PERSIAN PICTURES Class ZBi35iL3_ Rook .Ag. T-4- CDFfiRIGMT DEPOSm Persian Pictures BY ^ MARY FLEMING LABAREE New York Chicago Fleming H. Revell Company London and Edinburgh Copyright, 1920, by FLEMING H. REV ELL COMPANY ^fe ^cv'3'* Printed in United States of America S)CU601526 New York: 158 Fifth Avenue Chicago: 17 North Wabash Ave. NOV 1 1 1920 FOREWORD OF all the tragic uprootings of the Great War years, none has been more tragic than the uprooting in the fertile little plain of Urumia, Persia. I have two human means of comfort in my sorrow. One is the hope of the larger life to be lived and the larger service to be rendered by Urumia in days to come. The other is to picture the pre-war days with their background of open plain, caravan and motley herd, fruit gardens, vineyards and grain-blest foothills, snowcapped peaks and great blue lake. Yet even so I cannot blot from my memory the pain- ful tales poured into my ears by haggard refugees. Nor can I forget the crumbling heaps of adobe that once sheltered those I loved. After God's healing, my real solace is the hope that I may have a tiny share in the upbuilding of the new age in Persia, as I was privileged to have had in the old era and early war days, from 1904-1916. My little sketches are, I believe, faithful to history, tradition, custom and atmosphere in Urumia and Tab- riz. I have not attempted a complete set of pictures, but I trust that the true Persian color may be sensed and the years of suffering realized by those who read. M. F. L. Lincoln University, Pa. 1920 To R. M. L. CONTENTS Village Life 11 In Tabriz 21 War Time 31 Caravan Songs 67 GLOSSARY Beg — Kurdish title Bey — Turkish title bushalla — sour milk soup caravan serai — inn chinar — plane tree farsakh — Modern Persian^ 2% miles farsang — Old Persian for farsakh feitun — victoria, used with raised hood when occupied by ladies fourgon — Russian wagon, like a prairie schooner Hakim Sahib — Foreign Doctor Iran — Persia Irani — Persiari Ibn Sina — Avicenna kabob — meat roasted on a spit Kaloo — bride (daughter-in-law or young married woman) Kassids — messengers Khan — nobleman, inn Khanum — lady Kheltu Sota — Old Auntie Layli and Majnun — classical lovers of the Near East Malik — headman of a village or group of villages Moujik — Russian peasant Nizaam — Persian title Pood — Russian^ 36 lbs. Sirdar — Persian title tandur — fire pit used for cooking and heating tar — Persian miisical instrument verst — Russian, 2/3 mile The ram's horn is used in religious processions during Moharrem, the month of mourning for the Moslem saints. Village Life PERSIAN PICTURES 11 AT THE SPRING WHERE the gentle spring flows down Into the waiting pool, Gather the village women, The girls, the boys and the fool. And the men on their way to the harvest field, While yet the day is cool. The women and girls bear water jars. The boys bring the big eyed calf, And the knobby dusty buffaloes For their long blissful bath. The mare and her rider quench their thirst. And the fool ? Oh, he makes them laugh ! MILKING TIME IN the dappled willow shadow. By the cooling stream, Kheltu Sota, rosy Kaloo Gossip, knit and dream; Till the flock pours down the mountain, In dust dies the dream. And they fill the foaming milk pots. By the cooling stream. 12 PERSIAN PICTURES AT SET OF SUN AT set of sun^ tall shepherd, eager dog Conduct their dark brood down the mountain side. They linger near the willows by the stream, Till sheep and goats are claimed by waiting brides. The women and girls with thirsty bulging jars Slung from their shoulders, gather at the spring. What bright eyed laughter, interplay of wit! The gloaming would unfold its shadowy wings. And now the sun-worn village men return With wearied oxen, from the threshing floor. The evening star, a candle in God's hand, Lights up steep paths to many an unbarred door. They eat their bread and curds and climb to the roof, To rest until white dawn nears red sunrise: Lulled with the song of watchmen by the wheat, The glory of heaven breathing on their eyes. DOLI THE pour of a sun-quickened day Is on gold wheat fields that to gardens stray, Walled fruit to vineyard, mud village, blue lake And the marvellous meaning that is at stake In the curve of the rounding rhythmical shore Of bay on bay, forevermore. VILLAGELIFE 13 A SCENE IN RESHIKAN WE dreamed along through the hot, bright days. (With a plunge in the sapphire