[p. 95]
¶ ON THE TOMB OF MANO. BY HASSAN ALASADY.
FRIENDS of my heart, who share my sighs!
Go seek the turf where Mano lies,
And woo the dewy clouds of Spring
To sweep it with prolific wing.
Within that cell, beneath that heap,
Friendship and Truth and Honour sleep.
Beneficence, that used to clasp
The world within her ample grasp,
There rests entombed—of thought bereft;
For were one conscious atom left,
New bliss, new kindness to display,
’T would burst the grave, and seek the day.
But though in dust thy relics lie,
Thy virtues, Mano, ne’er shall die:
Though Nile’s full stream be seen no more,
That spread his waves from shore to shore,
Still in the verdure of the plain
His vivifying smiles remain.
[p. 96]
¶ ON THE TOMB OF SAYID. BY ABD ALMALEC ALHARITHY.
BLEST are the tenants of the tomb!
With envy I their lot survey;
For Sayid shares the solemn gloom,
And mingles with their mouldering clay.
Dear youth! I’m doomed thy loss to mourn,
When gathering ills around combine;
And whither now shall Malec turn?
Where look for any help but thine?
At this dread moment, when the foe
My life with rage insatiate seeks,
In vain I strive to ward the blow—
My buckler falls, my sabre breaks.
Upon thy grassy tomb I knelt,
And sought from pain a short relief:
Th’ attempt was vain—I only felt
Intenser pangs and livelier grief.
The bud of woe, no more represt,
Fed by the tears that drenched it there,
Shot forth and filled my labouring breast,
Soon to expand and shed despair.
[p. 97]
But though of Sayid I’m bereft,
From whom the stream of bounty came,
Sayid a nobler meed has left—
Th’ exhaustless heritage of fame.
Though mute the lips on which I hung,
Their silence speaks more loud to me
Than any voice from mortal tongue:
“What Sayid was, let Malec be!”
[p. 98]
¶ ON THE DEATH OF HIS MISTRESS. BY ABU SAHER ALHEDILY.
DOST thou wonder that I flew
Charmed to meet my Leila’s view?
Dost thou wonder that I hung
Raptured on my Leila’s tongue?—
If her ghost’s funereal screech
Through the earth my grave should reach,
On that voice I loved so well
My transported ghost would dwell:
If in death I can descry
Where my Leila’s relics lie,
Saher’s dust will flit away,
There to join his Leila’s clay.
[p. 99]
¶ ON AVARICE. BY HATEM TAI.
HOW frail are riches and their joys!
Morn builds the heap which eve destroys;
Yet can they leave one sure delight—
The thought that we’ve employed them right.
What bliss can wealth afford to me,
When life’s last solemn hour I see?—
When Mavia’s sympathising sighs
Will but augment my agonies?
Can hoarded gold dispel the gloom
That death must shed around his tomb?
Or cheer the ghost which hovers there,
And fills with shrieks the desert air?
What boots it, Mavia, in the grave,
Whether I loved to waste or save?
The hand that millions now can grasp
In death no more than mine shall clasp.
Were I ambitious to behold
Increasing stores of treasured gold,
Each tribe that roves the desert knows
I might be wealthy, if I chose.
[p. 100]
But other joys can gold impart;
Far other wishes warm my heart;—
Ne’er may I strive to swell the heap
Till want and woe have ceased to weep.
With brow unaltered I can see
The hour of wealth or poverty:
I’ve drunk from both the cups of Fate,
Nor this could sink, nor that elate.
With fortune blest, I ne’er was found
To look with scorn on those around;
Nor for the loss of paltry ore,
Shall Hatem seem to Hatem poor.
[p. 101]
¶ ON THE BATTLE OF SABLA. BY JAAFER BEN ALBA.
SABLA, thou saw’st th’ exulting foe
In fancied triumphs crowned;
Thou heard’st their frantic females throw
These galling taunts around:
Make now your choice—the terms we give,
Desponding victims, hear:
These fetters on your hands receive,
Or in your hearts the spear.”
“And is the conflict o’er?” we cried;
"And lie we at your feet?
And dare you vauntingly decide
The fortune we must meet?
“A brighter day we soon shall see,
Though now the prospect lowers;
And conquest, peace, and liberty
Shall gild our future hours.”
The foe advanced;—in firm array
We rushed o’er Sabla’s sands;
And the red sabre marked our way
Amidst their yielding bands.
Then, as they writhed in Death’s cold grasp,
We cried, "Our choice is made:
These hands the sabres’ hilt shall clasp,
Your hearts shall have the blade!”
[p. 102]
¶ VERSES ADDRESSED TO A KINDRED TRIBE AT VARIANCE WITH THE ONE TO WHICH THE POET BELONGED. BY ALFADHEL IBN ALABAS.
WHY thus to passion give the rein?
Why seek your kindred tribe to wrong?
Why strive to drag to light again
The fatal feud entombed so long?
Think not, if fury ye display,
But equal fury we can deal;
Hope not, if wronged, but we repay
Revenge for every wrong we feel.
Why thus to passion give the rein?
Why seek the robe of peace to tear?
Rash youths, desist! your course restrain;
Or dread the wrath ye blindly dare!
Yet friendship we nor ask from foes,
Nor favour hope from you to prove:
We loved you not, great Allah knows!
Nor blamed you that ye could not love.
To each are different feelings given;
This slights, and that regards his brother:
’Tis ours to live—thanks to kind Heaven—
Hating and hated by each other.
[p. 103]
¶ ON HIS FRIENDS. BY MESKIN ALDARAMY.
WITH conscious pride I view the band
Of faithful friends that round me stand;
With pride exult, that I alone
Can join these scattered gems in one:
For they’re a wreath of pearls, and I
The silken cord on which they lie.
’Tis mine their inmost souls to see;
Unlocked is every heart to me;
To me they cling, on me they rest,
And I’ve a place in every breast:
For they’re a wreath of pearls, and I
The silken cord on which they lie.
[p. 104]
¶ ON TEMPER. BY NABEGAT BENI JAID.
YES, Leila, I swore, by the fire of thine eyes,
I ne’er could a sweetness unvaried endure;
The bubbles of spirit that sparkling arise
Forbid life to stagnate, and render it pure.
