Chapter 29

THE POETS OF ARABIA

(Wife of the Caliph Mowiah)

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.

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 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 breezeThat whistles thro' its fluttering wall,My unaspiring fancy pleaseBetter than towers and splendid halls.

The humble tent and murmuring breeze

That whistles thro' its fluttering wall,

My unaspiring fancy please

Better 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.

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'erA stranger seeks his master's cot,Sounds sweeter in Maisuna's earThan yonder trumpet's long-drawn note.

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 unspoilt by art,Son of my kindred, poor but free,Will ever to Maisuna's heartBe dearer, pamper'd fool, than thee.

The rustic youth unspoilt by art,

Son of my kindred, poor but free,

Will ever to Maisuna's heart

Be dearer, pamper'd fool, than thee.

(By the Caliph Yazid)

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.

Must then my failings from the shaftOf anger ne'er escape?And dost thou storm because I've quaff'dThe water of the grape?

Must then my failings from the shaft

Of anger ne'er escape?

And dost thou storm because I've quaff'd

The 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.

That I can thus from wine be driv'n

Thou surely ne'er canst think—

Another reason thou hast giv'n

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.

'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.

(By the Holy Iman Shafay)

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.

Not always wealth, not always forceA splendid destiny commands;The lordly vulture gnaws the corseThat rots upon yon barren sands.

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 conspiresTo bind us to a sordid state;The fly that with a touch expiresSips honey from the royal plate.

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.

(By Prince Ibrahim Ben Adham)

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.

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.

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' abodeOf peace and pleasure in their God!Who spurn the world, its joys despise,And grasp at bliss beyond the skies.

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.

(By the Musician, Isaac Al Mouseli)

Th' affrighted sun ere while he 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 scepter sways,And Yahia's arm sustains the globe.

Th' affrighted sun ere while he fled,And hid his radiant face in night;A cheerless gloom the world o'erspread—But Haroun came and all was bright.

Th' affrighted sun ere while he 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 scepter sways,And Yahia's arm sustains the globe.

Again the sun shoots forth his rays,

Nature is decked in beauty's robe—

For mighty Haroun's scepter sways,

And Yahia's arm sustains the globe.

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 caressed,The widowed world bewails her lord.

No, Barmec Time hath never shownSo sad a change of wayward fate;Nor sorrowing mortals ever knownA grief so true, a loss so great.

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 breastDid balm to every woe afford;And now no more by thee caressed,The widowed world bewails her lord.

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.

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.

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 chang'd to man.

THE SONG OF ABU AL SALAM.

"Think not that we will take the cupFrom any hand but thine."

"Think not that we will take the cup

From any hand but thine."

(By Abu Tammam Habib)

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.

Ungenerous and mistaken maid,To scorn me thus because I'm poor!Canst thou a liberal hand upbraidFor dealing round some worthless ore?

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 down the mountain rolls,And stagnates in the swamp below.

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.

(By Abu Al Salam)

Come, Leila, fill the goblet up,Beach 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.

Come, Leila, fill the goblet up,Beach round the rosy wine,Think not that we will take the cupFrom any hand but thine.

Come, Leila, fill the goblet up,

Beach 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.

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.

Tenants of yon hallowed 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.Though your pallid faces proveHow you nightly vigils keep,'Tis but that you ever loveFlowing goblets more than sleep.Though your eye-balls dim and sunkStream in penitential guise,'Tis but that the wine you've drunkBubbles over from your eyes.

Tenants of yon hallowed fane!Let me your devotions share,There increasing raptures reign—None are ever sober there.

Tenants of yon hallowed 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.

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 proveHow you nightly vigils keep,'Tis but that you ever loveFlowing goblets more than sleep.

Though your pallid faces prove

How you nightly vigils keep,

'Tis but that you ever love

Flowing goblets more than sleep.

Though your eye-balls dim and sunkStream in penitential guise,'Tis but that the wine you've drunkBubbles over from your eyes.

Though your eye-balls dim and sunk

Stream in penitential guise,

'Tis but that the wine you've drunk

Bubbles over from your eyes.

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 luster 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 hallowed fane!

Though the peevish tongues upbraid,Though the brows of wisdom scowl,Fair ones here on roses laid,Careless will we quaff the bowl.

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 luster round,Brighter than the torch of day.

Let the cup, with nectar crowned,

Through the grove its beams display,

It can shed a luster 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.

