But this was the decree
Of the watchers overhead;
For the war belongeth to God,
And in battle who are we,
Who are we, that shall withstand
The wind of his lifted hand?”

Then he bade them bind with chains.

This man of books and brains;

And the Scribe said: "What misdeed Have I done, that, without need, Thou doest to me this thing?"

And Iskander answering

Said unto him: "Not one

Misdeed to me hast thou done;

But for fear that thou shouldst run

And hide thyself from me,

Have I done this unto thee.

"Now write me a writing, O Scribe, And a blessing be on thy tribe!

A writing sealed with thy ring,
To King Amurath's Pasha
In the city of Croia,

The city moated and walled,

That he surrender the same

In the name of my master, the King;

For what is writ in his name

Can never be recalled."

And the Scribe bowed low in dread,

And unto Iskander said:

"Allah is great and just,

But we are as ashes and dust;

How shall I do this thing,

When I know that my guilty head

Will be forfeit to the King?"

Then swift as a shooting star
The curved and shining blade
Of Iskander's scimitar

From its sheath, with jewels bright,
Shot, as he thundered: "Write!"
And the trembling Scribe obeyed,
And wrote in the fitful glare
Of the bivouac fire apart,
With the chill of the midnight air
On his forehead white and bare,
And the chill of death in his heart.

Then again Iskander cried:
"Now follow whither I ride,
For here thou must not stay.
Thou shalt be as my dearest friend,
And honors without end'

Shall surround thee on every side,
And attend thee night and day."
But the sullen Scribe replied:
"Our pathways here divide;
Mine leadeth not thy way."

And even as he spoke

Fell a sudden scimitar stroke,
When no one else was near;

And the Scribe sank to the ground,

As a stone, pushed from the brink
Of a black pool, might sink
With a sob and disappear;

And no one saw the deed;
And in the stillness around

No sound was heard but the sound
Of the hoofs of Iskander's steed,
As forward he sprang with a bound.

Then onward he rode and afar,
With scarce three hundred men,
Through river and forest and fen,
O'er the mountains of Argentar;
And his heart was merry within,
When he crossed the river Drin,
And saw in the gleam of the morn
The White Castle Ak-Hissar,

The city Croia called,

The city moated and walled,
The city where he was born,—
And above it the morning star.

Then his trumpeters in the van
On their silver bugles blew,
And in crowds about him ran
Albanian and Turkoman,

That the sound together drew.
And he feasted with his friends,

And when they were warm with wine,

He said: "O friends of mine,
Behold what fortune sends,

And what the fates design!

King Amurath commands

That my father's wide domain,

This city and all its lands,

Shall be given to me again."

Then to the Castle White
He rode in regal state,
And entered in at the gate
In all his arms bedight,
And gave to the Pasha
Who ruled in Croia
The writing of the King,
Sealed with his signet ring.
And the Pasha bowed his head
And after a silence said:
“Allah is just and great!
I yield to the will divine,
The city and lands are thine;
Who shall contend with fate?"

Anon from the castle walls

The crescent banner falls,

And the crowd beholds instead,

Like a portent in the sky,

Iskander's banner fly,

The Black Eagle with double head;

And a shout ascends on high,

For men's souls are tired of the Turks,

And their wicked ways and works,

That have made of Ak-Hissar

A city of the plague;

And the loud, exultant cry
That echoes wide and far
Is: "Long live Scanderbeg!"

It was thus Iskander came
Once more unto his own;
And the tidings, like the flame
Of a conflagration blown
By the winds of summer, ran,
Till the land was in a blaze,
And the cities far and near,
Sayeth Ben Joshua Ben Meir,

In his Book of the Words of the Days,

"Were taken as a man

Would take the tip of his ear."

SERENADE FROM "THE SPANISH STUDENT”

STARS of the summer night!

Far in yon azure deeps,

Hide, hide your golden light!

She sleeps!

My lady sleeps!

Sleeps!

Moon of the summer night!

Far down yon western steeps,

Sink, sink in silver light!

She sleeps!

My lady sleeps!

Sleeps!