But yet, my dear maid, though thy spirit’s my pride,
I’d wish for some sweetness to temper the bowl:
If life be ne’er suffered to rest or subside,
It may not be flat, but I fear ’t will be foul.
[p. 105]
¶ THE SONG OF MAISUNA.
[MAISUNA was a daughter of the tribe of Calab; a tribe, according to Abulfeda, remarkable both for the purity of dialect spoken in it and for the number of poets it had produced. She was married, whilst very young, to the Khalif Mowiah; but this exalted situation by no means suited the disposition of Maisuna; and, amidst all the pomp and splendour of Damascus, she languished for the simple pleasures of her native desert.
These feelings gave birth to the following simple stanzas, which she took the greatest delight in singing, whenever she could find an opportunity to indulge her melancholy in private. She was unfortunately overheard one day by Mowiah, who was of course not a little offended, both with the discovery of his wife’s sentiments, and with the contemptuous manner in which she had expressed herself with regard to her husband; and, as a punishment for her fault, he ordered her to retire from court. Maisuna immediately obeyed, and, taking her infant son Yezid with her, returned to Yemen; nor did she revisit Damascus till after the death of Mowiah, when Yezid ascended the throne.]
THE russet suit of camel’s hair,
With spirits light and eye serene,
Is dearer to my bosom far
Than all the trappings of a queen.
The humble tent, and murmuring breeze
That whistles through its fluttering walls,
My unaspiring fancy please,
Better than towers and splendid halls.
[p. 106]
Th’ attendant colts, that bounding fly
And frolic by the litter’s side,
Are dearer in Maisuna’s eye
Than gorgeous mules in all their pride.
The watch-dog’s voice, that bays whene’er
A-stranger seeks his master’s cot,
Sounds sweeter in Maisuna’s ear
Than yonder trumpet’s long-drawn note.
The rustic youth, unspoiled by art,
Son of my kindred, poor but free,
Will ever to Maisuna’s heart
Be dearer, pampered fool, than thee!
[p. 107]
¶ VERSES OF YEZID TO HIS FATHER, MOWIAH, WHO REPROACHED HIM FOR DRUNKENNESS.
MUST then my failings from the shaft
Of anger ne’er escape?
And dost thou storm because I’ve quaffed
The water of the grape?
That I can thus from wine be driven,
Thou surely ne’er canst think—
Another reason thou hast given
Why I resolve to drink:
’Twas sweet the flowing cup to seize,
’Tis sweet thy rage to see;
And, first, I drink myself to please,
And, next—to anger thee!
[p. 108]
¶ ON FATALISM. BY THE IMAM SHAFAY MOHAMMED BEN IDRIS.
NOT always wealth, not always force,
A splendid destiny commands;
The lordly vulture gnaws the corse
That rots upon yon barren sands.
Nor want nor weakness still conspires
To bind us to a sordid state;
The fly, that with a touch expires,
Sips honey from the royal plate.
[p. 109]
¶ TO THE KHALIF HAROUN ALRASHID, ON HIS UNDERTAKING A PILGRIMAGE TO MECCA. By IBRAHIM BEN ADHEM.
RELIGION’S gems can ne’er adorn
The flimsy robe by Pleasure worn:
Its feeble texture soon would tear,
And give those jewels to the air.
Thrice happy they who seek th’ abode
Of peace and pleasure, in their God!
Who spurn the world, its joys despise,
And grasp at bliss beyond the skies.
[p. 110]
¶ ON THE INAUGURATION OF HAROUN ALRASHID, AND THE APPOINTMENT OF YAHIA TO BE HIS VIZIER. BY ISAAC ALMOUSELY.
TH’ affrighted sun erewhile had fled,
And hid his radiant face in night;
A cheerless gloom the world o’erspread—
But Haroun came, and all was bright.
Again the sun shoots forth his rays;
Nature is decked in beauty’s robe:
For mighty Haroun’s sceptre sways,
And Yahia’s arm sustains the globe.
[p. 111]
¶ ON THE RUIN OF THE BARMECIDES.
NO, Barmec! time hath never shown
So sad a change of wayward fate;
Nor sorrowing mortals ever known
A grief so true, a loss so great.
Spouse of the world! thy soothing breast
Did balm to every woe afford;
And now, no more by thee caressed,
The widowed world bewails her lord.
[p. 112]
¶ EPIGRAM ON TAHER BEN HOSEIN, WHO WAS AMBIDEXTER AND ONE-EYED.
A PAIR of right hands and a single dim eye
Must form not a man, but a monster, they cry:
Change a hand to an eye, good Taher, if you can,
And a monster perhaps may be changed to man.
[p. 113]
¶ THE ADIEU. BY ABU MOHAMMED.
THE boatmen shout, "’Tis time to part,
No longer we can stay; ”
’Twas then Maimuna taught my heart
How much a glance could say.
With trembling steps to me she came;
“Farewell,” she would have cried,
But ere her lips the word could frame,
In half-formed sounds it died.
Then bending down, with looks of love,
Her arms she round me flung,
And as the gale hangs on the grove,
Upon my breast she hung.
My willing arms embraced the maid,
My heart with raptures beat;
While she but wept the more and said,
“Would we had never met!”
[p. 114]
¶ VERSES ADDRESSED TO HIS MISTRESS, WHO HAD FOUND FAULT WITH HIM FOR PROFUSION. BY ABU TEMAN HABIB.
UNGENEROUS and mistaken maid,
To scorn me thus because I’m poor
Canst thou a liberal hand upbraid,
For dealing round some worthless ore?
To spare’s the wish of little souls;
The great but gather to bestow:
Yon current don the mountain rolls,
And stagnates in the swamp belay.
[p. 115]
¶ TO A FEMALE CUPBEARER. BY ABD ALSALAM BEN RAGBAN.
COME, Leila, fill the goblet up—
Reach round the rosy wine;
Think not that we will take the cup
From any hand but thine.
A draught like this ‘twere vain to seek,
No grape can such supply
It steals its tint from Leila’s cheek,
Its brightness from her eye.
[p. 116]
¶ SONGS BY MASHDUD, RAKEEK, AND RAIS,
THE THREE MOST CELEBRATED IMPROVISATORI POETS IN BAGDAD, AT AN ENTERTAINMENT GIVEN BY ABU ISY, SON OF THE KHALIF MOTAWAKKEL.