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!

As night flits, she does but cry,

"Seize the moments that remain"—

Thus our joys with yours shall vie,

Tenants of yon hallowed 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?

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 aroundSelim's brows my bosom stung.Destined now to keener woes,I must see the youth depart,He must go, and as he goesBend 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.

Ah! I mourn no fancied wound,Pangs too true this heart have wrung,Since the snakes which curl aroundSelim's brows my bosom stung.

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 goesBend at once my bursting heart.

Destined now to keener woes,

I must see the youth depart,

He must go, and as he goes

Bend 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.

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.

(By Ebn Alrumi)

When I beheld thy blue eyes shineThrough the bright drop that pity drew,I saw beneath those tears of thineA blue-ey'd violet bathed in dew.The violet ever scents the gale,Its hues adorn the fairest wreath,But sweetest through 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 through pity's flood they gleam,Who but must love their softened beam?

When I beheld thy blue eyes shineThrough the bright drop that pity drew,I saw beneath those tears of thineA blue-ey'd violet bathed in dew.

When I beheld thy blue eyes shine

Through the bright drop that pity drew,

I saw beneath those tears of thine

A blue-ey'd violet bathed in dew.

The violet ever scents the gale,Its hues adorn the fairest wreath,But sweetest through a dewy veilIts colors glow, its odors breathe.

The violet ever scents the gale,

Its hues adorn the fairest wreath,

But sweetest through a dewy veil

Its 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 through pity's flood they gleam,Who but must love their softened beam?

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?

(By Ebn Alrumi)

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.

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.

(By Ebn Alrumi)

"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.

"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.

(By Ali Ibn Ahmed)

Poor Cassim! thou art doomed 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.

Poor Cassim! thou art doomed to mournBy destiny's decree;Whatever happens it must turnTo misery for thee.

Poor Cassim! thou art doomed to mourn

By destiny's decree;

Whatever happens 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 decideTo snatch away the best?

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.

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.

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!

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!

(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 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 steptResolved to balance loss of timeBy 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.Why, why was pigeons' 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.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.

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.

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.

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 steptResolved to balance loss of timeBy eating faster than she crept.

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.

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.

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.

Why, why was pigeons' 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.

Why, why was pigeons' 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.

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.

Curst be the taste, howe'er refined,

That prompts us for such joys to wish,

And curst the dainty where we find

Destruction lurking in the dish.

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.

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.

(By the Caliph Radhi Billah)

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.

Leila, whene'er I gaze on theeMy altered cheek turns pale,While upon thine, sweet maid, I seeA deep'ning blush prevail.

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 impartWhy such a change takes place?The crimson stream deserts my heart,To mantle on thy face.

Leila, shall I the cause impart

Why such a change takes place?

The crimson stream deserts my heart,

To mantle on thy face.

(By the Caliph Radhi Billah)

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 beforeDeemed 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?

Mortal joys, however pure,Soon their turbid source betray;Mortal bliss, however sure,Soon must totter and decay.

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?

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 beforeDeemed their joys would never fade,Till themselves were seen no moreSwept into oblivion's shade.

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 sayMan is but the child of woe?

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?

(By Serage Alwarak)

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

(By Ibrahim ben Khiret Abou Isaac)

Bright smiled 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 stretched their wide o'ershadowing wing,And hid him from our view.The rain his absent beams deplored,And, soften'd into weeping, pouredIts tears in many a flood;The lightning laughed with horrid glare;The thunder growled, in rage; the airIn silent sorrow stood.

Bright smiled the morn, till o'er its head

The clouds in thicken'd 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, soften'd into weeping, pouredIts tears in many a flood;The lightning laughed with horrid glare;The thunder growled, in rage; the airIn silent sorrow stood.

The rain his absent beams deplored,

And, soften'd 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.

(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 soulShared ev'ry 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 naught 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.

I saw their jealous eyeballs roll,I saw them mark each glance of mine,I saw thy terrors, and my soulShared ev'ry pang that tortured thine.

I saw their jealous eyeballs roll,

I saw them mark each glance of mine,

I saw thy terrors, and my soul

Shared ev'ry 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.

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 naught but love for thee,To cheer my solitary hours.

'Twas this compelled the stern decree,

That forced thee to those distant towers,

And left me naught 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.

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.