lake.) Till the cool of night slid over the hills, And the stars began to wake. But one day a rumble and roll were heard, And the trample of stallions fine: A Khanum veiled in a feitun, came, Servants galloping front and behind. The village men quickly turned away. For a lady's face may not be seen. She rested en route to her country seat. By the willows grey and green. A courteous whitebeard gently came. And proffered profound salaams. And told her he had been headman once, For her father the noble Nizaam. Then off they dashed at a madcap pace, And we strolled back to our tea; While the women squatted down in the dust, And talked of the wonderful She, U PERSIAN PICTURES EVEN SONG COME, seek the roof beneath the stars — The day was so intolerably bright. We need the touch of heaven sent winds, We need the solace of the night. Come, sit and dream here, with the stars — They are so near to us on summer eves. Let us forget the blinding threshing floor. The oxen treading out the scattered sheave*. Now we will sleep among the stars — And the wild watchdogs call us not to fight. We need the healing touch of heaven sent winds. We need the mighty solace of the night! IN THE VINEYARD I tiptoe down between straight vineyard hills, In search for treasure 'neath the broad leaf rims. I find my jewel globes, all delicately hid — A very Christmas tree turned outside in. And shall I sip their nectar, or gaze off To quaff the mightier draught of burnished vine Flash rank on rank across the patient plain To sheltering poplars, sapphire heaven ashine? VILLAGELIFE 15 THE HERD BOYS THE wide blue sky, the dewy plain, The jocund morning sun Call out the singing village boys To bring their cattle dun. Buffaloes, donkeys, goats and mares. Before the heat's begun. A clump of grapes from the vineyard, A thin bread as they run — And they are lords of all the plain, Until the day is done. THE THRESHING FLOOR ROUND and round, the oxen slow Trample out the goodly grain; Up and up the winnowers toss The chaff — wheat falls like rain. Grow the hard won golden heaps. Some for Master some for Man; P 't the Kurds will come at nightfall. Take all — if they can. 16 PERSIAN PICTURES THE BRIDE COMES (Kaloo Teela) The Mountaineer's Bride By the black stream down in the canyon floor, Where grey terraced stone huts lurch, At sunrise the pale girl bride is led To the death-damp ancient church. After hours of prayer and snuffled chant, Both priest and deacon are paid. As the bride and groom stoop through the door, Salute! The bride's fusilade! Tdoombala tdoombala, Kaloo teela! The Plainsman's Bride Under veil of red and gold are tears, Grey heart 'neath purple plush sack, Under blue silk skirt, reluctant feet March on to the church, alack ! The bride and her lord, and village throng Seek the wedding feast — 'tis noon. Old drum and fife cries fillip the feet. Today, they have just one tune — Tdoombala tdoombala, Kaloo teela ! The Nobleman's Bride Beneath the star-wrought purple skies, (As soft as her satin gown) VILLAGELIFE 17 The bride is borne to her bridegroom strange, Through the tangled sleeping town. A regiment bluff of soldier lads In their guns bear candle stars, A regiment grave of servants bear Heaped chests and trays. "Hahardar!" Tdoombala tdoombala, Kaloo teela! A SONG OF THE PLAIN UNBROKEN yet blue as an ancient tile, Long farsaks, the Persian sky Spans all the silent sunburnt plain. A grey Cossack flashes by The motley village herd that seems To pasture all alone. But — No! Some little herd boys sleep On pillows, Bethel stones. SPRING IN URMI UP from Arabia flies the grave stork To nest in the stately chinar. The bullfrogs of Urmi are many and sweet — He steers by their chorus from far. The iris has come and sung to the hills Its delicate lavender hues. A ragged young scamp has brought me a clump. I send it to you, and to you! J8 PERSIAN PICTURES THE CASTLE OF ISMAIL AGHA I'SMAIL AGHA'S castle crowns A tall stern rocky gate — A gorge to ancient Kurdistan, — Forgot, it guards and waits. Before it's weathered walls half curve Grey rock hewn seats that look To altar place and rising sun. As writ in Parsee books. (Ismail, brigand chief, stood here To search the open plain For overladen caravans And princelings with rich trains.) A cell is carved out in the peak. A Syrian monk age-wise, Here prayed and fasted, scourged his soul, Long since to Paradise. Hard by the