THE preface with which these Poems are accompanied in the Mostatraf, at the same time that it explains the cause of their composition, gives no bad picture of Arabian manners during the flourishing period of the Khalifate:—
I was one day going to the mosque [says Abu Akramah, an author who supported himself at Bagdad by the profits of his pen], in order to see if I could pick up any little anecdote which might serve for the groundwork of a tale. As I passed the gate of Abu Isy, son of the Khalif Motawakkel, I saw Mashdud, the celebrated extempore poet, standing near it.
Mashdud saluted me, and asked whither I was going. I answered, to the mosque, and confessed without reserve the business which drew me thither. The poet, upon hearing this, pressed me to accompany him to the palace of Abu Isy. I declined, however, complying with his solicitations, conscious of the impropriety of intruding myself uninvited into the presence of a person of such rank and consequence. But Abu Isy’s porter, overhearing our conversation, declared that he would put an end to my difficulties in a moment, by acquainting his master with my arrival. He did so; and in a short time two servants appeared, who took me up in their arms, and carried the into a most magnificent apartment, where their master was sitting.
[p. 117]
Upon my introduction, I could not help feeling a little confused, but the Prince soon made me easy, by calling out in a good-natured manner, “Why do you stand blushing there, you simpleton? Take a seat.” I obeyed: and in a few minutes a sumptuous collation was brought in, of which I partook. Nor was the juice of the grape forgotten: a cupbearer, brilliant as the morning star, poured out wine for us, more sparkling than the beams of the sun reflected by a mirror.
After the entertainment I arose, and having invoked every blessing to be showered down upon the head of my bounteous host, I was preparing to withdraw. But Abu Isy prevented me, and immediately ordered Mashdud, together with Rakeek and Rais, two musicians, whose fame was almost equal to Mashdud’s, to be called in. They appeared accordingly and having taken their places, Mashdud gave us the following satiric song:
¶ MASHDUD ON THE MONKS OF KHABBET.
TENANTS of yon hallowed fane!
Let me your devotions share:
There unceasing raptures reign—
None are ever sober there.
Crowded gardens, festive bowers,
Ne’er shall claim a thought of mine:
You can give in Khabbet’s towers—
Purer joys and brighter wine.
Though your pallid faces prove
How you nightly vigils keep,
’Tis but that you ever love
Flowing goblets more than sleep.
[p. 118]
Though your eyeballs, dim and sunk,
Stream in penitential guise,
’Tis but that the Hine you’ve drunk
Bubbles over from your eyes.
He had no sooner finished. than Rakeek began, and in the same versification, and to the same air, sung as follows:
¶ RAKEEK TO HIS FEMALE COMPANIONS.
THOUGH the peevish tongues upbraid,
Though the brows of wisdom scowl,
Fair ones, here on roses laid,
Careless will we quaff the bowl.
Let the cup, with nectar crowned,
Through the grove its beams display;
It can shed a lustre round,
Brighter than the torch of Day.
Let it pass from hand to hand,
Circling still with ceaseless flight,
Till the streaks of gray expand
O’er the fleeting robe of Night.
As Night flits, she does but cry.
“Seize the moments that remain”:
Thus our joys with yours shall vie,
Tenants of yon hallowed fane!
[p. 119]
It was Rais’ turn next, who charmed us with this plaintive little dialogue, supposed to pass betwixt himself and a Lady:
¶ DIALOGUE BY RAIS.
RAIS.
MAID of sorrow, tell us why
Sad and drooping hangs thy head?
Is it grief that bids thee sigh?
Is it sleep that flies thy bed?
LADY.
AH! I mourn no fancied wound;
Pangs too true this heart have wrung,
Since the snakes which curl around
Selim’s brows my bosom stung.
Destined now to keener woes,
I must see the youth depart;
He must go, and, as he goes,
Rend at once my bursting heart.
Slumber may desert my bed;
’Tis not slumber’s charms I seek:
’Tis the robe of beauty spread
O’er my Selim’s rosy cheek.
[p. 120]
¶ TO A LADY WEEPING. BY EBN ALRUMI.
WHEN I beheld thy blue eye shine
Through the bright drop that Pity drew,
I saw beneath those tears of thine
A blue-eyed violet bathed in dew.
The violet ever scents the gale,
Its hues adorn the fairest wreath;
But sweetest through a dewy veil
Its colours glow, its odours breathe.
And thus thy charms in brightness rise:
When Wit and Pleasure round thee play;
When Mirth sits smiling in thine eyes,
Who but admires their sprightly ray?
But when through Pity’s flood they gleam,
Who but must love their softened beam?
[p. 121]
¶ ON A VALETUDINARIAN. BY THE SAME.
SO careful is Isa, and anxious to last,
So afraid of himself is he grown,
He swears through two nostrils the breath goes too fast,
And he’s trying to breathe through but one.
¶ ON A MISER. BY THE SAME.
HANG her—a thoughtless, wasteful fool,
She scatters corn where’er she goes!”
Quoth Hassan, angry at his mule,
That dropped a dinner to the crows.
[p. 122]
¶ TO CASSIM OBID ALLAH, ON THE DEATH OF ONE OF HIS SONS. BY ALI BEN AHMED BEN MANSOUR.
POOR Cassim! thou art doomed to mourn,
By Destiny’s decree;
Whatever happen, it must turn
To misery for thee.
Two sons hadst thou, the one thy pride,
The other was thy pest;
Ah, why did cruel Death decide
To snatch away the best?
No wonder thou shouldst droop with woe,
Of such a child bereft:
But now thy tears must doubly flow,
For ah,—the other’s left!
[p. 123]
¶ TO A FRIEND, ON HIS BIRTHDAY.
WHEN born, in tears we saw thee drowned,
While thine assembled friends around
With smiles their joy confessed:
So live, that at thy parting hour,
They may the flood of sorrow pour,
And thou in smiles be dressed.
[p. 124]
¶ ON A CAT, THAT WAS KILLED AS SHE WAS ATTEMPTING TO ROB A DOVE-HOUSE. BY IBN ALALAF ALNAHARWANY.
POOR Puss is gone!—’tis Fate’s decree—
Yet I must still her loss deplore;
For dearer than a child was she,
And ne’er shall I behold her more.
