Antar began to laugh. "By the faith of an Arab," he said to Hadifah, "you will be beaten. Are words so scarce that you are obliged to use exactly those of Cais? But as a matter of fact Cais is a king, the son of a king; he ought always to be imitated by others, and since you have followed, word by word, his speech, it is a proof that your horse will follow his in the desert."
At these words the heart of Hadifah swelled with rage and indignation, and he swore with an oath that he would not let his horse run that day, but that he wished the race to take place at sunrise, next morning. This delay was indispensable to him in preparing the act of perfidy which he meditated, for he had no sooner seen Dahir than he was speechless with astonishment at the beauty and perfections of the horse.
The judges had already dismounted and the horsemen of the various tribes were preparing to return home, when Shidoub began to cry out with a loud voice, "Tribes of Abs, of Adnan, of Fazarah and of Dibyan, and all here present attend to me for an instant, and listen to words which shall be repeated from generation to generation." All the warriors stood motionless. "Speak on," they cried, "what is your will? Perhaps there may be something good in your words." "Illustrious Arabs," continued Shidoub, "you know what happened in consequence of the match between Dahir and Ghabra: I assure you on my life that I will outstrip both of them in running, even were they swifter than the wind. But listen to the condition I offer; if I am the winner, I am to take the hundred camels which are at stake; but if I am beaten, I am to forfeit fifty." Upon this one of the Sheiks of Fazarah exclaimed, "What is that you are saying, vile slave? Why should you receive a hundred camels if you win and only forfeit fifty if you lose?" "Do you ask why, ancient mire of a dunghill," replied Shidoub, "because I have but two legs to run on and a horse has four, not counting his tail." All the Arabs burst out laughing; yet as they were astonished at the conditions proposed by Shidoub, and extremely curious to see him run the race, they agreed that he should make the hazardous experiment.
When all had returned to the tents Antar said to Shidoub: "Come, now, thou son of a cursed mother, how dared thou say that thou couldst outstrip these two horses, whose race all horsemen of our tribes have assembled to see, and who all the world admits have no equals in speed, not even among the birds of the air?" "By him who created the springs in the rocks and who knows all things," replied Shidoub, "I will outstrip those two horses, be they fleet as the winds. Yes, and my victory will have an advantageous result, for when the Arabs hear of it, they will give up all idea of pursuing me, when I run across the desert." Antar laughed, for he was in doubt about Shidoub's plan. The latter went to find King Cais and his brothers, and the other witnesses of the race, and made oath on his life that he would outstrip the two horses. All present acknowledged themselves witnesses of the oath, and left the spot, filled with astonishment at the proposition.
As for the trickster Hadifah, in the evening he summoned one of his slaves named Dames, a rascal, if ever there was one. "O Dames," he said, "you frequently boast of your cunning, but hitherto I have had no opportunity of putting it to the proof." "My Lord," answered the slave, "tell me in what way I can be useful to you." "I desire," said Hadifah, "that you go and post yourself in the great pass. Remain in this place, and go and hide yourself there in the morning. Watch the horses well, and see if Dahir is in advance. If he is, show yourself suddenly, strike him on the head, and cause him to stop, so that Ghabra may outstrip him, and we may not incur the disgrace of defeat. For I confess that since I have seen Dahir, his excellent points have made me doubt the superiority of Ghabra, and I fear my mare will be beaten, and we shall become the laughing stock of all the Arabs." "But, sir, how shall I distinguish Dahir from Ghabra when they advance, both of them wrapped in a cloud of dust?" Hadifah replied, "I am going to give you a sign, and to explain how the matter may be free from difficulty." As he spoke he picked up some stones from the ground and said: "Take these stones with you at sunrise, begin to count them, and throw them to the earth, four at a time. You must repeat the operation five times, and the last time Ghabra will arrive. That is the calculation I have made, so that if a cloud of dust presents itself to you, and some of the stones, a third or a half of them, still remain in your hand, you may be sure that Dahir has gained first place, and is before your eyes. You must then hurl a stone at his head, as I said, and stop his running, so that my mare may gain the lead." The slave agreed to do so. He provided himself with stones and went to hide himself at the great pass, and Hadifah felt confident of gaining the wager.
At the dawn of day, the Arabs, coming from all quarters, were assembled on the race ground. The judges gave the signal for the start, and the two riders uttered loud shouts. The racers started like flashes of lightning which dazzle the sight and seemed like the wind when, as it blows, it increases in fury. Ghabra passed ahead of Dahir and distanced him. "Now you are lost, my brother of the tribe of Abs," cried the Fazarean groom to the Absian, "try and console yourself for this defeat." "You lie," retorted the Absian, "and in a few moments you will see how completely you are mistaken. Wait till we have passed this uneven ground. Mares always travel faster on rough roads than on smooth country." And so it happened, for when they arrived in the plain, Dahir shot forward like a giant, leaving a trail of dust behind him. It seemed as if he went on wings, not legs; in the twinkling of an eye he had outstripped Ghabra. "Here," cried the Absian to the Fazarean groom, "send a messenger from me to the family of Beder, and you yourself drink the bitter cup of patience behind me." Meanwhile Shidoub, swift as the north wind, kept ahead of Dahir, bounding like a fawn and running like an ostrich, until he reached the defile where Dames was hidden. The slave had only thrown down less than a third of his pebbles, when he looked up and saw Dahir approaching.