foot of the mountain Yet awed to due restraint, A brick and plaster sacred tomb Contains a Sunni saint. The red cheeked girls on the foothills Bear tall jars to the stream, Care not that Magian, Christian, Kurd, Here found God more than dream. In Tabriz 19 INTABRIZ 21 THE ARK The Ancient Citadel Of Tabriz As we come up the Julfa Road, The Ark looms first from the plain. To speak the might of ancient days That have passed — nor come again. I. THE Ark would lord it over the plain, Defy the mountain red: The might of man dare the might of God, Forget how it was bred. The old Ark lords it over the web Of domed mosque, bath, bazaar, The flat hut of the water carrier. The Prince's palace far. II. The towering giant of builded brick. Mocks his guards as they come and go. "You're gone in a flash of little years, I live by the centuries. Lo ! "I received my sentinel orders From Ali Shah, Jelan. I have kept my watch through many a reign Of Shah and Prince and Khan. 22 PERSIAN PICTURES "How earthquake, famine and pestilence Have slaughtered crushed and bereaved ! Mad Turkoman, Osmanli have raged Yet my watch is not relieved. "You guard me? Impotent creature, I guard you, I've guarded your sires, I'll guard the unborn babes of your babes. Until come the Judgment fires. "The governor, merchant and porter Give thanks for the shade I afford; The leper, the prophet's son, son of the king Are all my puny wards." III. "Now wedding torches glimmer Like fireflies in the streets — Now, slow-borne biers are emptied In rough graves near my feet. "It's 'May your New Year Feast be blest,* In laughing spring of year; Then wail the ram's horns for the saints — Gashed heads, wild cries, old tears. "I look across to the sparkling lake, Green Urmi and Kurdistan, And follow the road to Maragha, The seat of Hulaku Khan, INTABRIZ 23 "I could peer into the hot cramped yards Of cobblers and fellaheen, See rainbow ladies cull bright rose blooms In spacious gardens of green. "The Heir Apparent is peshwazed in — The roofs teem with crones and girls, Rugs cover the walls and long-coat scribes Rub priestling and lordling and churl. "Gay arches, a gold lace Prince, barouche. Sleek, milky white, pink-tailed steeds, Cerulean lackies, bottle-green guards — A lordly chamberlain leads." IV. "I dare not gaze on our broken mosque. Once dreamed to the praise of God. Its glory of dome and blue faience Is turning to common clod. "The earthquake shook down its symmetry. Time's hand heals not vital wounds. Save human hands and warm mortal hearts Unite to bind up the wounds. "The good men who looked toward Mecca, In this precious place of prayer, Were buried beneath their earthen walls, Could not show God that they care. 24 PERSIAN PICTURES "How would Jehan Shah tear at his beard And beat on his burning breast, To enter the marred great portal door And see the poor ruined nest "Of his high pride and fierce hope of heaven, His hunger of endless fame, Bereft of its polished patterned blue, Its splendor an echoed name. "Alas for that builded wonder! Alas for that sapphire calm Of perfect dome and stately arch. Our turquoise of all Islam !" V. "Why babble I like a dervish thing? King's honor is mine, long since, Azerbaijan belongs to the Shah, Tabriz is seat of his Prince. "The old Vizir bade me stand watch For foes that would march or lurk. I halt botli traitor and democrat, I challenge Russian and Turk. "Ancient Door of the Kingdom, Pinnacle of Islam, Thou shalt not pass to strangers — I swear by each Imam!" INTABRIZ 25 Far far out on the Julfa Road, The Ark calls back the eye. To shotv the mouldered might of kings. Who had like slaves to die. A TABRIZ ROOF SONG I climb up to the roof, My ladder to the skies, And I forget the wedding fife And drum and children's cries. The roof is girt with space, Calm stars, swift meteor lights; I hear Sahend and Ararat Salaam across the night. But up on their lone hill. Within their shrine, aloof. Poor Ain and Zain, the holy ones. Climb not their waiting roof. 26 PERSIAN PICTURES THE TABRIZ BAZAAR IN cool bazaars far vaulted dim, I find old dervish runes. Tales redolent of spice, hahoh. Bright hammered copper tunes. The goldsmith and the silversmith With turquoise and filigree, Toil back in dingy cubby-holes, While 'prentice boys fetch them tea. I catch a cheery tap, tap, tap, Where slippers wink in rows — Gay apple-green, clear yellow, red. Free heels and curled up toes. The flash of tin and whiff of wood ! Great trays of sweets and seeds ! The merchant kneels as piously As High Priest, with his beads. The bubble of the water pipe And clink of small tea glasses Come mixed with cries of muleteers The patter of grey asses. A thunder! Gallop of Cossacks! A coachman cries "Make way!" A lord rides out with his lackies, Black-shrouded women stray. INTABRIZ 2T An archway painted green and red! A caravan unloads — A jumble of bales and camels, Cloaked camel men, merchants robed.