With many a sad presaging tear,
This morn I saw her steal away,
While she went on without a fear,
Except that she should miss her prey.
I saw her to the dove-house climb,
With cautious feet and slow she stept,
Resolved to balance loss of time
By eating faster than she crept.
Her subtle foes were on the watch,
And marked her course, with fury fraught;
And while she hoped the birds to catch,
An arrow’s point the huntress caught.
In fancy she had got them all,
And drunk their blood and sucked their breath;
Alas! she only got a fall,
And only drank the draught of death.
[p. 125]
Why, why was pigeon’s flesh so nice,
That thoughtless cats should love it thus?
Hadst thou but lived on rats and mice,
Thou hadst been living still, poor Puss!
Cursed be the taste, howe’er refined,
That prompts us for such joys to wish;
And cursed the dainty where we find
Destruction lurking in the dish!
[p. 126]
¶ EPIGRAM ON EBN NAPHTA-WAH. BY MOHAMMED BEN ZEID ALMOTAKALAM.
[IN order to understand Ben Zeid’s Charade. we must remark that, in Arabic, Naphta signifies a combustible not very much unlike our gunpowder, and that Wah is an exclamation of sorrow.]
BY the former with ruin and death we are curst;
In the latter we grieve for the ills of the first;
And as for the whole where together they meet,
It’s a drunkard, a liar, a thief, and a cheat.
¶ FIRE: A RIDDLE.
THE loftiest cedars I can eat,
Yet neither paunch nor mouth have I;
I storm whene’er you give me meat;
Whene’er you give me drink, I die.
[p. 127]
¶ TO A LADY, ON SEEING HER BLUSH. BY THE KHALIF RADHI BILLAH.
LEILA, whene’er I gaze on thee
My altered cheek turns pale;
While upon thine, sweet maid, I see
A deep’ning blush prevail.
Leila, shall I the cause impart
Why such a change takes place?—
The crimson stream deserts my heart
To mantle on thy face.
[p. 128]
¶ ON THE VICISSITUDES OF LIFE. BY THE SAME.
MORTAL joys, however pure,
Soon their turbid source betray;
Mortal bliss, however sure,
Soon must totter and decay.
Ye who now, with footsteps keen,
Range through Hope’s delusive field,
Tell us what the smiling scene
To your ardent grasp can yield?
Other youths have oft before
Deemed their joys would never fade,
Till themselves were seen no more—
Swept into oblivion’s shade.
Who, with health and pleasure gay,
E’er his fragile state could know,
Were not age and pain to say—
Man is but the child of woe?
[p. 129]
¶ TO A DOVE. BY SERAGE ALWARAK.
THE Dove, to ease an aching breast,
In piteous murmurs vents her cares;
Like me, she sorrows, for, oppressed,
Like me, a load of grief she bears.
Her plaints are heard in every wood,
While I would fain conceal my woes:
But vain’s my wish—the briny flood,
The more I strive, the faster flows.
Sure, gentle bird, my drooping heart
Divides the pangs of love with thine;
And plaintive murm’rings are thy part,
And silent grief and tears are mine.
[p. 130]
¶ ON A THUNDER-STORM. BY IBRAHIM BEN KHIRET ABU ISAAC.
BRIGHT smiled the morn, till o’er its head
The clouds in thickened foldings spread
A robe of sable hue;
Then, gathering round Day’s golden King,
They stretched their wide o’ershadowing wing,
And hid him from our view.
The rain his absent beams deplored,
And, softened into weeping, poured
Its tears in many a flood;
The lightning laughed, with horrid glare;
The thunder growled, in rage; the air
In silent sorrow stood.
[p. 131]
¶ TO HIS FAVOURITE MISTRESS. BY SAIF ADDAULET, SULTAN OF ALEPPO.
I SAW their jealous eyeballs roll,
I saw them mark each glance of mine;
I saw thy terrors, and my soul
Shared every pang that tortured thine.
In vain, to wean my constant heart,
Or quench my glowing flame, they strove:
Each deep-laid scheme, each envious art,
But waked my fears for her I love.
’Twas this compelled the stern decree
That forced thee to those distant towers,
And left me nought but love for thee,
To cheer my solitary hours.
Yet let not Abla sink depressed,
Nor separation’s pangs deplore:
We meet not—’tis to meet more blest;
We parted—’tis to part no more.
[p. 132]
¶ ON THE CRUCIFIXION OF EBN BAKIAH. BY ABU HASSAN ALANBARY.
WHATE’ER thy fate, in life and death,
Thou’rt doomed above us still to rise,
Whilst at a distance far beneath
We view thee with admiring eyes.
The gazing crowds still round thee throng,
Still to thy well-known voice repair,
As when erewhile thy hallowed tongue
Poured in the mosque the solemn prayer.
Still, generous Vizier, we survey
Thine arms extended o’er our head,
As lately, in the festive day,
When they were stretched thy gifts to shed.
Earth’s narrow bound’ries strove in vain
To limit thy aspiring mind;
And now we see thy dust disdain
Within her breast to be confined.
The earth’s too small for one so great;
Another mansion thou shalt have—
The clouds shall be thy winding-sheet,
The spacious vault of heaven thy grave.
[p. 133]
¶ ON THE CAPRICES OF FORTUNE. BY SHEMS ALMAALI CABUS, THE DETHRONED SULTAN OF GEORGIA.
WHY should I blush that Fortune’s frown
Dooms me life’s humble paths to tread?
To live unheeded and unknown!
To sink forgotten to the dead!
’Tis not the good, the wise, the brave,
That surest shine, or highest rise:
The feather sports upon the wave,
The pearl in ocean’s cavern lies.
Each lesser star that studs the sphere
Sparkles with undiminished light:
Dark and eclipsed alone appear
The Lord of Day, the Queen of Night.
[p. 134]
¶ LIFE.
LIKE sheep, we’re doomed to travel o’er
The fated track to all assigned;
These follow those that went before,
And leave the world to those behind.
As the flock seeks the pasturing shade,
Man presses to the future day;
While Death, amidst the tufted glade,
Like the dun robber, (*) [1] waits his prey.
[p. 135]
¶ TO LEILA.
LEILA, with too successful art,
Has spread for me Love’s cruel snare;
And now, when she has caught my heart,
She laughs, and leaves it to despair.