He waited till the horse passed close by him, and suddenly showed himself with a shout, and hit the racer violently between the eyes with a stone. The horse reared, stopped one moment, and the rider was on the point of being unseated. Shidoub was a witness to the incident, and having looked at the slave, recognized him as belonging to the treacherous Hadifah. In the violence of his rage he flung himself upon Dames, and struck him dead with his sword: then he approached Dahir for the purpose of speaking soothingly to him, and starting him again on the race; but, alas, the mare Ghabra rushed up like the wind. Then Shidoub, fearing defeat, thinking of the camels he would forfeit, set out running at full speed towards the lake, where he arrived two bow-shots in advance of the horses. Ghabra followed, then Dahir last, bearing on his forehead the mark of the missile; his cheeks were covered with blood and tears.
All the spectators were astounded on seeing the agility and endurance of Shidoub; but as soon as Ghabra had reached the finish the Fazareans uttered loud shouts of joy. Dahir was led home all bleeding, and his rider told the men of the tribe of Abs what the slave had done. Cais examined the wound of his horse and asked for full details of the occurrence. Antar grew crimson with anger, and laid his hand upon his invincible sword, as if impatient to annihilate the tribe of the Fazareans. But the sheiks restrained him, although with difficulty, after which they went to Hadifah to cover him with shame, and to reproach him with the infamous deed he had done. Hadifah denied it, with false oaths, affirming that he knew nothing of the blow dealt to Dahir; then he added, "I demand the camels which are due to me, and I do not admit the treacherous pretext on which they are being withheld."
"That blow is doubtless of evil augury for the tribe of Fazarah," said Cais. "God will certainly give us victory and triumph, and destroy them. For Hadifah only desired this race to take place in order that it might cause trouble and discord, and the disturbance which this contest is sure to excite will stir up one tribe against another, so that there will be many men killed, and children made orphans." The conversation which followed among the tribesmen became more and more excited, confusion followed, shouts rang out on all sides, and drawn swords flashed. Bloodshed would have resulted had not the sheiks and wise men dismounted and with bared heads mingled with the crowd, with humble mien, imploring them, until at last the matter was settled as harmoniously as possible. It was agreed that Shidoub should receive the amount of the wager—a hundred camels from the tribe of Fazarah, and that Hadifah should abandon his claims and refrain from all dispute. Such were the measures taken to extinguish the hostility and disorder which threatened to burst out among the tribes. Then the different families retired to their own dwellings, but the hearts of all were filled with bitter hatred. One whose resentment seemed keenest was Hadifah, especially when he learned of the slave Dames's death. As for Cais, he was also filled with mute rage and intense hatred. Yet Antar tried to reassure him. "King," he said to him, "do not let your heart be a prey to mortification; for I swear by the tomb of King Zoheir, your father, that I will cause disgrace and infamy to fall on Hadifah, and it is only from regard for you that I have up to this time delayed action." Soon after all returned to their tents.
The following morning Shidoub killed twenty of the camels he had won the day before, and caused the meat to be distributed among the widows and those who had been wounded and crippled in war. He slaughtered twenty others, which he used in entertaining the tribe of Abs, including women and slaves. Finally, the next day, he killed the rest of the camels and made a great feast near the lake Zatalirsad, to which he invited the sons of King Zoheir and his noblest chieftains. At the end of this banquet, when the wine circulated among the guests, all praised the behavior of Shidoub. But the news of the camel slaughter and of all the feasting was soon known to the tribe of Fazarah. All the enraged tribesmen hastened to seek Hadifah. "What," said they, "while we were first in the race, slaves and traitorous Absians have eaten our camels! Send for an equal number of camels, by all means; but if he refuses them let us make a terrible war upon the Absians."
Hadifah raised his eyes upon his son Abou-Firacah. "Mount horse at once," he said to him, "and go and say to Cais: my father says that you must this instant pay the wager, or he will come and seize the amount by main force, and will bring trouble upon you." There was then present a chief among the sheiks, who, hearing the order that Hadifah had given to his son, said: "O Hadifah, are you not ashamed to send such a message to the tribe of the Absians? Are they not our kindred and allies? Does this proposal harmonize with the counsel and desire of allaying dissensions? The genuine man shows gratitude for generosity and kindness. I think it quite reasonable to expect that you desist from this perverse mood, which will end in our total extermination. Cais has shown himself quite impartial and has done wrong to no one; cherish, therefore, peace with the horsemen of the tribe of Abs. Take warning from what happened to the slave Dames; he struck Dahir, the horse of King Cais, and God punished him at once; he is left bathed in his slavish blood. I beg you to listen to none but wise counsels; act nobly, and abandon base designs. While you are thus forewarned as to your situation, keep a prudent eye on your affairs." This discourse rendered Hadifah furious. "Contemptible sheik! Dog of a traitor!" he exclaimed. "What! Must I be in fear of Cais and the whole tribe of the Absians? By the faith of an Arab, I will let all men of honor know that if Cais refuse to send the camels I will not leave one of his tents standing." The sheik was indignant, and to increase the fear he would cast into the heart of Hadifah he spoke to him in verses, to the following effect: "Insult is cowardliness, for it takes by surprise him who is not expecting it, as the night enwraps those who wander in the desert. When the sword shall once be drawn look out for blows. Be just and do not clothe thyself with dishonor. Enquire of those who know the fate of Themond and his tribe, when they committed acts of rebellion and tyranny. They will tell you that a command of God from on high destroyed them in one night, and on the morrow they lay scattered on the ground, their eyes turned towards the sky."