^ The high domed rug bazaar is tuned To a stately mellow measure. Here Ferakhan and Hamadan Have heaped and hung their treasure. l'envoi O wizardry Of old Tabriz ! Thou breath'st on Mingled men, On caravan and arch and court, Musk, brazier glow, strange din. On vaulted, shadowed ways flung far. And, Lo ! A magical BAZAAR ! 28 PERSIAN PICTURES THE ETERNAL SONG THE chant of the wandering bazaar, Is muted in my heart, I find the song eternal In the music of the mart. I hear no more the hammer lilts And tea house jargonry, Nor sketch long profiles, low bent backs, And ripe rug mystery. True, caravans from old Baghdad, Still bring tales, cloth of gold. From Al Raschid to Nasr-ud-Din, Grave, magical, comical, bold. The fourgons from the Aras, Bring songs of Russian Nights — Of Moscow mills, Caucasian feuds. Mad moujiks, Cossak fights. But, down beneath these surface themes, Throbs out the eternal song Of souls that march and seek and search. They'll find — though the road be long! War Time 29 WARTIME 31 THE NIGHTINGALE IN THE COLLEGE COMPOUND June 1914 WHITE pillars silvered by the clear moonbeams, Were lost in leafy groining overhead. The lofty nave was waiting to be led In worship. When from the fastness of a hidden shrine. There came a melody rapt and divine. The silence of the listening night To bless. God's benison of peace in joy and pain, Ecstatic moon — bright threnodies contained. What litanies of longing, they had fain Revealed! Or was it prophecy, that we might know How soon that place of peace would overflow With wounds of anguished refugees To heal? 32 PERSIAN PICTURES IN THE CITY YARDS THEY were harried, they were hounded, They fell, ran, hid, and crawled; But fifteen thousand found a place Within mud mission walls. They came with torn and frozen feet. And brains that reeled with fear. They came with sorrow-strangled hearts. Too dazed, too spent for tears. The Kurds raged at the sheltering flag And cursed the big barred gate. The stricken crowds begged God's good might- He stayed the cries of hate. A five months' weary vigil Was kept with bated breath. With filth and typhus, hunger, dread. With prayer and birth and death. A SONG FOR THE DAUGHTERS THE fathers are bowed and the mothers weep. But not for the dear new dead. Who rest in the Paradise of God, Beyond all torture and dread. WAR TIME 33 The heart-break and the mourning cry, Now spring from a deeper pain — For the daughters in wild impious hands, Who have gone — nor come again. THE DAY OF BLOOD IN KURDISTAN I stood upon St. Mary's rock, Above the Zab's jade flow, And saw where Christ's little flock was flung. Not too many years ago. There, I sang a song of thanksgiving, From the sacred rock to the sky. That Badir Khan's cubs had not suckled his hate, That the Day of Blood had gone by. Yet now in those mountain valleys, The Day of Blood has tolled, And His flock hemmed in by peak and hate, Fight for their babes and folds. I wait for the breathless messenger. What tidings will he bring? May some be left to bear his name. When the last death cry rings! 34 PERSIAN PICTURES THE LEADERS OF THE ARMY THE Sirdar learned of the cunning fox, His sword was the sword of Orion. The Malik was swift as the Zab at flood, His heart was the heart of a lion. THE LITTLE SYRIAN ARMY THE men from stern high Mountain valleys stood With men of border plains, As bold men should. They fought like ancient Rustem caught at bay — The khaki army came not, God spoke not. One month in fourteen battles they won life, And in those fourteen battles they won death. The men from stern high Mountain valleys, stood With men of border plains, As bold men should. WARTIME 36 THE WINTER FLIGHT TO RUSSIA THE hurrying multitudes flee from the sword Of the hate-fed bands of the Prophet's horde. With bleeding feet, they stumble along, Crying unto the Lord. And out from the throng all harried by fear, Fall