Thus the poor sparrow pants for breath,
Held captive by a playful boy;
And while it drinks the draught of death,
The thoughtless child looks on with joy.
Ah! were its fluttering pinions free,
Soon would it bid its chains adieu;
Or did the child its sufferings see,
He’d pity and relieve them too.
[p. 136]
¶ EXTEMPORE VERSES
ON THE SULTAN CARAWASH, HIS PRINCIPAL MUSICIAN BARKAIDY, HIS VIZIER EBN FADHI, AND HIS CHAMBERLAIN ABU JABER. BY EBN ALRAMACRAM.
TOWERING as Barkaidy’s face,
The wintry night came in,
Cold as the music of his bass,
And lengthened as his chin.
Sleep from my aching eyes had fled,
And kept as far apart
As sense from Ebn Fadhi’s head,
Or virtue from his heart.
The dubious paths my footsteps balked,
I slipped along the sod,
As if on Jaber’s faith I’d walked,
Or on his truth had trod.
At length the rising King of Day
Burst on the gloomy wood,
Like Carawash’s eye, whose ray
Dispenses every good.
[p. 137]
¶ ON THE DEATH OF A SON. BY ALI BEN MOHAMMED ALTAHMANY.
TYRANT of Man! Imperious Fate!
I bow before thy dread decree;
Nor hope in this uncertain state
To find a seat secure from thee.
Life is a dark, tumultuous stream,
With many a care and sorrow foul;
Yet thoughtless mortals vainly deem
That it can yield a limpid bowl.
Think not that stream will backward flow,
Or cease its destined course to keep;
As soon the blazing spark shall glow
Beneath the surface of the deep.
Believe not Fate, at thy command,
Will grant a meed she never gave;
As soon the airy tower shall stand
That’s built upon a passing wave.
Life is a sleep of threescore years;
Death bids us wake and hail the light;
And man, with all his hopes and fears,
Is but a phantom of the night.
[p. 138]
¶ ON MODERATION IN OUR PLEASURES. BY ABU ALCASSIM EBN TABATABA.
HOW oft does passion’s grasp destroy
The pleasure that it strives to gain!
How soon the thoughtless course of joy
Is doomed to terminate in pain!
When Prudence would thy steps delay,
She but restrains to make thee blest;
Whate’er from joy she lops away
But heightens and secures the rest.
Wouldst thou a trembling flame expand
That hastens in the lamp to die?
With careful touch, with sparing hand,
The feeding stream of life supply.
But if thy flask profusely sheds
A rushing torrent o’er the blaze,
Swift round the sinking flame it spreads,
And kills the fire it fain would raise.
[p. 139]
¶ ON THE VALE OF BOZAA. BY AHMED BEN YOUSEF ALMENAZY.
THE intertwining boughs for thee
Have wove, sweet dell, a verdant vest,
And thou in turn shall give to me
A verdant couch upon thy breast.
To shield me from Day’s fervid glare,
Thine oaks their fostering arms extend,
As, anxious o’er her infant care,
I’ve seen a watchful mother bend.
A brighter cup, a sweeter draught,
I gather from that rill of thine,
Than maddening drunkards ever quaffed,
Than all the treasures of the vine.
So smooth the pebbles on its shore,
That not a maid can thither stray,
But counts her strings of jewels o’er,
And thinks the pearls have slipped away.
[p. 140]
¶ TO ADVERSITY. BY ABU MENBAA CARAWASH, SULTAN OF MOUSEL.
HAIL, chastening friend, Adversity! ’tis thine
The mental ore to temper and refine;
To cast in Virtue’s mould the yielding heart,
And Honour’s polish to the mind impart.
Without thy wakening touch, thy plastic aid,
I’d lain the shapeless mass that Nature made;
But formed, great artist, by thy magic hand,
I gleam a sword, to conquer and command.
[p. 141]
¶ ON THE INCOMPATIBILITY OF PRIDE AND TRUE GLORY. BY ABU ALOLA.
THINK not, Abdallah, Pride and Fame
Can ever travel hand in hand;
With breast opposed, and adverse aim,
On the same narrow path they stand.
Thus Youth and Age together meet,
And Life’s divided moments share:
This can’t advance till that retreat;
What’s here increased, is lessened there.
And thus the falling shades of Night
Still struggle with the lucid ray,
And ere they stretch their gloomy flight,
Must win the lengthened space from Day.
[p. 142]
¶ ON THE DEATH OF NEDHAM ALMOLK,
VIZIER TO THE THREE FIRST SELJUK SULTANS OF PERSIA. BY SHEBAL ADDAULET.
THY virtues, famed through every land,
Thy spotless life in age and youth,
Prove thee a pearl, (*) [2] by Nature’s hand
Formed out of purity and truth.
Too long its beams of orient light
Upon a thankless world were shed:
Allah has now revenged the slight,
And called it to its native bed.
[p. 143]
¶ VERSES ADDRESSED BY WALADATA, DAUGHTER OF MOHAMMED
ALMOSTAKFI BILLAH, KHALIF OF SPAIN, TO SOME YOUNG MEN, WHO HAD PRETENDED A PASSION FOR HERSELF AND HER COMPANIONS.
WHEN you told us our glances, soft, timid, and mild,
Could occasion such wounds in the heart,
Can ye wonder that yours, so ungoverned and wild,
Some wounds to our cheeks should impart?
The wounds on our cheeks are but transient, I own,
With a blush they appear and decay;
But those on the heart, fickle youths, ye have shown
To be even more transient than they.
[p. 144]
¶ VERSES ADDRESSED TO HIS DAUGHTERS, DURING HIS IMPRISONMENT, BY MOTAMMED BEN ABAD, SULTAN OF SEVILLE.
[“UPON a certain festival,” says Ebn Khocan, a contemporary writer, “during the confinement of Motammed, he was waited upon by his children, who came to receive his blessing, and to offer up their prayers for his welfare. Amongst these some were females, and their appearance was truly deplorable. They were naturally beauteous as the moon, but, from the rags which covered them, they seemed like the moon under an eclipse: their feet were bare and bleeding, and every trace of their former splendour was completely effaced. At this melancholy spectacle their unfortunate father gave way to his sorrow in the following verses.”]