Hadifah dissembled his contempt for these verses and the sheik who had pronounced them, but he ordered his son to go at once to Cais. Abou-Firacah started for the tribe of Abs, and as soon as he arrived there repaired to the home of Cais, who was absent. The messenger asked then for his wife Modelilah, the daughter of Rebia. "What do you desire of my husband?" she asked. "I demand my due, the prize of the horse race." "Misfortune take you and that which you demand," she replied. "Son of Hadifah! Do you not fear the consequences of such perfidy? If Cais were here he would send you to your death, instantly." Abou-Firacah returned to his father, to whom he told all that the wife of Cais had said "What, you coward," shouted Hadifah, "do you come back without completing your errand? Are you afraid of the daughter of Rebia? Go to him again."
As Abou-Firacah reminded his father that it was now near night-fall, the message was postponed until the next day. As for Cais, when he re-entered his home, he learned from his wife that Abou-Firacah had come to ask for the camels. "By the faith of an Arab," he said, "if I had been here I would have slain him. But the matter is closed; let us think no more of it." Yet King Cais passed the night in grief and annoyance until sunrise, at which time he betook himself to his tent Antar came to see him. Cais rose, and making him take a seat, mentioned the name of Hadifah. "Would you believe he had the shamelessness to send his son to demand the camels of me? Ah, if I had been present I would have slain the messenger." Scarcely had he finished uttering these words when Abou-Firacah presented himself on horseback. Without dismounting, and uttering no word of salutation or preface, he said: "Cais, my father desires that you send him that which is his due; by so doing your conduct will be that of a generous man; but if you refuse, my father will come against you, carry off his property by force, and plunge you into misfortune."
On hearing these words Cais felt the light change to darkness before his eyes. "O thou son of a vile coward," he exclaimed "how is it that you are not more respectful in your address to me?" He seized a javelin and plunged it into the breast of Abou-Firacah. Pierced through, the young messenger lost control of his horse.—Antar dragged him down and flung him on the ground. Then, turning the horse's head away from the direction of Fazarah, he struck him on the flank with a holly-stick, and the horse took the road towards the pastures, and finally entered his stable, all covered with blood. The shepherds at once led him to the tents, crying out, "Misfortune! Misfortune!"
Hadifah became furious. He smote upon his breast, repeating the words: "Tribe of Fazarah, to arms, to arms, to arms!" and all the disaffected came to Hadifah once more, begging him to declare war on the Absians, and to take vengeance on them. "Kinsmen!" replied Hadifah, with alacrity, "let none of us sleep to-night without our armor on." And so it happened.
At break of day Hadifah was on horseback; the warriors were ready, and only women and children and the feeble were left in the tents. Cais, on the other hand, after slaying Abou-Firacah, expected that the Fazareans would come and attack himself and his warriors; he therefore prepared for battle. Antar was charged with taking the necessary reconnoitre. He left in the tents only women, children, and those too feeble to bear the sword; then he put himself in command of the heroes of Carad. Nothing could be more brilliant than the ranks of the Absians in their coats of mail and gleaming weapons. These preparations caused an anxious moment for both parties. They marched forth against each other, and the sun had scarcely appeared, before scimitars flashed, and the whole country was in a turmoil.
Antar was impatient to press forward, and satisfy his thirst for battle; but, lo! Hadifah, dressed in a black robe, advances, his heart broken by the death of his son. "Son of Zoheir," he cried to Cais, "it is a base action to slay a child; but it is good to meet in battle, to decide with these lances which shall predominate, you or me." These words cut Cais to the quick. Hurried along by passion he left his standard and rushed against Hadifah. Then the two chiefs, spurred on by mutual hatred, fought together on their noble chargers, until nightfall. Cais was mounted on Dahir, and Hadifah on Ghabra. In the course of this combat the exploits of the past were eclipsed. Each tribe despaired of his chieftain's safety, and they were eager to make a general attack, in order to stop the struggle of the chieftains and the fury with which they contended. Cries began to be heard in the air. Scimitars were drawn, and lances advanced over the ears of Arabian chargers. Antar approached certain Absian chiefs and said, "Let us attack the traitors." He prepared to charge, when the ancients of the two tribes came forth into the middle of the plain, with heads uncovered, their feet bared, and their idols hung from their shoulders. Standing between the two armies they spoke as follows: "Kinsmen and allies, in the name of that harmony which has hitherto prevailed among us, let us do nothing that will make us the byword of our slaves. Let us not furnish our enemies with ground for reproaching us. Let us forget all matter of dispute and dissension. Let us not turn wives into widows and our children into orphans. Satisfy your warlike ardor by attacking those among the Arabs who are your real foes; and you, kinsmen of Fazarah, show yourselves more humble and less haughty, towards your brethren the Absians. Above all, forget not that insolent wrong has often caused the destruction of many tribes, which have had sore reason to regret their impious actions; in this way many men have been deprived of their possessions, and a vast number been plunged into the gulf of despair and regret. Expect the fatal hour of death, the day of dissolution, for it is upon you. You will be rent asunder by the threatening eagles of destruction, and enclosed in the dark prison-house of the tomb. Take care, that when your bodies are separated from life, men may think about you without any other memory than that of your virtues."
The sheiks talked together for a long time, and meanwhile the flame of passion which had been kindled in the soul of the two heroes, Cais and Hadifah, became quenched. Hadifah withdrew from the fight, and it was agreed that Cais should pay as the price of Abou-Firacah's blood a quantity of cattle and a string of camels. The sheiks did not wish even then to quit the field of battle until Cais and Hadifah embraced each other and had agreed to all the arrangements. Antar was crimson with rage. "O King Cais," he exclaimed, "what have you done? What! while our swords flash in our hands shall the tribe of Fazarah exact a price for the blood of its dead? And we never be able to obtain retaliation excepting with our spear points! The blood of our dead is shed, and shall we not avenge it?" Hadifah was beside himself on hearing these words. "And you, vile bastard," said Antar to him, "you son of a vile mother, must your honor be purchased at the expense of our disgrace? But for the presence of these noble sheiks I would annihilate you and all your people this very instant."
