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Updated: May 29, 2025
I have yet a little time to spare though it shall be as our hostess saith." "Nay," she answered, with deference, "there is but one will here." And taking assent from her, the Sheik began anew. Bismillah! Ertoghrul pursued a wolf, And slew it on the range's tallest peak, Above the plain so high there was nor grass Nor even mosses more.
Long time the hosts contended; but at last The lesser one began to yield the ground, Oppressed in front, and on its flanks o'erwhelmed: And hasted then the end, a piteous sight, Most piteous to the very brave who know From lessons of their lives, how seldom 'tis Despair can save where valor fails to win. Then Ertoghrul aroused him, touched to heart. "My children, mount, and out with cimeter!
Frowned Ertoghrul, While darkened all the air; but from his side Full pleasantly the stranger took a sword, Its carven hilt one royal emerald, Its blade both sides with legends overwrought, Some from the Koran, some from Solomon, All by the cunning Eastern maker burned Into the azure steel-his sword he took, And held it, belt, and scabbard too, in sign Of gift.
Nor should it be forgotten, that as Constantine was passing the Sheik, he paused to say to him in his habitually kind and princely manner: "The tree Sheik Ertoghrul saw in his dream has spread, and is yet spreading, but its shadow has not compassed all the nations; and while God keeps me, it will not. Had not I myself invited the parable, it might have been offensive.
"The herds I see who calls them his?" Laughed Ertoghrul, and showed his cimeter. "The sword obeys my hand, the hand my will, And given will and hand and sword, I pray Thee tell me, why should any man be poor?" "And whose the plain?" "Comes this way one a friend Of mine, and leaves his slippers at my door, Why then, 'tis his." "And whose the hills that look Upon the plain?"
I killed it." "On thy spear I see no blood; And where, O Sheik, the carcass of the slain? I see it not." Around looked Ertoghrul There was no wolf; and at his spear Upon its blade no blood. Then rose his wrath, A mighty pulse. "The spear hath failed its trust I'll try the cimeter."
And there he sat Him down awhile to rest; when from the sky, Or the blue ambiency cold and pure, Or maybe from the caverns of the earth Where Solomon the King is wont to keep The monster Genii hearkening his call, El Jann, vast as a cloud, and thrice as black, Appeared and spoke "Art thou Sheik Ertoghrul?" And he undaunted answered: "Even so." "Well, I would like to come and sit with thee."
Thus spake Ertoghrul; And at the words, with flying reins, and all His eager tribe, four hundred sworded men, Headlong he rode against the winning host. Beneath the captured flags, the spoils in heaps Around him laid, the rescued warrior stood, A man of kingly mien, while to him strode His unexpected friend. "Now who art thou?" The first was first to ask. "Sheik Ertoghrul Am I."
"Thou seest there is not room for both of us." "Then rise, I say, and get thee part way down The peak." "'Twere easier," laughed Ertoghrul, "Madest thou thyself like me as thin and small; And I am tired." A rushing sound ran round and up And down the height, most like the whir of wings Through tangled trees of forests old and dim.
"I do not agree with you, my Lord," Constantine said, in a melancholy tone. "Our fathers, whether we look for them on the Roman or the Greek side, might have played the part of Ertoghrul. His was the spirit of conquest. Would we had enough of it left to get back our own! Sheik," he added, "what else hast thou in the same strain?
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