the old, babes, mothers too spent for tears. Their souls flutter up to His hand so near, Up to the hand of the Lord. At night, they drop on the mud and snow. Who will be left to arise and go, When the pale dawn light begins to show? Who will be left, Lord? A WINTER DIRGE IT was cold and barren winter. When surged a black spring flood, To hunt and crush, and fatten Upon our bread and blood. If it had been golden summer. The dead had not lain near and far. On the road that leads from Urmi Up to the land of the Czar. If it had been golden summer. The gaunt, huddled refugees 36 PERSIAN PICTURES Had poured from foul rooms to roof and yard, Not fallen like autumn leaves. If it had been golden summer, Our babes had hid in the grain, And more had escaped tjie dagger And the sharper captive pain. If it had been golden summer. Our daughters to vineyards had fled, And safe in the deep dug, leaf-thatched rows, Not drunk of the shame and dread. It was cold and barren winter. When our men and boys, on the hill. Tied arm to arm, by their fathers' graves, Fell. And they lie there still. HAKIM SAHIB TO THE RESCUE THE church became a fortress. The fortress knew black fear. Our cartridges were at an end, We knew our end was near. God sent the Hakim Sahib, While shots flew fast and grim. He found the Kurdish chieftain, And parleyed long with him. WARTIME 37 He begged our lives in mercy, He would not be denied. And so we won a respite, And saved our babes and brides. He led us to the city, Past hungry enemies. We entered a broad gateway — Our hearts were on their knees. THE SUMMER FLIGHT TO THE SOUTH FARSANG after farsang, Weary verst on verst, We plodded through the withering dust, With hearts that almost burst. But Turks were in the offing, The Kurds we had learned too well. The villagers along the way, Knew how to steal and fell. Many stumbled to their knees. Or tumbled still and stark. And others lay with fluttering lips — They haunt me in the dark. 38 PERSIAN PICTURES THE VILLAGE HEADMAN THE winter winds charged furiously Against the great square old adobe house. The walls were thick^ and firm as a fort, They were reared to stand, underbuilt with stone. He led us into the house. It was dark. At first I could see only darkness there. I thought I must be in a time-wrought cave, Deep down in the heart of the earth. Then, I began to find dim forms — Huge wooden flour bins and burly jars, Red wrinkled grapes from rafters hung. (Like grapes of Askelon!) The white-beard host said, bowing low, "Please mount the platform where we live!" I cannot remember the different kinds Of meat and rice and milk foods white. I can remember each gestured grace. The dignity of the old bronzed face. My tear-bottle treasures the attar bright Of our friend's high courtesy. WARTIME 39 II. The Headman's stately body lies quite still, Asleep in his hard grave upon the hill, Beyond the village toward the sunset gold Of New Jerusalem dreamed in days of old. I'm glad he did jiot have to live to see His sons' and grandsons' red death tragedy, His brides and grand babes dree their dree Upon the stony way to Calvary ! I KNOW I know a cool, green mossy way That leads to the forest's heart. I know a smooth, white ribboned pike, Where autos flash and dart. I know a road that lingers by The sapphire of a lake: And near it I have found a trail That peak- and sky-folk take. I know a highway in Iran, Which is new stained with red. There, I must step with washen feet, And tears and angel-led. 40 PERSIAN PICTURES THE REFUGEE A gully black, A black, black night, A cart, a dying man, A sleeping child, a woman white Watching for the grey dawn light. A wagon left by fleeing folk. Is fired and by its glow. The vigil-keeper leans to hold In leash the tugging soul. (Till messengers return, The life must burn!) "Speed Kassids, speed, As speed you may. To the kind British camp ! Quick! Bring the light of love and skill! There is no moon — a lamp!" They pierce the blackness, loving haste Is all too late, this night, And tender vigil cannot stay The soul of him this night, Who would go out to meet his God, Over the sky ways bright. WARTIME 41 Above the gully black, Above the black, black night, Above the cart, the wearied form, The child, the woman white. BETWEEN URUMIA AND SAIN KALA FRIEND, we are done with dying, Now we drop down to die. We are wearied of this long dying, My little ones and I. The