The Singing Caravan: A Sufi TaleVansittart, Robert Gilbert Vansittart, Baron
Religion
The Singing Caravan: A Sufi Tale
Vansittart, Robert Gilbert Vansittart, Baron
Poetry
So to the journey's end. The Gulf was there
Steaming and soundless, and the weary feet
Were stayed at last from following the Queen.
The great _dhow_ nosed the creek; slow water lapped
About her burnished; burnished in her sat
Unmoving bronze, her oarsmen. Then they rose:
"Hail, Bringers of the Queen!" "Hail, ship! you bear
What cargo hence?" "We carry on your charge."
"But leave us nothing--nothing in exchange?"
"Only the ancient story of a slave.
There lies a secret buried none too deep."
Thus the chief rower. This the far-off tale.
I dwelled beside the impulsive Rhone, a child that loved to be
alone.
The forest was my nursery. My happiness was all my own.
I knew by name each cloud that lowers the sunshine through in
liquid showers.
Deep in the tangled undergrowth I caught the singing of the
flowers.
Our minstrels sang of rape and arson, all the joys of private wars.
The forest wall was calm and tall. My tutor laughed, and drank to
Mars.
Bald, vulture-like upon its perch, our crag-born castle seemed to
search
The gorge for prey, its shade to still the bells a-twitter in the
church
Where, cheek by jowl with fearsome fowl and gargoyle, ghostly men,
in foul
Incense that tried to stifle me, recited magic formulæ.
At home clanked metal psalm and spur; but, oh the woods ...! I
tried to tame
A wolf-cub that the gardener called Life. He knew. The preacher
came.
I see him yet, his visage wet with hot emotion, tears, and sweat.
Contorted in the market-place he shrieked that all must pay a debt
To one Jehovah and His Son, by bursting eastward as the Hun
Had scourged the West. In unison we all replied 'twere nobly done,
For he explained that heaven was gained more featly--wrenching
Saint Jerome--
From Palestine than Christendom. That night no peasant durst go
home.
His words were like a wind that fanned a grass-fire: God would lend
His hand
To purge away the infidel whose breath profaned the Holy Land.
He showered indulgences, and kissed the brows of those who would
enlist
To take a chance of martyrdom or give the devil's tail a twist.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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