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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=419023" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Muley Malak</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">THUNDER of guns, and cries—banners and spears and blood!<br>Troops have died where they stood holding the vantage points—<br>They have raced like waves at a wall, and dashed themselves to death.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Dawn the fight begin, and noon was red with its noon. <br>The armies stretch afar—and the plain of Alcazar <br>Is drenched with Moorish blood. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">On one side, Muley the King—Muley Malek the Strong. <br>He had seized the Moorish crown because it would fit his brows. <br>Hamet the Fair was king; but Muley pulled him down, because he was strong.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The fierce sun glares on the clouds of dust and battlesmoke,<br>The hoarsened soldiers choke in the blinding heat.<br>Muley the King is afield, but sick to the death.<br>Borne on a litter he lies, his blood on fire, his eyes<br>Flaming with fever light.<br>Hamah Tabah the Captain, stands by the curtained bed,<br>Telling him news of the fight—how the waves roll and rise, and clash and mingle and seethe.<br>And Hamah bends to the scene. He peers under arched hand—<br>As an eagle he stoops to the field. One hand on the hilt<br>Is white at the knuckles, so fiercely gripped; while the hand<br>That had parted the curtains before now clutches the silk and wrings.<br>Hamet's squadrons are moving in mass—their lines are circling the plain! <br>The thousands of Muley stand, like bison dazed by an earthquake;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They are stunned by the thud of the fight, they are deer without a leader;<br>Their charge has died like the impulse of missiles freed from the sling;<br>Their spears waver like shaken barley,—they are dumbstruck and ready to fly!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Hamah Tabah the Captain, in words like the pouring of pitch, has painted<br>The terrible scene for the sick King, and terrible answer follows.<br>Up from the couch of pain, disdaining the bonds of weakness;<br>Flinging aside disease as a wrestler flings his tunic;<br>Strong with the smothered flre of fever, and fiercer far than its flaming,<br>Rises in mail from the litter Muley Malek the King!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Down on his plunging stallion, in the eyes of the shuddered troops,<br>His bent plume like a smoke, and his sword like a flame,<br>Smelting their souls with his courage, he rides before his soldiers!<br>They bend from his face like the sun—their eyes are blind with shame—<br>They thrill as a stricken tiger thrills, gathering his limbs from a blow;<br>They raise their faces, and watch him, sworded and mailed and strong;<br>They watch him, and shout his name fiercely—'Muley, the King!'<br>Grimly they close their ranks, drinking his face like wine; <br>Strength to the arm and wrath to the soul, and power— <br>Fuel and fire he was—and the battle roared like a crater!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Back to the litter, his face turned from the lines, and fixed<br>In a stare like the faces in granite, the King <br>Rode straight and strong, holding his sword <br>Soldierly, gripped on the thigh, grim as a king in iron! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Stiff in the saddle, stark, frowning—one hand is raised,<br>The mailed finger is laid on the mouth:<br>'Silence!' the warning said to Haman Tabah the Captain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Help from his horse they give, moving him, still unbending,<br>Down to the bed, and lay him within the curtains.<br>Mutely they answer his frown, like ridges of bronze, and sternly<br>Again is the mailed hand raised and laid on the lips in warning:<br>' Silence! ' it said, and the meaning smote through their blood like flame,<br>As the tremor passed through his armor and the grayness crept o'er his features—<br>Muley the King was dead!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Furious the struggle and long, the armies with teeth aclench <br>And dripping weapons shortened, like athletes whose blows have killed pain.<br>The soldiers of Hamet were flushed—but the spirit of Muley opposed them; <br>The weak of Muley grew strong when they looked at the curtained litter. <br>Their thought of the King was wine in the thirst of the fight;<br>They saw that Hamah was there, still bending over the bed;<br>Holding the curtains wide and taking the order that came <br>From the burning lips of the King, and sending it down to his soldiers; <br>They knew that Hamah the Captain was telling him of the onset, <br>How they swept like hail on the fields, and left them like sickled grain. <br>Back, as the waves in a tempest are flung from a cliff and scattered, <br>Burst and horribly broken and driven beneath with the impact, <br>Shivered, for once and forever, the conquered forces; King Hamet<br>Was slain by the sword, and the foreign monarch who helped him,<br>And the plain was swept by the besom of death: <br>There never was grander faith in a king!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Trophies and victors' crowns, bring them to bind his brow!<br>Circle his curtained bed—thousands and thousands, come!<br>It will cure him, and kill his pain—we must see him tonight again:<br>One glance of his love and pride for all the hosts that died—<br>To his bedside—come!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Rigid, with frowning brow, his finger laid on his lips, <br>They saw him—saw him and knew, and read the word that he spake, <br>Stronger than death, and they stood in their tears, and were silent, <br>Obeying the King!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Boyle+O%27Reilly">John Boyle O'Reilly</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=419023" data-title="Muley Malak de John Boyle O'Reilly" data-description="THUNDER of guns, and cries—banners and spears and blood!
Troops have died where they stood holding the vantage points—
They have raced like waves at a wall, and dashed themselves to death.

Dawn the fight begin, and noon was red with its noon...."></div>
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