cruel sun was enough to kill. How the hunger wolves can tear ! The drowning dust and madhouse thirst. The curse, shriek, groan and prayer ! ! If only the kindly dagger Had torn our burdened breasts. We had long since, on downy stones. Found our paradise of rest. Friend, we are done with dying, Now we drop down and die. We are wearied of this . . . long . . . dying, My little . . . ones . . . and ... I. 42 PERSIAN PICTURES A LAMENT FOR THE PATRIARCH I N the vigor of his manhood, Our Patriarch is gone! In the prime of a ripening wisdom, Who knew no fear is gone! In the old days of peace, he sat At the head of his judgment hall, To mete out a kindly justice To our men from Dizza to Chal. In the vigor of his manhood, The Head of our House is gone! In the prime of a ripening wisdom, The Pillar of our House is gone ! They climbed by pass and precipice, By canyon and foaming ford, To bring their tithes and wrongs to him, Their Father in the Lord. In the vigor of his manhood, Our noble Judge is gone! In the prime of a ripening wisdom, Who righted our wrongs is gone! WARTIME 43 And when the Turk and Kurd ringed in His flock with rifle and gun, He dared the bitter bloody way To the plains of the Lion and Sun. In the vigor of his manhood, Our Captain and Chief is gone! In the prime of a ripening wisdom, Our fearless Leader is gone! After long months of hunger, Nakedness, fever and strife, A pact was made — a pact of peace — Were we again to know life? In the vigor of his manhood. Our tireless Shepherd is gone! In the prime of a ripening wisdom. With his martyred flock he is gone ! The pact was made, — and he was guest Of a chieftain with honeyed breath. Who, brotherly, gave him a solemn kiss. Then — gave the signal of death. In the vigor of his manhood, The Head of our Nation is gone! In the prime of a ripening wisdom, With his bodyguard, he is gone! 44 PERSIAN PICTURES In the vigor of his manhood, Our Patriarch is gone! In the prime of a ripening wisdom, He whom we loved is gone ! SPRING IN URMI BUSHALLA herbs peep over the plain. Crocus and iris call, The stork has come from Araby To nest in the plane tree tall. But- Gone are the visions of other springs. Buffaloes ploughing for wheat, Pruning in the vineyards. New dropped lambs ableat. Hunger wolves howl down the hills, And hearts are quenched with dread For the maidens snatched by Beg and Bey, And the babes v/ho faint for bread. WARTIME 45 I. M. WILLIAM A. SHEDD WHEN he had fathered a wan host To kindly hands and sheltering hearts, He laid his weary body down Upon a Red Cross cart. He gave his gift of years and toil, Stayed not when he had paid the price. He laid his weary body down; His strong soul ran to Paradise. Ah, all too swiftly sped that soul, Too eager for one earth-glance fleet. We dare not mourn when he is glad. And when his man-task was complete. A MOTHER'S PRAYER OGod, if only Thou would'st lean Into this fire of hell. And take my tender little ones, My heart could cease its knell! I can endure the wearying ways. The scourgings and the flame. Their tiny bodies are too frail. Brand on my breast, Thy Name! 46 PERSIAN PICTURES AT SALMAS AFTER THE MASSACRE OF THE MEN DIG the trench both wide and deep. See how many have fallen asleep — Fallen asleep in agony. Cover them, poor maimed things! Dig the trench with aching heart. Soul and body were tortured apart. Now they rest from their agony. Cover them, poor maimed things ! Dig the trench! The mad women come To find their men who came not home. Would they might rest from their agony ! Weep for them, poor maimed things ! TODAY BLACK is the eye, Red is the cheek, White is the soul Of Shirin. Fire is the heart, Crimson the hand, Dark is the soul Of Mahmud. WARTIME 47 Black is the sky, Stony the trail, Grey is the rain. Today. YESTERDAY AND TODAY WHEN Alexander led his hordes, A-trampling East and East; The cries of brides and little ones, Smote the godling, at his feast. When warriors of Sassanian day (Now rock-hewn) held S almas, Nestorians fled their generous plains, Or fell before the pass. When Hulaku swept provinces Into his saddle-bags ; Gardens were red and vultures filled. And gibbered heart-torn hags. Now Kurd and Turk and power-mad Hun Shake those age-weary ways, And quench their thirst in new life blood, Like lords of old dead days. 48 PERSIAN PICTURES NEAR BAGHDAD (An old mountain woman at the refugee camp is interrogated.) <