The gates swung wide; and we turned and fled;     And the garrison sallied forth and pursued,     With the gray old Kalif at their head,     And above them the banner of Mohammed:     So we snared them all, and the town was subdued.     "As in at the gate we rode, behold,     A tower that is called the Tower of Gold!     For there the Kalif had hidden his wealth,     Heaped and hoarded and piled on high,     Like sacks of wheat in a granary;     And thither the miser crept by stealth     To feel of the gold that gave him health,     And to gaze and gloat with his hungry eye     On jewels that gleamed like a glow-worm's spark,     Or the eyes of a panther in the dark.     "I said to the Kalif: 'Thou art old,     Thou hast no need of so much gold.     Thou shouldst not have heaped and hidden it here,     Till the breath of battle was hot and near,     But have sown through the land these useless hoards     To spring into shining blades of swords,     And keep thine honor sweet and clear.     These grains of gold are not grains of wheat;     These bars of silver thou canst not eat;     These jewels and pearls and precious stones     Cannot cure the aches in thy bones,     Nor keep the feet of Death one hour     From climbing the stairways of thy tower!'     "Then into his dungeon I locked the drone,     And left him to feed there all alone     In the honey-cells of his golden hive:     Never a prayer, nor a cry, nor a groan     Was heard from those massive walls of stone,     Nor again was the Kalif seen alive!     "When at last we unlocked the door,     We found him dead upon the floor;     The rings had dropped from his withered hands,     His teeth were like bones in the desert sands:     Still clutching his treasure he had died;     And as he lay there, he appeared     A statue of gold with a silver beard,     His arms outstretched as if crucified."     This is the story, strange and true,     That the great captain Alau     Told to his brother the Tartar Khan,     When he rode that day into Kambalu     By the road that leadeth to Ispahan.     INTERLUDE     "I thought before your tale began,"     The Student murmured, "we should have     Some legend written by Judah Rav     In his Gemara of Babylon;     Or something from the Gulistan,--     The tale of the Cazy of Hamadan,     Or of that King of Khorasan     Who saw in dreams the eyes of one     That had a hundred years been dead     Still moving restless in his head,     Undimmed, and gleaming with the lust     Of power, though all the rest was dust.     "But lo! your glittering caravan     On the road that leadeth to Ispahan     Hath led us farther to the East     Into the regions of Cathay.     Spite of your Kalif and his gold,     Pleasant has been the tale you told,     And full of color; that at least     No one will question or gainsay.     And yet on such a dismal day     We need a merrier tale to clear     The dark and heavy atmosphere.     So listen, Lordlings, while I tell,     Without a preface, what befell     A simple cobbler, in the year --     No matter; it was long ago;     And that is all we need to know."