WITH jocund heart and cheerful brow,
I used to hail the festal morn:
How must Motammed greet it now?—
A prisoner, helpless and forlorn;
While these dear maids, in beauty’s bloom,
With want oppressed, with rags o’erspread,
By sordid labours at the loom
Must earn a poor, precarious bread.
[p. 145]
Those feet, that never touched the ground
Till musk or camphor strewed the way,
Now, bare and swoll’n with many a wound,
Must struggle through the miry clay.
Those radiant cheeks are veiled in woe,
A shower descends from every eye;
And not a starting tear can flow
That wakes not an attending sigh.
Fortune, that whilom owned my sway,
And bowed obsequious to my nod,
Now sees me destined to obey,
And bend beneath oppression’s rod.
Ye mortals, with success elate,
Who bask in Hope’s delusive beam,
Attentive view Motammed’s fate,
And own that bliss is but a dream.
[p. 146]
¶ A SERENADE TO HIS SLEEPING MISTRESS. BY ALI BEN ABD ALGANY, OF CORDOVA.
SURE Harut’s (*) [3] potent spells were breathed
Upon that magic sword, thine eye;
For if it wounds us thus while sheathed,
When drawn ’tis vain its edge to fly.
How canst thou doom me, cruel fair,
Plunged in the hell (†) [4] of scorn, to groan?
No idol e’er this heart could share
This heart has worshipped thee alone.
[p. 147]
¶ THE INCONSISTENT.
TO A LADY, UPON HER REFUSAL OF A PRESENT OF MELONS, AND HER REJECTION OF THE ADDRESSES OF AN ADMIRER.
WHEN I sent you my melons, you cried out with scorn,
“They ought to be heavy, and wrinkled, and yellow:”
When I offered myself, whom those graces adorn,
You flouted, and called me an ugly old fellow!
[p. 148]
¶ ON THE CAPTURE OF JERUSALEM, IN THE FIRST CRUSADE. BY ALMODHAFER ALABIWERDY.
FROM our distended eyeballs flow
A mingled stream of tears and blood;
Nor care we feel, nor wish we know,
But who shall pour the largest flood.
But what defence can tears afford?
What aid supply in this dread hour?
When, kindled by the sparkling sword,
War’s raging flames the land devour!
No more let sleep’s seductive charms
Upon your torpid souls be shed:
A crash like this, such dire alarms,
Might burst the slumbers of the dead.
Think where your dear companions lie—
Survey their fate, and hear their woes:
How some through trackless deserts fly,
Some in the vulture’s maw repose;
[p. 149]
While some, more wretched still, must bear
The tauntings of a Christian’s tongue;—
Hear this—and blush ye not to wear
The silken robe of peace so long?
Remember what ensanguined showers
The Syrian plains with crimson dyed;
And think how many blooming flowers
In Syrian forts their beauties hide.
Arabian youths! in such a cause
Can ye the voice of glory slight?
Warriors of Persia! Can ye pause,
Or fear to mingle in the fight?
If neither piety nor shame
Your breasts can warm, your souls can move,
Let emulation’s bursting flame
Wake you to Vengeance and to Love!
[p. 150]
¶ TO A LADY, WHO ACCUSED HER LOVER OF FLATTERY.
O, Abla, no—when Selim tells
Of many an unknown grace that dwells
In Abla’s face and mien;
When he describes the sense refined
That lights thine eye, and fills thy mind,
By thee alone unseen,—
’Tis not that, drunk with Love, he sees
Ideal charms which only please
Through Passion’s partial veil;
’Tis not that Flattery’s glozing tongue
Hath basely framed an idle song,
But Truth that breathed the tale.
Thine eyes unaided ne’er could trace
Each opening charm, each varied grace,
That round thy person plays:
Some must remain concealed from thee,
For Selim’s watchful eye to see,
For Selim’s tongue to praise.
One polished mirror can declare
That eye so bright, that face so fair,
That cheek which shames the rose;.
But how thy mantle waves behind,
How float thy tresses on the wind,
Another only shows.
[p. 151]
¶ EPIGRAM ON ABU ALCHAIR SELAMU, AN EGYPTIAN PHYSICIAN. BY GEORGE, A PHYSICIAN OF ANTIOCH.
WHOEVER has recourse to thee
Can hope for health no more:
He’s launched into perdition’s sea,
A sea without a shore.
Where’er admission thou canst gain,
Where’er thy phiz can pierce,
At once the Doctor they retain,
The mourners and the hearse.
[p. 152]
¶ TO A LITTLE MAN WITH A VERY LARGE BEARD. BY ISAAC BEN KHALIF.
HOW can thy chin that burden bear?
Is it all gravity to shock?
Is it to make the people stare,
And be thyself a laughing-stock?
When I behold thy little feet
After thy beard obsequious run,
I always fancy that I meet
Some father followed by his son.
A man like thee scarce e’er appeared;
A beard like thine, where shall we find it?
Surely thou cherishest thy beard,
In hopes to hide thyself behind it!
[p. 153]
¶ LAMIAT ALAJEM. BY MAUID EDDIN ALHASSAN ABU ISMAEL ALTOGRAI.
[THE scene lies in the desert, where the poet is supposed to he travelling along with a caravan. The time is midnight, and while he is kept awake by his sorrows, his fellow-travellers are slumbering around him.
The author opens the poem with a panegyric upon his own integrity, and the magnanimity he has shown under various misfortunes; these he is proceeding to recount, when he seems suddenly struck with the sight of a friend lying asleep at some distance from him. The poet adjures this friend to arise, and accompany him in an enterprise, the object of which was to visit a lady, whose habitation was in the neighbourhood. Fired with the idea of his mistress, he breaks forth into a description of the happiness of those who are admitted to her society, and resolves that nothing shall divert him from his purpose. His friend, however, appearing unmoved by his solicitations, he at length gives up his intention in despair, and after many bitter invectives against cowardice and sloth, returns to the subject of his misfortunes, and concludes the poem with an ardent exhortation to mistrust mankind, and in every contingence to rely solely upon our own prudence and fortitude.]
NO kind supporting hand I meet,
But Fortitude shall stay my feet;
No borrowed splendours round me shine,
But Virtue’s lustre all is mine:
A fame unsullied still I boast,
Obscured, concealed, but never lost—
The same bright orb that led the day
Pours from the west his mellowed ray.