Then Hadifah's indignation and anger overleaped all bounds. "By the faith of an Arab," he said to the sheiks, "I wish to hear no talk of peace at the moment that the enemy is ready to spear me." "Do not talk in that way, dear son of my mother," said Haml to his brother. "Do not dart away on the path of imprudence; abandon these gloomy resolutions. Remain in peace with the allies of the Absians, for they are shining stars: the burnished sun that guides all Arabs who love glory. It was but the other day that you wronged them by causing the horse Dahir to be wounded, and thus erred from the path of justice. As for your son, he was justly slain, for you had sent him to demand something that was not due you. After all, nothing is so proper as to make peace, for he who would seek and stir up war is a tyrant, and an oppressor. Accept therefore the compensation offered you, or you are likely to call up around us a fire which will burn us in the flames of hell." Haml concluded with verses of the following import: "By the truth of him who has rooted firm the mountains, without foundations, if you decline to accept the compensation offered by the Absians, you are in the wrong. They acknowledge Hadifah as their chief; be a chief in very deed, and be content with the cattle and camels offered you. Dismount from the horse of outrage, and mount it not again, for it will carry you to the sea of grief and calamity. Hadifah, renounce like a generous man, all violence, but particularly the idea of contending with the Absians. Make of them and of their leader a powerful rampart against the enemies that may attack us. Make of them friends that will remain faithful, for they are men of the noblest intentions. Such are the Absians, and if Cais has acted unjustly towards you, it is you who first set him the example some days ago."
When Haml finished these verses, the chiefs of the different tribes thanked him, and Hadifah having consented to accept the compensation offered, all the Arabs renounced violence and war. All who carried arms remained at home. Cais sent to Hadifah two hundred camels, six men-slaves, ten women-slaves, and ten horses. Thus peace was reestablished and every one rested in tranquillity throughout the land.
[Translation by J.D. Carlyle]
The essential qualities of Arabian poetry appear in the "Romance of Antar," and the tales of the "Thousand and One Nights." For such a blending of prose and verse is the favorite form of Arabian literature in its highest and severest form, even in the drama. But the character of the people is most clearly shown in the lyrical poems of the Bedouin country. The pastoral poetry of the peninsula is so local in its allusions that it cannot adequately be translated into English. It is in the lyrics that we find that "touch of nature which makes the whole world kin." The gorgeousness of Hindoo literature, with its lavish description of jewelry and gold, precious stones and marbles, hideous demons, and mighty gods, is not to be looked for in Arabia. There the horizon is clear, and the plain has nothing but human occupants. The common passions of men are the only powers at work; love, war, sorrow, and wine, are the subjects of these little songs, some of which might have been written by "Anacreon" Moore, and others by Catullus. The influence of Greek poetry is indeed manifest in these light and sometimes frivolous effusions. The sweetness and grace which distinguish some are only equalled by the wit of others. For wit is the prevailing characteristic of Arabian poetry, which is attractive for its cleverness, its brightness, the alternate smiles and tears which shine through it, and make the present selections so refreshing and interesting a revelation of the national heart and intellect.
I use the word refreshing, because some of the imagery of these lyrics is new to me, and quite unparalleled in European literature. What can be more novel, and at the same time more charming than the following simile, with which a short elegy concludes:—
"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 plainHis vivifying smiles remain."
The praise of a humble lot has been sung from Háfiz to Horace, but never illustrated by a prettier conceit than the Arabic poet has recourse to in this stanza:—
"Not always wealth, not always forceA splendid destiny commands;The lordly vulture gnaws the corseThat rots upon yon barren sands.
"Nor want nor weakness still conspiresTo bind us to a sordid state;The fly that with a touch expires,Sips honey from the royal plate."
This is undoubtedly a very original way of stating the philosophic axiom of the Augustan poet,
"The lord of boundless revenues,Do not salute as happy."
I have spoken of the wit of these verses, which is certainly one of their distinguishing qualities. It is quite Attic in its flavor and exquisitely delicate in its combined good-humor and freedom from rancor. An epigram, according to the old definition, should be like a bee; it should carry the sweetness of honey, although it bears a sting at the end. Sometimes the end has a point which does not sting, as in the following quatrain of an Arabic poet:—
"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."
Martial himself could not have excelled the wit of an epigram addressed to a very little man who wore a very big beard, which thus concludes:—
"Surely thou cherishest thy beardIn hope to hide thyself behind it."
To study a literature like that of the Arabians, even partially and in a translation, is one of those experiences which enlarge and stimulate the mind and expand its range of impressions with a distinctly elevating and liberalizing effect. It has the result of genuine education, in that it increases our capacity for sympathy for other peoples, making us better acquainted with the language in which they reveal that common human heart which they share with us.
Those dear abodes which once contain'd the fair,Amidst Mitata's wilds I seek in vain,Nor towers, nor tents, nor cottages are there,But scatter'd ruins and a silent plain.
The proud canals that once Rayana grac'd,Their course neglected and their waters gone,Among the level'd sands are dimly trac'd,Like moss-grown letters on a mouldering stone.
Rayana say, how many a tedious yearIts hallow'd circle o'er our heads hath roll'd,Since to my vows thy tender maids gave ear,And fondly listened to the tale I told?
How oft, since then, the star of spring, that poursA never-failing stream, hath drenched thy head?How oft, the summer cloud in copious showersOr gentle drops its genial influence shed?
