Leaving behind him dead The rearguard as it fled, Mown down in the bloody swath Of the battle's aftermath. But he cared not for Hospodars, Nor for Baron or Voivode, As on through the night he rode And gazed at the fateful stars, That were shining overhead; But smote his steed with his staff, And smiled to himself, and said: "This is the time to laugh." In the middle of the night, In a halt of the hurrying flight, There came a Scribe of the King Wearing his signet ring, And said in a voice severe : "This is the first dark blot On thy name, George Castriot! Alas! why art thou here, And the army of Amurath slain, And left on the battle plain?" And Iskander answered and said: "They lie on the bloody sod By the hoofs of horses trod; 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 Then he bade them bind with chains Thou doest to me this thing?" And Iskander answering Misdeed to me hast thou done e; But for fear that thou shouldst run Have I done this unto thee. Now write me a writing, O Scribe, 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 From its sheath, with jewels bright, With the chill of the midnight air Then again Iskander cried: "Now follow whither I ride, For here thou must not stay. Shall surround thee on every side, And even as he spoke Fell a sudden scimetar stroke, And the Scribe sank to the ground, And no one saw the deed; 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, The city moated and walled, The city where he was born, — Then his trumpeters in the van And when they were warm with wine, He said: "O friends of mine, Behold what fortune sends, Then to the Castle White And entered in at the gate And gave to the Pasha And the Pasha bowed his head, "Allah is just and great! I yield to the will divine, The city and lands are thine; 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 It was thus Iskander came And the tidings, like the flame |