[p. 154]
Zaura, farewell! No more I see
Within thy walls a home for me;
Deserted, spurned, aside I’m tossed,
As an old sword whose scabbard’s lost:
Around thy walls I seek in vain,
Some bosom that will soothe my pain—
No friend is near to breathe relief,
Or brother to partake my grief.
For many a melancholy day
Through desert vales I’ve wound my way;
The faithful beast whose back I press
In groans laments her lord’s distress;
In every quivering of my spear
A sympathetic sigh I hear;
The camel, bending with his load,
And struggling through the thorny road,
Midst the fatigues that bear him down,
In Hassan’s woes forgets his own;—
Yet cruel friends my wanderings chide,
My sufferings slight, my toils deride.
Once wealth, I own, engrossed each thought;
There was a moment when I sought
The glittering stores Ambition claims
To feed the wants his fancy frames;
But now ’tis past: the changing day
Has snatched my high-built hopes away,
And bade this wish my labours close,—
Give me not riches, but repose.
[p. 155]
’Tis he! that mien my friend declares,
That stature, like the lance he bears;
I see that breast which ne’er contained
A thought by fear or folly stained,
Whose powers can every change obey,
In business grave, in trifles gay,
And formed each varying taste to please,
Can mingle dignity with ease.
What though, with magic influence, sleep
O’er every closing eyelid creep!
Though, drunk with its oblivious wine,
Our comrades on their bales recline,
My Selim’s trance I sure can break—
Selim, ’tis I, ’tis I who speak!
Dangers on every side impend,
And sleep’st thou, careless of thy friend?
Thou sleep’st, while every star from high
Beholds me with a wakeful eye;
Thou changest, ere the changeful Night
Hath streaked her fleeting robe with white.
’Tis Love that hurries me along,
I’m deaf to Fear’s repressive song;
The rocks of Idham I’ll ascend,
Though adverse darts each path defend,
And hostile sabres glitter there,
To guard the tresses of the fair.
Come, Selim, let us pierce the grove,
While night befriends, to seek my love. [p. 156 ]
The clouds of fragrance, as they rise,
Shall mark the place where Abla lies.
Around her tent my jealous foes,
Like lions, spread their watchful rows;
Amidst their bands her bower appears,
Embosomed in a wood of spears—
A wood still nourished by the dews
Which smiles and softest looks diffuse.
Thrice happy youths! who midst yon shades
Sweet converse hold with Idham’s maids!
What bliss to view them gild the hours,
And brighten Wit and Fancy’s powers,
While every foible they disclose
New transport gives, new graces shows!
’Tis theirs to raise with conscious art
The flames of love in every heart;
’Tis yours to raise with festive glee
The flames of hospitality:
Smit by their glances lovers lie,
And helpless sink, and hopeless die;
While, slain by you, the stately steed
To crown the feast is doomed to bleed—
To crown the feast, where copious flows
The sparkling juice that soothes your woes,
That lulls each care and heals each wound,
As the enlivening bowl goes round.
Amidst those vales my eager feet
Shall trace my Abla’s dear retreat; [p. 157 ]
A gale of health may hover there,
To breathe some solace to my care.
I fear not Love—I bless the dart
Sent in a glance to pierce the heart:
With willing breast the sword I hail
That wounds me through a half-closed veil;
Though lions, howling round the shade,
My footsteps haunt, my walks invade,
No fears shall drive me from the grove,
If Abla listen to my love.
Ah, Selim! shall the spells of ease
Thy friendship chain, thine ardour freeze?
Wilt thou, enchanted thus, decline
Each generous thought, each bold design?
Then far from men some cell prepare,
Or build a mansion in the air;
But yield to us ambition’s tide
Who fearless on its waves can ride;—
Enough for thee, if thou receive
The scattered spray the billows leave.
Contempt and want the wretch await
Who slumbers in an abject state—
Midst rushing crowds, by toil and pain,
The meed of Honour we must gain;
At Honour’s call, the camel hastes
Through trackless wilds and dreary wastes,
Till in the glorious race she find
The fleetest coursers left behind: [p. 158 ]
By toils like these alone, he cries,
Th’ adventurous youths to greatness rise:
If bloated indolence were fame,
And pompous ease our noblest aim,
The orb that regulates the day
Would ne’er from Aries’ mansion stray.
I’ve bent at Fortune’s shrine too long;
Too oft she heard my suppliant tongue;
Too oft has mocked my idle prayers,
While fools and knaves engrossed her cares;
Awake for them, asleep to me,
Heedless of worth she scorned each plea.
Ah! had her eyes, more just, surveyed
The different claims which each displayed,
Those eyes, from partial fondness free,
Had slept to them, and waked for me.
But midst my sorrows and my toils,
Hope ever soothed my breast with smiles;
Her hand removed each gathering ill,
And oped life’s closing prospects still.
Yet spite of all her friendly art,
The specious scene ne’er gained my heart:
I loved it not, although the day,
Met my approach, and cheered my way;
I loath it, now the hours retreat,
And fly me with reverted feet.
My soul, from every tarnish free,
May boldly vaunt her purity; [p. 159 ]
But ah, how keen, however bright
The sabre glitter to the sight,
Its splendour’s lost, its polish vain,
Till some bold hand the steel sustain.
Why have my days been stretched by Fate
To see the vile and vicious great,
While I, who led the race so long,
Am last and meanest of the throng?
Ah, why has Death so long delayed
To wrap me in his friendly shade?—
Left me to wander thus alone,
When all my heart held dear is gone!
But let me check these fretful sighs—
Well may the base above me rise,
When yonder planets, as they run,
Mount in the sky above the sun.
Resigned I bow to Fate’s decree,
Nor hope his laws will change for me:
Each shifting scene, each varying hour,
But proves the ruthless tyrant’s power.
But though with ills unnumbered cursed,
We owe to faithless man the worst;
For man can smile with specious art,
And plant a dagger in the heart.
He only’s fitted for the strife
Which fills the boist’rous paths of life,
Who, as he treads the crowded scenes,
Upon no kindred bosom leans. [p. 160 ]
Too long my foolish heart had deemed
Mankind as virtuous as they seemed;
The spell is broke, their faults are bare,
And now I see them as they are:
Truth from each tainted breast has flown,
And Falsehood marks them all her own.