How oft since then, the hovering mist of mornHath caus'd thy locks with glittering gems to glow?How oft hath eve her dewy treasures borneTo fall responsive to the breeze below?
The matted thistles, bending to the gale,Now clothe those meadows once with verdure gay;Amidst the windings of that lonely valeThe teeming antelope and ostrich stray.
The large-eyed mother of the herd that fliesMan's noisy haunts, here finds a sure retreat,Here watches o'er her young, till age suppliesStrength to their limbs and swiftness to their feet.
Save where the swelling stream hath swept those wallsAnd giv'n their deep foundations to the light(As the retouching pencil that recallsA long-lost picture to the raptur'd sight).
Save where the rains have wash'd the gathered sandAnd bared the scanty fragments to our view,(As the dust sprinkled on a punctur'd handBids the faint tints resume their azure hue).
No mossy record of those once lov'd seatsPoints out the mansion to inquiring eyes;No tottering wall, in echoing sounds, repeatsOur mournful questions and our bursting sighs.
Yet, midst those ruin'd heaps, that naked plain,Can faithful memory former scenes restore,Recall the busy throng, the jocund train,And picture all that charm'd us there before.
Ne'e shall my heart the fatal morn forgetThat bore the fair ones from these seats so dear—I see, I see the crowding litters yet,And yet the tent-poles rattle in my ear.
I see the maids with timid steps descend,The streamers wave in all their painted pride,The floating curtains every fold extend,And vainly strive the charms within to hide.
What graceful forms those envious folds enclose!What melting glances thro' those curtains play!Sure Weira's antelopes, or Tudah's roesThro' yonder veils their sportive young survey!
The band mov'd on—to trace their steps I strove,I saw them urge the camel's hastening flight,Till the white vapor, like a rising grove,Snatch'd them forever from my aching sight.
Nor since that morn have I Nawara seen,The bands are burst which held us once so fast,Memory but tells me that such things have been,And sad Reflection adds, that they are past.
Lebid Ben Rabiat Alamary.
[1] The author of this poem was a native of Yemen. He was contemporary with Mohammed and was already celebrated as a poet when the prophet began to promulgate his doctrines. Lebid embraced Islamism and was one of the most aggressive helpers in its establishment. He fixed his abode in the city of Cufa, where he died at a very advanced age. This elegy, as is evident, was written previous to Lebid's conversion to Islamism. Its subject is one that must be ever interesting to the feeling mind—the return of a person after a long absence to the place of his birth—in fact it is the Arabian "Deserted Village."
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 Honor sleep,Beneficence, that used to claspThe world within her ample grasp.
There rests entomb'd—of thought bereft—For were one conscious atom leftNew bliss, new kindness to display,'Twould burst the grave, and seek the day.
But tho' in dust thy relics lie,Thy virtues, Mano, ne'er shall die;Tho' Nile's full stream be seen no more,That spread his waves from shore to shore,Still in the verdure of the plainHis vivifying smiles remain.
Hassan Alasady.
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 doom'd thy loss to mournWhen gathering ills around combine;And whither now shall Malec turn,Where look for any help but thine?
At this dread moment when the foeMy 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 feltIntenser pangs and livelier grief.
The bud of woe no more represt,Fed by the tears that drench'd it there,Shot forth and fill'd my laboring breastSoon to expand and shed despair.
But tho' of Sayid I'm bereft,From whom the stream of bounty came,Sayid a nobler meed has left—Th' exhaustless heritage of fame.
Tho' mute the lips on which I hung,Their silence speaks more loud to meThan any voice from mortal tongue,"What Sayid was let Malec be."
Abd Almalec Alharithy.
[2] Abd Almalec was a native of Arabia Felix. The exact period when he flourished is unknown, but as this production is taken from the Hamasa it is most probable that he was anterior to Mohammedanism.
Dost thou wonder that I flewCharm'd to meet my Leila's view?Dost thou wonder that I hungRaptur'd on my Leila's tongue?If her ghost's funereal screechThro' the earth my grave should reach,On that voice I lov'd so wellMy transported ghost would dwell:—If in death I can descryWhere my Leila's relics lie,Saher's dust will flee away,There to join his Leila's clay.
Abu Saher Alhedily.
[3] The sentiment contained in this production determines its antiquity. It was the opinion of the Pagan Arabs that upon the death of any person a bird, by them called Manah, issued from his brain, which haunted the sepulchre of the deceased, uttering a lamentable scream.
How frail are riches and their joys?Morn builds the heap which eve destroys;Yet can they have one sure delight—The thought that we've employed them right.
What bliss can wealth afford to meWhen life's last solemn hour I see,When Mavia's sympathizing sighsWill but augment my agonies?
Can hoarded gold dispel the gloomThat 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 lov'd to waste or save?The hand that millions now can grasp,In death no more than mine shall clasp.
Were I ambitious to beholdIncreasing stores of treasured gold,Each tribe that roves the desert knowsI might be wealthy if I chose:—
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 ceas'd to weep.
With brow unalter'd I can seeThe 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 foundTo look with scorn on those around;Nor for the loss of paltry ore,Shall Hatem seem to Hatem poor.
Hatem Tai.
[4] Hatem Tai was an Arabian chief, who lived a short time prior to the promulgation of Mohammedanism. He has been so much celebrated through the East for his generosity that even to this day the greatest encomium which can be given to a generous man is to say that he is as liberal as Hatem. Hatem was also a poet; but his talents were principally exerted in recommending his favorite virtue.
Sabla, them saw'st th' exulting foeIn fancied triumphs crown'd;Thou heard'st their frantic females throwThese 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 decideThe fortune we must meet?
