* * * * *

THE LEAP OF ROUSHAN BEG.

  Mounted on Kyrat strong and fleet,
  His chestnut steed with four white feet,
    Roushan Beg, called Kurroglou,
  Son of the road and bandit chief,
  Seeking refuge and relief,
    Up the mountain pathway flew.

  Such was Kyrat’s wondrous speed,
  Never yet could any steed
    Reach the dust-cloud in his course. 
  More than maiden, more than wife,
  More than gold, and next to life,
    Roushan the Robber loved his horse.

  In the land that lies beyond
  Erzeroum and Trebizond,
    Garden-girt his fortress stood. 
  Plundered khan, or caravan
  Journeying north from Koordistan,
    Gave him wealth and wine and food.

  Seven hundred and fourscore
  Men at arms his livery wore,
    Did his bidding night and day. 
  Now, through regions all unknown,
  He was wandering, lost, alone,
    Seeking without guide his way.

  Suddenly the pathway ends,
  Sheer the precipice descends,
    Loud the torrent roars unseen;
  Thirty feet from side to side
  Yawns the chasm; on air must ride
    He who crosses this ravine.

  Following close in his pursuit,
  At the precipice’s foot,
    Reyhan the Arab of Orfah
  Halted with his hundred men,
  Shouting upward from the glen,
    “La Illah’illa Allah’!”

  Gently Roushan Beg caressed
  Kyrat’s forehead, neck, and breast;
    Kissed him upon both his eyes;
  Sang to him in his wild way,
  As upon the topmost spray
    Sings a bird before it flies.

  “O my Kyrat, O my steed,
  Round and slender as a reed,
    Carry me this peril through! 
  Satin housings shall be thine,
  Shoes of gold, O Kyrat mine,
    O thou soul of Kurroglou!

  “Soft thy skin as silken skein,
  Soft as woman’s hair thy mane,
    Tender are thine eyes and true;
  All thy hoofs like ivory shine,
  Polished bright; O, life of mine,
    Leap and rescue Kurroglou!”

  Kyrat, then, the strong and fleet,
  Drew together his four white feet,
    Paused a moment on the verge,
  Measured with his eye the space,
  And into the air’s embrace
    Leaped as leaps the ocean surge.

  As the ocean surge o’er sand
  Bears a swimmer safe to land,
    Kyrat safe his rider bore;
  Rattling down the deep abyss,
  Fragments of the precipice
    Rolled like pebbles on a shore.

  Roushan’s tassled cap of red
  Trembled not upon his head,
    Careless sat he and upright;
  Neither hand nor bridle shook,
  Nor his head he turned to look,
    As he galloped out of sight.

  Flash of harness in the air,
  Seen a moment, like the glare
    Of a sword drawn from its sheath;
  Thus the phantom horseman passed,
  And the shadow that he cast
    Leaped the cataract underneath.