The Singing Caravan: A Sufi TaleVansittart, Robert Gilbert Vansittart, Baron
Religion
The Singing Caravan: A Sufi Tale
Vansittart, Robert Gilbert Vansittart, Baron
Poetry
The locust-swarms were better drilled than we, the owls were not so
blind.
At every stage we left behind poor simpletons that moaned and
shrilled,
Thinking each swamp Gethsemane. It seemed that at their agony
The doctors scoffed with cross aloft, reciting magic formulæ.
Alone the princes lightly pranced, as if the pilgrimage enhanced
Their right to weigh upon the world thereafter. So the doom
advanced
To dervish cries and jester's japes. Hermit and boor and
jackanapes,
I and my ghost-pale master threw a trail of shadows, motley shapes,
Where Rhodopé's wine-purples mix snow with the moonlight. Oh, 'twas
gall
Amid the horror of it all that Bulgars thought us lunatics,
Or worse; for ever at our flank a stream, that in my nostrils
stank,
Seethed; and amid the best of her the scum of Europe wenched and
drank.
At last we halted where Constantinople's grandeur puts to scorn
The villaged west, and challenges the Orient on her Golden Horn.
Ah, brazen, were your heart as strong as looked your square-chinned
ramparts.... Long
We waited at the gates in dust knee-deep. The Emperor did not trust
The help that he had craved. He swore he had not asked so many ...
more
Would ruin him.... He let the heat suck out our strength at every
pore.
But we were told great noblemen, Godfrey of Bouillon in Ardennes,
Robert of Flanders, "Sword and Lance of Christians," all the flower
of France
Were on our side, Hugh Vermandois, Stephen of Chartres and Troyes
and Blois,
Baldwin and Raymond of Toulouse. The preacher said we could not
lose.
Moreover he had spoken with angel-reserves behind us, sith
They sent assurance (Saracens we mocked, but had our own _Hadith_)
That we should root the heathen out, and blight as with a ten
years' drought
Their fields. Jehovah willed that we should leave no seed of theirs
to sprout.
Our mates streamed in from lands beyond the Adriatic, Bohemond
With Tancred; strait Dalmatian bays, Epirus, Scodra, devious ways
Bore them with boastful tales of sport and plunder, and a vague
report
That this was nothing to the spoil that beckoned from the Moslem
court.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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