"A brighter day we soon shall see,Tho' now the prospect lowers,And conquest, peace, and libertyShall gild our future hours."
The foe advanc'd:—in firm arrayWe rush'd o'er Sabla's sands,And the red sabre mark'd our wayAmidst their yielding bands.
Then, as they writh'd in death's cold grasp,We cried, "Our choice is made,These hands the sabre's hilt shall clasp,Your hearts shall have the blade."
Jaafer Ben Alba.
[5] This poem and the one following it are both taken from the Hamasa and afford curious instances of the animosity which prevailed amongst the several Arabian clans, and of the rancor with which they pursued each other, when once at variance.
Why thus to passion give the rein?Why seek your kindred tribe to wrong?Why strive to drag to light againThe fatal feud entomb'd so long?
Think not, if fury ye display,But equal fury we can deal;Hope not, if wrong'd, but we repayRevenge 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 not ask from foes,Nor favor hope from you to prove,We lov'd you not, great Allah knows,Nor blam'd 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 heav'n—Hating and hated by each other.
Alfadhel Ibn Alabas.
With conscious pride I view the bandOf faithful friends that round me stand,With pride exult that I aloneCan join these scatter'd gems in one:—For they're a wreath of pearls, and IThe silken cord on which they lie.
'Tis mine their inmost souls to see,Unlock'd 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 IThe silken cord on which they lie.
Meskin Aldaramy.
[6] These lines are also from the Hamasa.
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, tho' thy spirit's my pride,I'd wish for some sweetness to temper the bowl;If life be ne'er suffer'd to rest or subside,It may not be flat, but I fear 'twill be foul.
Nabegat Beni Jaid.
[7] There have been several Arabian poets of the name of Nabegat. The author of these verses was descended from the family of Jaid. As he died in the fortieth year of the Hegira, aged one hundred and twenty, he must have been fourscore at the promulgation of Islamism; he, however, declared himself an early convert to the new faith.
The russet suit of camel's hair,With spirits light, and eye serene,Is dearer to my bosom farThan all the trappings of a queen.
The humble tent and murmuring breezeThat whistles thro' its fluttering wall,My unaspiring fancy pleaseBetter than towers and splendid halls.
Th' attendant colts that bounding flyAnd frolic by the litter's side,Are dearer in Maisuna's eyeThan gorgeous mules in all their pride.
The watch-dog's voice that bays whene'erA stranger seeks his master's cot,Sounds sweeter in Maisuna's earThan yonder trumpet's long-drawn note.
The rustic youth unspoilt by art,Son of my kindred, poor but free,Will ever to Maisuna's heartBe dearer, pamper'd fool, than thee.
[8] Maisuma 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 Caliph Mowiah. But this exalted situation by no means suited the disposition of Maisuna, and amidst all the pomp and splendor of Damascus, she languished for the simple pleasures of her native desert.
Must then my failings from the shaftOf anger ne'er escape?And dost thou storm because I've quaff'dThe water of the grape?
That I can thus from wine be driv'nThou surely ne'er canst think—Another reason thou hast giv'nWhy 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.
Yezid.
[9] Yezid succeeded Mowiah in the Caliphate A.H. 60; and in most respects showed himself to be of a very different disposition from his predecessor. He was naturally cruel, avaricious, and debauched; but instead of concealing his vices from the eyes of his subjects, he seemed to make a parade of those actions which he knew no good Mussulman could look upon without horror; he drank wine in public, he caressed his dogs, and was waited upon by his eunuchs in sight of the whole court.
Not always wealth, not always forceA splendid destiny commands;The lordly vulture gnaws the corseThat rots upon yon barren sands.
Nor want, nor weakness still conspiresTo bind us to a sordid state;The fly that with a touch expiresSips honey from the royal plate.
Imam Shafay Mohammed Ben Idris.
[10] Shafay, the founder of one of the four orthodox sects into which the Mohammedans are divided, was a disciple of Malek Ben Ans, and master to Ahmed Ebn Hanbal; each of whom, like himself, founded a sect which is still denominated from the name of its author. The fourth sect is that of Abou Hanifah. This differs in tenets considerably from the three others, for whilst the Malekites, the Shafaites, and the Hanbalites are invariably bigoted to tradition in their interpretations of the Koran, the Hanifites consider themselves as at liberty in any difficulty to make use of their own reason.
Religion's gems can ne'er adornThe flimsy robe by pleasure worn;Its feeble texture soon would tear,And give those jewels to the air.
Thrice happy they who seek th' abodeOf peace and pleasure, in their God!Who spurn the world, its joys despise,And grasp at bliss beyond the skies.
Ibrahim Ben Adham.
[11] The author of this poem was a hermit of Syria, equally celebrated for his talents and piety. He was son to a prince of Khorasan, and born about the ninety-seventh year of the Hegira. This poem was addressed to the Caliph upon his undertaking a pilgrimage to Mecca.
Th' affrighted sun ere while he fled,And hid his radiant face in night;A cheerless gloom the world overspread—But Harun came, and all was bright.
Again the sun shoots forth his rays,Nature is deck'd in beauty's robe—For mighty Harun's sceptre sways,And Yahia's arm sustains the globe.
Isaac Almousely.
[12] Isaac Almousely is considered by the Orientals as the most celebrated musician that ever flourished in the world. He was born in Persia, but having resided almost entirely at Mousel, he is generally supposed to have been a native of that place.
No, Barmec! Time hath never shownSo sad a change of wayward fate;Nor sorrowing mortals ever knownA grief so true, a loss so great.
