Now our homes are as those that have no
roofs. As a nest decayed, as a cave forsaken, As a ship that lieth broken
on the beach, Is the house where we were born. Out in the desert did we
bury our gold, We buried it where no man robbed us, for his arm was
strong. Now are the jars empty, gold did not avail To save our young men,
to keep them from the chains. God hath swallowed his voice, or the sea
hath drowned it, Or the Nile hath covered him with its flood; Else would
he come when our voices call. His word was honey in the prince's ear Will
he return no more?"
And now the sheikh-el-beled spoke. "It hath been so since Nahoum Pasha
passed this way four months agone. He hath changed all. War will not
avail. David Pasha, he will come again. His word is as the centre of the
world. Ye have no hope, because ye see the hawks among the starving
sheep. But the shepherd will return from behind the hill, and the hawks
will flee away.
". . . Behold, once was I in the desert. Listen, for mine are the words
of one who hath travelled far--was I not at Damascus and Palmyra and
Bagdad, and at Medina by the tomb of Mahomet?"
Reverently he touched the green turban on his head, evidence of his
journey to Mahomet's tomb.
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