(By Abu Hassan Alanbary)

Whate'er thy fate, in life and death,hou'rt doomed 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 tonguePoured in the mosque the solemn prayer.Still, generous Vizier, we surveyThine arms extended o'er our head,As lately, in the festive day,When they were stretched 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.

Whate'er thy fate, in life and death,hou'rt doomed above us still to rise,Whilst at a distance far beneathWe view thee with admiring eyes.

Whate'er thy fate, in life and death,

hou'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 hallow'd tonguePoured in the mosque the solemn prayer.

The gazing crowds still round thee throng,

Still to thy well-known voice repair,

As when erewhile thy hallow'd tongue

Poured in the mosque the solemn prayer.

Still, generous Vizier, we surveyThine arms extended o'er our head,As lately, in the festive day,When they were stretched thy gifts to shed.

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 boundaries strove in vainTo limit thy aspiring mind,And now we see thy dust disdainWithin her breast to be confin'd.

Earth's narrow boundaries strove in vain

To limit thy aspiring mind,

And now we see thy dust disdain

Within 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.

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.

(By Shems Almaali Cabus)

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 eclipsed alone appearThe lord of day, the queen of night.

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?

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.

'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 eclipsed alone appearThe lord of day, the queen of night.

Each lesser star that studs the sphere

Sparkles with undiminish'd light;

Dark and eclipsed alone appear

The lord of day, the queen of night.

Like sheep, we're doomed to travel o'erThe 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,43waits his prey.

Like sheep, we're doomed to travel o'erThe fated track to all assigned,These follow those that went before,And leave the world to those behind.

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,43waits his prey.

As the flock seeks the pasturing shade,

Man presses to the future day,

While death, amidst the tufted glade,

Like the dun robber,43waits his prey.

(By Ebn Alramacram)

Lowering as Barkaidy's faceThe 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 Fahdi's head,Or virtue from his heart.The dubious paths my footsteps balked,I slipp'd along the sod,As if on Jaber's faith I'd walked,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.

Lowering as Barkaidy's faceThe wintry night came in,Cold as the music of his bass,And lengthened as his chin.

Lowering 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 Fahdi's head,Or virtue from his heart.

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 balked,I slipp'd along the sod,As if on Jaber's faith I'd walked,Or on his truth had trod.

The dubious paths my footsteps balked,

I slipp'd along the sod,

As if on Jaber's faith I'd walked,

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.

At length the rising King of day

Burst on the gloomy wood,

Like Carawash's eye, whose ray

Dispenses every good.

(By Ali ben Mohammed Altahmany)

Tyrant of man! Imperious Fate!I bow before thy dread decree,Nor hope in this uncertain stateTo find a seat secure from thee.Life is a dark, tumultuous stream,With many a care and sorrow foul,Yet thoughtless mortals vainly deemThat 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 glowBeneath the surface of the deep.Believe not Fate at thy commandWill 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.

Tyrant of man! Imperious Fate!I bow before thy dread decree,Nor hope in this uncertain stateTo find a seat secure from thee.

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 deemThat it can yield a limpid bowl.

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 glowBeneath the surface of the deep.

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 commandWill grant a meed she never gave;As soon the airy tower shall stand,That's built upon a passing wave.

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.

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.

(By Abu Alcassim Ebn Tabataba)

How oft does passion's grasp destroyThe pleasure that it strives to gain?How soon the thoughtless course of joyIs 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 shedsA rushing torrent o'er the blaze,Swift round the sinking flame it spreads,And kills the fire it fain would raise.

How oft does passion's grasp destroyThe pleasure that it strives to gain?How soon the thoughtless course of joyIs doomed to terminate in pain?

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.

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.

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 shedsA rushing torrent o'er the blaze,Swift round the sinking flame it spreads,And kills the fire it fain would raise.

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.

(By Ahmed ben Yusef Almenazy)

The intertwining boughs for theeHave wove, sweet dell, a verdant vest,And thou in turn shalt give to meA verdant couch upon thy breast.To shield me from day's fervid glareThine oaks their fostering arms extend,As anxious o'er her infant careI've seen a watchful mother bend.A brighter cup, a sweeter draught,I gather from that rill of thine,Than maddening drunkards ever quaff'd,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.

The intertwining boughs for theeHave wove, sweet dell, a verdant vest,And thou in turn shalt give to meA verdant couch upon thy breast.

The intertwining boughs for thee

Have wove, sweet dell, a verdant vest,

And thou in turn shalt give to me

A verdant couch upon thy breast.

