HKB
XXII.
When The Shah saw Salámán's face again, And breath'd the Breath of Reconciliation, He laid the Hand of Love upon his Shoulder, The Kiss of Welcome on his Cheek, and said, "Oh Thou, who lost, Love's Banquet lost its Salt, And Mankind's Eye its Pupil!—Thy Return Is as another Sun to Heaven; a new Rose blooming in the Garden of the Soul. Arise, Oh Moon of Majesty unwaned! The Court of the Horizon is thy Court, Thy Kingdom is the Kingdom of the World!— Lo! Throne and Crown await Thee—Throne and Crown Without thy Impress but uncurrent Gold, Not to be stamp'd by one not worthy Them; Behold! The Rebel's Face is at thy Door; Let him not triumph—let the Wicked dread The Throne under thy Feet, the Crown upon thy Head. Oh Spurn them not behind Thee! Oh my Son, Wipe Thou the Woman's Henna from thy Hand: Withdraw Thee from the Minion who from Thee Dominion draws; the Time is come to choose, Thy Mistress or the World to hold or lose." Four are the Signs of Kingly Aptitude; Wise Head—clean Heart—strong Arm—and open Hand. Wise is He not—Continent cannot be— Who binds himself to an unworthy Lust; Nor Valiant, who submits to a weak Woman; Nor Liberal, who cannot draw his Hand From that in which so basely he is busied. And of these Four who misses All or One Is not the Bridegroom of Dominion.
XXIII.
Ah the poor Lover!—In the changing Hands Of Day and Night no wretcheder than He! No Arrow from the Bow of Evil Fate But reaches him—one Dagger at his Throat, Another comes to wound him from behind. Wounded by Love—then wounded by Reproof Of Loving—and, scarce stauncht the Blood of Shame By flying from his Love—then, worst of all, Love's back-blow of Revenge for having fled!
Salámán heard—he rent the Robe of Peace— He came to loathe his Life, and long for Death, (For better Death itself than Life in Death)— He turn'd his face with Absál to the Desert— Enter'd the deadly Plain; Branch upon Branch Cut down, and gather'd in a lofty Pile, And fired. They look'd upon the Flames, those Two— They look'd, and they rejoiced; and hand in hand They sprang into the Fire. The Shah who saw In secret all had order'd; and the Flame, Directed by his Self-fulfilling Will, Devouring utterly Absál, pass'd by Salámán harmless—the pure Gold return'd Entire, but all the baser Metal burn'd.
XXIV.
Heaven's Dome is but a wondrous House of Sorrow, And Happiness therein a lying Fable. When first they mix'd the Clay of Man, and cloth'd His Spirit in the Robe of Perfect Beauty, For Forty Mornings did an Evil Cloud Rain Sorrows over him from Head to Foot; And when the Forty Mornings pass'd to Night, Then came one Morning-Shower—one Morning-Shower Of Joy—to Forty of the Rain of Sorrow!— And though the better Fortune came at last To seal the Work, yet every Wise Man knows Such Consummation never can be here!