RUAHMAH:
My friend, there’s nothing
more to give to you.
My service to my lord is absolute.
There’s not a drop of
blood within my veins
But quickens at the very thought
of him;
And not a dream of mine but
he doth stand
Within its heart and make
it bright. No man
To me is other than his friend
or foe.
You are his friend, and I
believe you true!
SABALLIDIN:
I have been true to him,—now,
I am true
To you.
RUAHMAH:
Why,
then, be doubly true to him.
O let us match our loyalties,
and strive
Between us who shall win the
higher crown!
Men boast them of a friendship
stronger far
Than love of woman. Prove
it! I’ll not boast,
But I’ll contend with
you on equal terms
In this brave race: and
if you win the prize
I’ll hold you next to
him: and if I win
He’ll hold you next
to me; and either way
We’ll not be far apart.
Do you accept
My challenge?
SABALLIDIN:
Yes!
For you enforce my heart
By honour to resign its great
desire,
And love itself to offer sacrifice
Of all disloyal dreams on
its own altar.
Yet love remains; therefore
I pray you, think
How surely you must lose in
our contention.
For I am known to Naaman:
but you
He blindly takes for Tsarpi.
’Tis to her
He gives his gratitude:
the praise you win
Endears her name.
RUAHMAH:
Her
name? Why, what is that?
A name is but an empty shell,
a mask
That does not change the features
of the face
Beneath it. Can a name
rejoice, or weep,
Or hope? Can it be moved
by tenderness
To daily services of love,
or feel the warmth
Of dear companionship?
How many things
We call by names that have
no meaning! Kings
That cannot rule; and gods
that are not good;
And wives that do not love!
It matters not
What syllables he utters when
he calls,
’Tis I who come,—’tis
I who minister
Unto my lord, and mine the
living heart
That feels the comfort of
his confidence,
The thrill of gladness when
he speaks to me,—
I do not hear the name!
SABALLIDIN:
And
yet, be sure
There’s danger in this
error,—and no gain!
RUAHMAH:
I seek no gain: I only
tread the path
Marked for me daily by the
hand of love.
And if his blindness spared
my lord one pang
Of sorrow in his black, forsaken
hour,—
And if this error makes his
burdened heart
More quiet, and his shadowed
way less dark,
Whom do I rob? Not her
who chose to stay
At ease in Rimmon’s
House! Surely not him!
Only myself! And that
enriches me.
Why trouble we the master?
Let it go,—
To-morrow he must know the
truth,—and then
He shall dispose of me e’en
as he will!