To shield me from day's fervid glareThine oaks their fostering arms extend,As anxious o'er her infant careI've seen a watchful mother bend.

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 quaff'd,Than all the treasures of the vine.

A brighter cup, a sweeter draught,

I gather from that rill of thine,

Than maddening drunkards ever quaff'd,

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.

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.

(By Abu Menbaa Carawash)

Hail, chastening friend Adversity! 'Tis thineThe mental ore to temper and refine,To cast in virtue's mold the yielding heart,And honor'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.

Hail, chastening friend Adversity! 'Tis thine

The mental ore to temper and refine,

To cast in virtue's mold the yielding heart,

And honor'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.

(By Abu Alola)

Think not, Abdallah, pride and fameCan 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 nightStill struggle with the lucid ray,And e'er they stretch their gloomy flightMust win the lengthened space from day.

Think not, Abdallah, pride and fameCan ever travel hand in hand;With breast opposed, and adverse aim,On the same narrow path they stand.

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.

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 nightStill struggle with the lucid ray,And e'er they stretch their gloomy flightMust win the lengthened space from day.

And thus the falling shades of night

Still struggle with the lucid ray,

And e'er they stretch their gloomy flight

Must win the lengthened space from day.

(By Shebal Addaulet)

Thy virtues famed through every land,Thy spotless life, in age and youth,Prove thee a pearl, by nature's hand,Formed out of purity and truth.Too long its beams of Orient lightUpon a thankless world were shed;Allah has now revenged the slight,And called it to its native bed.

Thy virtues famed through every land,Thy spotless life, in age and youth,Prove thee a pearl, by nature's hand,Formed out of purity and truth.

Thy virtues famed through every land,

Thy spotless life, in age and youth,

Prove thee a pearl, by nature's hand,

Formed out of purity and truth.

Too long its beams of Orient lightUpon a thankless world were shed;Allah has now revenged the slight,And called it to its native bed.

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.

No, Abla, no—when Selim tellsOf many an unknown grace that dwellsIn 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 seesIdeal charms, which only pleaseThrough passion's partial veil,'Tis not that flattery's glozing tongueHath basely framed an idle song,But truth that breathed the tale.Thine eyes unaided ne'er could traceEach 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 declareThat 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.

No, Abla, no—when Selim tellsOf many an unknown grace that dwellsIn Abla's face and mien,When he describes the sense refined,That lights thine eye and fills thy mind,By thee alone unseen.

No, 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 seesIdeal charms, which only pleaseThrough passion's partial veil,'Tis not that flattery's glozing tongueHath basely framed an idle song,But truth that breathed the tale.

'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 traceEach 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.

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 declareThat 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.

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.

Whoever has recourse to theeCan 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.

Whoever has recourse to theeCan hope for health no more,He's launched into perdition's sea,A sea without a shore.

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.

Where'er admission thou canst gain,

Where'er thy phiz can pierce,

At once the Doctor they retain,

The mourners and the hearse.

(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 feetAfter thy beard obsequious run,I always fancy that I meetSome 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 beardIn hopes to hide thyself behind it.

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?

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 feetAfter thy beard obsequious run,I always fancy that I meetSome father followed by his son.

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 beardIn hopes to hide thyself behind it.

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.