Spouse of the world! Thy soothing breastDid balm to every woe afford;And now no more by thee caress'd,The widow'd world bewails her Lord.
[13] The family of Barmec was one of the most illustrious in the East. They were descended from the ancient kings of Persia, and possessed immense property in various countries; they derived still more consequence from the favor which they enjoyed at the court of Bagdad, where, for many years, they filled the highest offices of the state with universal approbation.
A pair of right hands and a single dim eyeMust 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 chang'd to man.
[14] Taher Ben Hosien was ambidexter and one-eyed and, strange to say, the most celebrated general of his time.
The boatmen shout, "Tis time to part,No longer we can stay"—'Twas then Maimnna taught my heartHow much a glance could say.
With trembling steps to me she came;"Farewell," she would have cried,But ere her lips the word could frameIn half-form'd 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!"
Abou Mohammed.
[15] This was sung before the Caliph Wathek, by Abou Mohammed, a musician of Bagdad, as a specimen of his musical talents; and such were its effects upon the Caliph, that he immediately testified his approbation of the performance by throwing his own robe over the shoulders of Abou Mohammed, and ordering him a present of an hundred thousand dirhems.
Ungenerous and mistaken maid,To scorn me thus because I'm poor!Canst thou a liberal hand upbraidFor dealing round some worthless ore?
To spare's the wish of little souls,The great but gather to bestow;Yon current down the mountain rolls,And stagnates in the swamp below.
Abou Teman Habib.
[16] Abou Teman is considered the most excellent of all the Arabian poets. He was born near Damascus A.H. 190, and educated in Egypt; but the principal part of his life was spent at Bagdad, under the patronage of the Abasside Caliphs.
Come, Leila, fill the goblet up,Reach round the rosy wine,Think not that we will take the cupFrom 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.
Abd Alsalam Ben Ragban.
[17] Abd Alsalam was a poet more remarkable for abilities than morality. We may form an idea of the nature of his compositions from the nickname he acquired amongst his contemporaries of Cock of the Evil Genii. He died in the 236th year of the Hegira, aged near eighty.
Tenants of yon hallow'd fane!Let me your devotions share,There increasing raptures reign—None are ever sober there.
Crowded gardens, festive bowersNe'er shall claim a thought of mine;You can give in Khabbet's towers—Purer joys and brighter wine.
Tho' your pallid faces proveHow you nightly vigils keep,'Tis but that you ever loveFlowing goblets more than sleep.
Tho' your eye-balls dim and sunkStream in penitential guise,'Tis but that the wine you've drunkBubbles over from your eyes.
[18] The three following songs were written by Mashdud, Rakeek, and Rais, three of the most celebrated improvisators in Bagdad, at an entertainment given by Abou Isy.
Tho' the peevish tongues upbraid,Tho' the brows of wisdom scowl,Fair ones here on roses laid,Careless will we quaff the bowl.
Let the cup, with nectar crown'd,Thro' 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 expandO'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 hallow'd fane!
Rais:
Maid of sorrow, tell us whySad 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 aroundSelim's brows my bosom stung.
Destin'd now to keener woes,I must see the youth depart,He must go, and as he goesRend at once my bursting heart.
Slumber may desert my bed,Tis not slumber's charms I seek—'Tis the robe of beauty spreadO'er my Selim's rosy cheek.
When I beheld thy blue eyes shineThro' the bright drop that pity drew,I saw beneath those tears of thineA blue-ey'd violet bath'd in dew.
The violet ever scents the gale,Its hues adorn the fairest wreath,But sweetest thro' a dewy veilIts colors glow, its odors 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 thro' pity's flood they gleam,Who but must love their soften'd beam?
Ebn Alrumi.
[19] Ebn Alrumi is reckoned by the Arabian writers as one of the most excellent of all their poets. He was by birth a Syrian, and passed the greatest part of his time at Emessa, where he died A.H. 283.
So careful is Isa, and anxious to last,So afraid of himself is he grown,He swears thro' two nostrils the breath goes too fast,And he's trying to breathe thro' but one.
Ebn Alrumi.
"Hang her, a thoughtless, wasteful fool,She scatters corn where'er she goes"—Quoth Hassan, angry at his mule,That dropt a dinner to the crows.
Ebn Alrumi.
Poor Cassim! thou art doom'd to mournBy destiny's decree;Whatever happens it must turnTo misery for thee.
Two sons hadst thou, the one thy pride,The other was thy pest;Ah, why did cruel death decideTo 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.
Aly Ben Ahmed Ben Mansour.
[20] Aly Ben Ahmed distinguished himself in prose as well as poetry, and an historical work of considerable reputation, of which he was the author, is still extant. But he principally excelled in satire, and so fond was he of indulging this dangerous talent that no one escaped his lash; if he could only bring out a sarcasm, it was matter of indifference to him whether an enemy or a brother smarted under its severity. He died at Bagdad A.H. 302.
When born, in tears we saw thee drown'd,While thine assembled friends around,With smiles their joy confest;So live, that at thy parting hour,They may the flood of sorrow pour,And thou in smiles be drest!
[21] The thought contained in these lines, appears so natural and so obvious, that one wonders it did not occur to all who have attempted to write upon a birthday or a death.
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 tearThis morn I saw her steal away,While she went on without a fearExcept that she should miss her prey.
I saw her to the dove-house climb,With cautious feet and slow she steptResolv'd to balance loss of timeBy eating faster than she crept.
Her subtle foes were on the watch,And mark'd 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 suck'd their breath;Alas! she only got a fall,And only drank the draught of death.
Why, why was pigeons' flesh so nice,That thoughtless cats should love it thus?Hadst thou but liv'd on rats and mice,Thou hadst been living still, poor Puss.
