They know who dared the anger of Taman,

And watched that night above the clinging mists, Far up the hill, Bisesa's passing in.

She set her hand upon the carven door,
Fouled by a myriad bats, and black with time,
Whereon is graved the Glory of Taman
In letters older than the Ao-Safai;

And twice she turned aside and twice she wept,
Cast down upon the threshold, clamouring
For him she loved-the Man of Sixty Spears,
And for her father,—and the black bull Tor
Hers and her pride. Yea, twice she turned away
Before the awful darkness of the door,

And the great horror of the Wall of Man
Where Man is made the plaything of Taman,

An Eyeless Face that waits above and laughs.

But the third time she cried and put her palms Against the hewn stone leaves, and prayed Taman To spare Er-Heb and take her life for price.

They know who watched, the doors were rent apart And closed upon Bisesa, and the rain

Broke like a flood across the Valley, washed
The mist away; but louder than the rain

The thunder of Taman filled men with fear.

Some say that from the Unlighted Shrine she cried For succour, very pitifully, thrice,

And others that she sang and had no fear.

And some that there was neither song nor cry,

But only thunder and the lashing rain.

Howbeit, in the morning, men rose up,
Perplexed with horror, crowding to the Shrine,
And when Er-Heb was gathered at the doors
The Priests made lamentation and passed in
To a strange Temple and a God they feared
But knew not.

From the crevices the grass

Had thrust the altar-slabs apart, the walls

Were grey with stains unclean, the roof-beams swelled

With many-coloured growth of rottenness,

And lichen veiled the Image of Taman

In leprosy. The Basin of the Blood

Above the altar held the morning sun
A winking ruby on its heart; below,
Face hid in hands, the maid Bisesa lay.

Er-Heb beyond the Hills of Ao-Safai
Bears witness to the truth, and Ao-Safai
Hath told the men of Gorukh. Thence the tale

Comes westward o'er the peaks to India.

THE DOVE OF DACCA

THE freed dove flew to the Rajah's tower

Fled from the slaughter of Moslem kings— And the thorns have covered the city of Gaur. Dove-dove-oh, homing dove!

Little white traitor, with woe on thy wings!

The Rajah of Dacca rode under the wall; He set in his bosom a dove of flight"If she return, be sure that I fall."

Dove-dove-oh, homing dove!

Pressed to his heart in the thick of the fight.

"Fire the palace, the fort, and the keep-
Leave to the foeman no spoil at all.

In the flame of the palace lie down and sleep
If the dove, if the dove-if the homing dove
Come and alone to the palace wall."

The Kings of the North they were scattered abroad-
The Rajah of Dacca he slew them all.

Hot from slaughter he stooped at the ford,

And the dove-the dove-oh, the homing dove!

She thought of her cote on the palace wall.

88

Copyright, 1893, by Macmillan & Co.

She opened her wings and she flew away

Fluttered away beyond recall;

She came to the palace at break of day.

Dove-dove-oh, homing dove!

Flying so fast for a kingdom's fall.

The Queens of Dacca they slept in flame—
Slept in the flame of the palace old-

To save their honour from Moslem shame.

And the dove-the dove-oh, the homing dove ! She cooed to her young where the smoke-cloud rolled.

The Rajah of Dacca rode far and fleet,

Followed as fast as a horse could fly,

He came and the palace was black at his feet;
And the dove-the dove-the homing dove,
Circled alone in the stainless sky.

So the dove flew to the Rajah's tower—
Fled from the slaughter of Moslem kings;

So the thorns covered the city of Gaur,

And Dacca was lost for a white dove's wings. Dove-dove-oh, homing dove,

Dacca is lost from the roll of the kings!