No kind supporting hand I meet,But Fortitude shall stay my feet;No borrowed splendors round me shine,But Virtue's luster all is mine;A Fame unsullied still I boast,Obscured, concealed, but never lost—The same bright orb that led the dayPours from the West his mellowed ray.Zaura, farewell! No more I seeWithin 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 vainSome bosom that will soothe my pain—No friend is near to breathe relief,Or brother to partake my grief.For many a melancholy dayThrough 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 spearA 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 wand'rings chide,My sufferings slight, my toils deride.Once wealth, I own, engrossed each thought,There was a moment when I soughtThe glitt'ring stores Ambition claimsTo feed the wants his fancy frames;But now 'tis past—the changing dayHas snatched my high-built hopes away,And bade this wish my labors close—Give me not riches, but repose.'Tis he—that mien my friend declares,That stature, like the lance he bears;I see that breast which ne'er containedA 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 wineOur 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 on high,Beholds me with a wakeful eye—Thou changest, ere the changeful nightHath streak'd 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 sabers glitter there,To guard the tresses of the fair.Come, Selim, let us pierce the grove,While night befriends, to seek my love.The clouds of fragrance as they riseShall mark the place where Abla lies.Around her tent my jealous foes,Like lions, spread their watchful rows;Amidst their bands, her bow'r appearsEmbosomed in a wood of spears—A wood still nourished by the dews,Which smiles, and softest looks diffuse.Thrice happy youths! who midst yon shadesSweet 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 discloseNew transport gives, new graces shows.'Tis theirs to raise with conscious artThe flames of love in every heart;'Tis yours to raise with festive gleeThe flames of hospitality:Smit by their glances lovers lie,And helpless sink and hopeless die;While slain by you the stately steedTo crown the feast, is doomed to bleed,To crown the feast, where copious flowsThe sparkling juice that soothes your woes,That lulls each care and heals each wound,As the enliv'ning bowl goes round.Amidst those vales my eager feetShall trace my Abla's dear retreat,A gale of health may hover there,To breathe some solace to my care.I fear not love—I bless the dartSent in a glance to pierce the heart:With willing breast the sword I hailThat wounds me through an 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 easeThy friendship chain, thine ardor freeze!Wilt thou enchanted thus, declineEach gen'rous 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 receiveThe scattered spray the billows leave.Contempt and want the wretch awaitWho slumbers in an abject state—'Midst rushing crowds, by toil and painThe meed of Honor we must gain;At Honor's call, the camel hastesThrough trackless wilds and dreary wastes,Till in the glorious race she findThe fleetest coursers left behind: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 dayWould 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 surveyedThe diff'rent claims which each displayed,Those eyes from partial fondness freeHad slept to them, and waked for me.But, 'midst my sorrows and my toils,Hope ever soothed my breast with smiles;The hand removed each gathering ill,And oped life's closing prospects still.Yet spite of all her friendly artThe specious scene ne'er gained my heart;I loved it not although the dayMet my approach, and cheered my way;I loath it now the hours retreat,And fly me with reverted feet.My soul from every tarnish freeMay boldly vaunt her purity,But ah, how keen, however bright,The saber glitter to the sight,Its splendor'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 delayedTo 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 runMount 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 curst,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 strifeWhich fills the boist'rous paths of life,Who, as he treads the crowded scenes,Upon no kindred bosom leans.Too long my foolish heart had deemedMankind 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 nowTo every tongue, and every vow,For still there yawns a gulf betweenThose honeyed words, and what they mean;With honest pride elate, I seeThe sons of falsehood shrink from me,As from the right line's even wayThe biassed curves deflecting stray—But what avails it to complain?With souls like theirs reproof is vain;If honor e'er such bosoms shareThe saber's point must fix it there.But why exhaust life's rapid bowl,And suck the dregs with sorrow foul,When long ere this my mouth has drainedWhatever zest the cup contained?Why should we mount upon the wave,And ocean's yawning horrows brave,When we may swallow from the flaskWhate'er the wants of mortals ask?Contentment's realms no fears invade,No cares annoy, no sorrows shade,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!

No kind supporting hand I meet,

But Fortitude shall stay my feet;

No borrowed splendors round me shine,

But Virtue's luster 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.

Zaura, farewell! No more I seeWithin 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 vainSome bosom that will soothe my pain—No friend is near to breathe relief,Or brother to partake my grief.For many a melancholy dayThrough 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 spearA 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 wand'rings chide,My sufferings slight, my toils deride.

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 wand'rings chide,

My sufferings slight, my toils deride.

Once wealth, I own, engrossed each thought,There was a moment when I soughtThe glitt'ring stores Ambition claimsTo feed the wants his fancy frames;But now 'tis past—the changing dayHas snatched my high-built hopes away,And bade this wish my labors close—Give me not riches, but repose.'Tis he—that mien my friend declares,That stature, like the lance he bears;I see that breast which ne'er containedA 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.

Once wealth, I own, engrossed each thought,

There was a moment when I sought

The glitt'ring 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 labors close—

Give me not riches, but repose.

'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 wineOur 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 on high,Beholds me with a wakeful eye—Thou changest, ere the changeful nightHath streak'd her fleeting robe with white.

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 on high,

Beholds me with a wakeful eye—

Thou changest, ere the changeful night

Hath streak'd 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 sabers glitter there,To guard the tresses of the fair.

'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 sabers glitter there,

To guard the tresses of the fair.