Curst be the taste, howe'er refined,That prompts us for such joys to wish,And curst the dainty where we findDestruction lurking in the dish.
Ibn Alalaf Alnaharwany.
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.
Mohammed Ben Zeid Almotakalam.
[22] Mohammed Ben Arfa, here called Naphta-Wah, was descended from a noble family in Khorasan. He applied himself to study with indefatigable perseverance, and was a very voluminous author in several branches of literature, but he is chiefly distinguished as a grammarian. He died in the year of the Hegira 323.
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.
[23] This composition seems a fit supplement to the preceding one; notwithstanding its absurdity, however. It is inserted merely to show that this mode of trifling was not unknown to the Orientals. It is taken from the Mostatraf, where a great number of similar productions on various subjects are preserved.
Leila, whene'er I gaze on theeMy altered cheek turns pale,While upon thine, sweet maid, I seeA deep'ning blush prevail.
Leila, shall I the cause impartWhy such a change takes place?The crimson stream deserts my heart,To mantle on thy face.
The Caliph Radhi Billah.
[24] Radhi Billah, son to Moctader, was the twentieth Caliph of the house of Abbas, and the last of these princes who possessed any substantial power.
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 sceneTo your ardent grasp can yield?
Other youths have oft beforeDeem'd their joys would never fade,Till themselves were seen no moreSwept into oblivion's shade.
Who, with health and pleasure gay,E'er his fragile state could know,Were not age and pain to sayMan is but the child of woe?
The Caliph Radhi Billah.
The Dove to ease an aching breast,In piteous murmurs vents her cares;Like me she sorrows, for opprest,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 heartDivides the pangs of love with thine,And plaintive murm'rings are thy part,And silent grief and tears are mine.
Serage Alwarak.
Bright smil'd the morn, till o'er its headThe clouds in thicken'd foldings spreadA robe of sable hue;Then, gathering round day's golden king,They stretch'd their wide o'ershadowing wing,And hid him from our view.
The rain his absent beams deplor'd,And, soften'd into weeping, pour'dIts tears in many a flood;The lightning laughed with horrid glare;The thunder growl'd, in rage; the airIn silent sorrow stood.
Ibrahim Ben Khiret Abou Isaac.
I saw their jealous eyeballs roll,I saw them mark each glance of mine,I saw thy terrors, and my soulShar'd ev'ry pang that tortur'd thine.
In vain to wean my constant heart,Or quench my glowing flame, they strove;Each deep-laid scheme, each envious art,But wak'd my fears for her I love.
'Twas this compelled the stern decree,That forc'd thee to those distant towers,And left me nought but love for thee,To cheer my solitary hours.
Yet let not Abla sink deprest,Nor separation's pangs deplore;We meet not—'tis to meet more blest;We parted—'tis to part no more.
Saif Addaulet, Sultan of Aleppe.
Whatever thy fate, in life and death,Thou'rt doom'd above us still to rise,Whilst at a distance far beneathWe view thee with admiring eyes.
The gazing crowds still round thee throng,Still to thy well-known voice repair,As when erewhile thy hallow'd tonguePour'd in the Mosque the solemn prayer.
Still, generous Vizir, we surveyThine arms extended o'er our head,As lately, in the festive day,When they were stretch'd thy gifts to shed.
Earth's narrow boundaries strove in vainTo limit thy aspiring mind,And now we see thy dust disdainWithin her breast to be confin'd.
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.
Abou Hassan Alanbary.
[25] Ebn Bakiah was vizir to Azzad Addaulet or Bachteir, Emir Alomra of Bagdad, under the Caliphs Moti Lillah and Tay Lillah; but Azzad Addaulet being deprived of his office, and driven from Bagdad by Adhed Addaulet, Sultan of Persia, Ebn Bakiah was seized and crucified at the gates of the city, by order of the conqueror.
Why should I blush that Fortune's frownDooms 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 sphereSparkles with undiminish'd light:Dark and eclips'd alone appearThe lord of day, the queen of night.
Shems Almaali Cabus.
[26] History can show few princes so amiable and few so unfortunate as Shems Almaali Cabus. He is described as possessed of almost every virtue and every accomplishment: his piety, justice, generosity, and humanity, are universally celebrated; nor was he less conspicuous for intellectual powers; his genius was at once penetrating, solid, and brilliant, and he distinguished himself equally as an orator, a philosopher, and a poet.
Like sheep, we're doom'd to travel o'erThe fated track to all assign'd,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,[A] waits his prey.
[A] The wolf.
Lowering as Barkaidy's faceThe wintry night came in,Cold as the music of his bass,And lengthen'd as his chin.
Sleep from my aching eyes had fled,And kept as far apart,As sense from Ebn Fahdi's head,Or virtue from his heart.
The dubious paths my footsteps balk'd,I slipp'd along the sod,As if on Jaber's faith I'd walk'd,Or on his truth had trod.
At length the rising King of dayBurst on the gloomy wood,Like Carawash's eye, whose rayDispenses every good.
Ebn Alramacram.
[27] The occasion of the following composition is thus related by Abulfeda. Carawash, Sultan of Mousel, being one wintry evening engaged in a party of pleasure along with Barkaidy, Ebn Fahdi, Abou Jaber, and the improvisatore poet, Ebn Alramacram, resolved to divert himself at the expense of his companions. He therefore ordered the poet to give a specimen of his talents, which at the same time should convey a satire upon the three courtiers, and a compliment to himself. Ebn Alramacram took his subject from the stormy appearance of the night, and immediately produced these verses.