Incredulous I listen now
To every tongue and every vow,
For still there yawns a gulf between
Those honeyed words and what they mean.
With honest pride elate I see
The sons of Falsehood shrink from me,
As from the right line’s even way
The biassed curves deflecting stray.—
But what avails it to complain?
With souls like theirs reproof is vain;
If honour e’er such bosoms share,
The sabre’s point must fix it there.
But why exhaust life’s vapid bowl,
And suck the dregs with sorrow foul,
When long ere this my youth has drained
Whatever zest the cup contained?
Why should we mount upon the wave
And ocean’s yawning horrors brave,
When we may swallow from the flask
Whate’er the wants of mortals ask?
Contentment’s realms no fears invade,
No cares annoy, no sorrows shade; [p. 161 ]
There, placed secure, in peace we rest,
Nor aught demand to make us blest.
While Pleasure’s gay fantastic bower,
The splendid pageant of an hour,
Like yonder meteor in the skies,
Flits with a breath, no more to rise.
As through life’s various walks we’re led,
May Prudence hover o’er our head!
May she our words, our actions guide,
Our faults correct, our secrets hide!
May she, where’er our footsteps stray,
Direct our paths and clear the way!
Till, every scene of tumult past,
She bring us to repose at last—
Teach us to love that peaceful shore,
And roam through Folly’s wilds no more!
[p. 162]
¶ TO YOUTH. BY EBN ALRABIA, IN HIS OLD AGE.
YES, Youth, thou’rt fled, and I am left,
Like yonder desolated bower,
By Winter’s ruthless hand bereft
Of every leaf and every flower.
With heaving heart and streaming eyes,
I wooed thee to prolong thy stay,
But vain were all my tears and sighs—
Thou only fled’st more fast away.
Yet though thou fled’st away so fast,
I can recall thee if I will;
For I can talk of what is past,
And while I talk, enjoy thee still.
[p. 163]
¶ ON LOVE. BY ABU ALI, THE MATHEMATICIAN.
[ABU ALI flourished in Egypt about a.h. 530, and was equally celebrated as a mathematician and as a poet. In the following odd composition he seems to have united these two discordant characters.]
I NEVER knew a sprightly fair
That was not dear to me;
And freely I my heart could share
With every one I see.
It is not this or that alone
On whom my choice would fall:
I do not more incline to one
Than I incline to all.
The circle’s bounding line are they;
Its centre is my heart;
My ready love, the equal ray
That flows to every part.
[p. 164]
¶ A REMONSTRANCE WITH A DRUNKARD. BY YAHIA BEN SALAMET.
[THIS author was a native of Syria, and died at Miafarakir, in the year of the Hejra 553.]
AS drenched in wine, the other night,
Zeid from the banquet sallied,
Thus I reproved his drunken plight,
Thus he my prudence rallied:
“In beverage so impure and vile
How canst thou thus delight?”
“My cups,” he answered, with a smile,
“Are generous and bright.”
“Beware those dangerous draughts,” I cried;
“With love the goblet flows.”
“And cursed is he,” the youth replied,
“Who hatred only knows!”
“Those cups too soon, with sickness fraught,
Thy stomach shall deplore.”
“Then soon,” he cried, "the noxious draught
And all its ills are o’er.”
“Rash youth! thy guilty joys resign”—
“I will,” at length he said:
“I vow I’ll bid adieu to wine—
As soon as I am dead!”
[p. 165]
¶ VERSES ADDRESSED BY THE KHALIF ALMOKTAFI LIAMRILLAH TO A LADY, WHO PRETENDED A PASSION FOR HIM IN HIS OLD AGE.
THOUGH such unbounded love you swear,
’Tis only art I see:
Can I believe that one so fair
Should ever doat on me?
Say that you hate, and freely show
That Age displeases Youth;
And I may love you, when I know
That you can tell the truth.
[p. 166]
¶ ON PROCRASTINATION. BY HEBAT ALLAH IBN ALTALMITH.
YOUTH is a drunken, noisy hour,
With every folly fraught;
But man, by Age’s chastening power,
Is sobered into thought.
Then we resolve our faults to shun,
And shape our course anew;
But ere the wise reform’s begun,
Life closes on our view.
The travellers thus, who wildly roam,
Or heedlessly delay,
Are left, when they should reach their home,
Benighted on the way.
[p. 167]
¶ ON THE EARLY DEATH OF ABU ALHASSAN ALI,
SON OF THE KHALIF ALNASSAR LEDIN ALLAH. BY CAMAL EDDIN BEN ALNABIT.
SOON hast thou run the race of life,
Nor could our tears thy speed control:
Still in the coursers’ gen’rous strife
The best will soonest reach the goal.
As Death upon his hand turns o’er
The different gems the world displays,
He seizes first, to swell his store,
The brightest jewel he surveys.
Thy name, by every breath conveyed,
Stretched o’er the globe its boundless flight;
Alas! in eve the length’ning shade
But lengthens to be lost in night!
If gracious Allah bade thee close
Thy youthful eyes so soon on day,
’Tis that he readiest welcomes those
Who love him best, and best obey.
[p. 168]
¶ THE INTERVIEW. A SONG IN THE RHYTHM OF THE ORIGINAL, WITH THE MUSIC ANNEXED.
[THE music to this little piece was written down, by a friend, from, the singing of David Zamir, a native of Bagdad, who resided with the translator for some time at Cambridge.]
DARKNESS closed around, loud the tempest drove,
When through yonder glen I saw my lover rove,
Dearest youth!
Soon he reached our cot, weary, wet, and cold,
But warmth, wine, and I to cheer his spirits strove,
Dearest youth!
“How, my love,” cried I, "durst thou hither stray
Through the gloom, nor fear the ghosts that haunt the grove,
Dearest youth?”
“In this heart,” said he, "fear no seat can find,
When each thought is filled alone with thee and love,
Dearest maid!”
¶ Footnotes
134:* i.e.—The Wolf. ↩︎
142:* Nedham, in Arabic, signifies a string of pearls. ↩︎
146:* A wicked angel, who is permitted to tempt mankind by teaching them magic: see the legend respecting him in Sale’s Korān. ↩︎
146:† The poet here alludes to the punishments denounced in the Koran against those who worship a plurality of gods: “their couch shall be in hell, and over them shall be coverings of fire.” Sur. 2. ↩︎