Come, Selim, let us pierce the grove,While night befriends, to seek my love.The clouds of fragrance as they riseShall mark the place where Abla lies.Around her tent my jealous foes,Like lions, spread their watchful rows;Amidst their bands, her bow'r appearsEmbosomed in a wood of spears—A wood still nourished by the dews,Which smiles, and softest looks diffuse.Thrice happy youths! who midst yon shadesSweet 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 discloseNew transport gives, new graces shows.'Tis theirs to raise with conscious artThe flames of love in every heart;'Tis yours to raise with festive gleeThe flames of hospitality:Smit by their glances lovers lie,And helpless sink and hopeless die;While slain by you the stately steedTo crown the feast, is doomed to bleed,To crown the feast, where copious flowsThe sparkling juice that soothes your woes,That lulls each care and heals each wound,As the enliv'ning bowl goes round.Amidst those vales my eager feetShall trace my Abla's dear retreat,A gale of health may hover there,To breathe some solace to my care.I fear not love—I bless the dartSent in a glance to pierce the heart:With willing breast the sword I hailThat wounds me through an 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.

Come, Selim, let us pierce the grove,

While night befriends, to seek my love.

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 bow'r 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 enliv'ning bowl goes round.

Amidst those vales my eager feet

Shall trace my Abla's dear retreat,

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 an 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 easeThy friendship chain, thine ardor freeze!Wilt thou enchanted thus, declineEach gen'rous 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 receiveThe scattered spray the billows leave.

Ah, Selim! shall the spells of ease

Thy friendship chain, thine ardor freeze!

Wilt thou enchanted thus, decline

Each gen'rous 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 awaitWho slumbers in an abject state—'Midst rushing crowds, by toil and painThe meed of Honor we must gain;At Honor's call, the camel hastesThrough trackless wilds and dreary wastes,Till in the glorious race she findThe fleetest coursers left behind: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 dayWould ne'er from Aries' mansion stray.

Contempt and want the wretch await

Who slumbers in an abject state—

'Midst rushing crowds, by toil and pain

The meed of Honor we must gain;

At Honor's call, the camel hastes

Through trackless wilds and dreary wastes,

Till in the glorious race she find

The fleetest coursers left behind:

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 surveyedThe diff'rent claims which each displayed,Those eyes from partial fondness freeHad slept to them, and waked for me.But, 'midst my sorrows and my toils,Hope ever soothed my breast with smiles;The hand removed each gathering ill,And oped life's closing prospects still.Yet spite of all her friendly artThe specious scene ne'er gained my heart;I loved it not although the dayMet my approach, and cheered my way;I loath it now the hours retreat,And fly me with reverted feet.

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 diff'rent 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;

The 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 freeMay boldly vaunt her purity,But ah, how keen, however bright,The saber glitter to the sight,Its splendor's lost, its polish vain,Till some bold hand the steel sustain.

My soul from every tarnish free

May boldly vaunt her purity,

But ah, how keen, however bright,

The saber glitter to the sight,

Its splendor'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 delayedTo wrap me in his friendly shade,Left me to wander thus alone,When all my heart held dear is gone!

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 runMount 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 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 curst,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 strifeWhich fills the boist'rous paths of life,Who, as he treads the crowded scenes,Upon no kindred bosom leans.Too long my foolish heart had deemedMankind 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 nowTo every tongue, and every vow,For still there yawns a gulf betweenThose honeyed words, and what they mean;With honest pride elate, I seeThe sons of falsehood shrink from me,As from the right line's even wayThe biassed curves deflecting stray—But what avails it to complain?With souls like theirs reproof is vain;If honor e'er such bosoms shareThe saber's point must fix it there.

But though with ills unnumbered curst,

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.

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 honor e'er such bosoms share

The saber's point must fix it there.

But why exhaust life's rapid bowl,And suck the dregs with sorrow foul,When long ere this my mouth has drainedWhatever zest the cup contained?Why should we mount upon the wave,And ocean's yawning horrows brave,When we may swallow from the flaskWhate'er the wants of mortals ask?Contentment's realms no fears invade,No cares annoy, no sorrows shade,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.

But why exhaust life's rapid bowl,

And suck the dregs with sorrow foul,

When long ere this my mouth has drained

Whatever zest the cup contained?

Why should we mount upon the wave,

And ocean's yawning horrows 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,

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!

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!

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!

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