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 year
Its 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 pours
A never-failing stream, hath drenched thy head?
How oft, the summer cloud in copious showers
Or gentle drops its genial influence shed?
How oft since then, the hovering mist of morn
Hath caus'd thy locks with glittering gems to glow?
How oft hath eve her dewy treasures borne
To 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 vale
The teeming antelope and ostrich stray.
The large-eyed mother of the herd that flies
Man's noisy haunts, here finds a sure retreat,
Here watches o'er her young, till age supplies
Strength to their limbs and swiftness to their feet.
Save where the swelling stream hath swept those walls
And giv'n their deep foundations to the light
(As the retouching pencil that recalls
A long-lost picture to the raptur'd sight).
Save where the rains have wash'd the gathered sand
And bared the scanty fragments to our view,
(As the dust sprinkled on a punctur'd hand
Bids the faint tints resume their azure hue).
No mossy record of those once lov'd seats
Points out the mansion to inquiring eyes;
No tottering wall, in echoing sounds, repeats
Our 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 forget
That 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 roes
Thro' 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."
THE TOMB OF MANO
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 clasp
The world within her ample grasp.
There rests entomb'd—of thought bereft—
For were one conscious atom left
New 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 plain
His vivifying smiles remain.
Hassan Alasady.
TOMB OF SAYID[2]
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 mourn
When gathering ills around combine;
And whither now shall Malec turn,
Where look for any help but thine?
At this dread moment when the foe
My life with rage insatiate seeks,
In vain I strive to ward the blow,
My buckler falls, my sabre breaks.
Upon thy grassy tomb I knelt,
And sought from pain a short relief—
Th' attempt was vain—I only felt
Intenser pangs and livelier grief.
The bud of woe no more represt,
Fed by the tears that drench'd it there,
Shot forth and fill'd my laboring breast
Soon 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 me
Than 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.
THE DEATH OF HIS MISTRESS[3]
Dost thou wonder that I flew
Charm'd to meet my Leila's view?
Dost thou wonder that I hung
Raptur'd on my Leila's tongue?
If her ghost's funereal screech
Thro' the earth my grave should reach,
On that voice I lov'd so well
My transported ghost would dwell:—
If in death I can descry
Where 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.
ON AVARICE[4]
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 me
When life's last solemn hour I see,
When Mavia's sympathizing sighs
Will but augment my agonies?
Can hoarded gold dispel the gloom
That death must shed around his tomb?
Or cheer the ghost which hovers there,
And fills with shrieks the desert air?
What boots it, Mavia, in the grave,
Whether I 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 behold
Increasing stores of treasured gold,
Each tribe that roves the desert knows
I 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 see
The hour of wealth or poverty:
I've drunk from both the cups of fate,
Nor this could sink, nor that elate.
With fortune blest, I ne'er was found
To look with scorn on those around;
Nor for the loss of paltry ore,
Shall Hatem seem to Hatem poor.
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.
THE BATTLE OF SABLA[5]
Sabla, them saw'st th' exulting foe
In fancied triumphs crown'd;
Thou heard'st their frantic females throw
These galling taunts around:—
"Make now your choice—the terms we give,
Desponding victims, hear;
These fetters on your hands receive,
Or in your hearts the spear."
"And is the conflict o'er," we cried,
"And lie we at your feet?
And dare you vauntingly decide
The fortune we must meet?
"A brighter day we soon shall see,
Tho' now the prospect lowers,
And conquest, peace, and liberty
Shall gild our future hours."
The foe advanc'd:—in firm array
We rush'd o'er Sabla's sands,
And the red sabre mark'd our way
Amidst 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.
VERSES TO MY ENEMIES
Why thus to passion give the rein?
Why seek your kindred tribe to wrong?
Why strive to drag to light again
The 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 repay
Revenge for every wrong we feel.
Why thus to passion give the rein?
Why seek the robe of peace to tear?
Rash youths desist, your course restrain,
Or dread the wrath ye blindly dare.
Yet friendship we 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.
ON HIS FRIENDS[6]
With conscious pride I view the band
Of faithful friends that round me stand,
With pride exult that I alone
Can join these scatter'd gems in one:—
For they're a wreath of pearls, and I
The silken cord on which they lie.
'Tis mine their inmost souls to see,
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 I
The silken cord on which they lie.
Meskin Aldaramy.
[6] These lines are also from the Hamasa.
ON TEMPER[7]
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 SONG OF MAISUNA[8]
The russet suit of camel's hair,
With spirits light, and eye serene,
Is dearer to my bosom far
Than all the trappings of a queen.
The humble tent and murmuring breeze
That whistles thro' its fluttering wall,
My unaspiring fancy please
Better than towers and splendid halls.
Th' attendant colts that bounding fly
And frolic by the litter's side,
Are dearer in Maisuna's eye
Than gorgeous mules in all their pride.
The watch-dog's voice that bays whene'er
A stranger seeks his master's cot,
Sounds sweeter in Maisuna's ear
Than yonder trumpet's long-drawn note.
The rustic youth unspoilt by art,
Son of my kindred, poor but free,
Will ever to Maisuna's heart
Be 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.
TO MY FATHER[9]
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'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.
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.
ON FATALISM[10]
Not always wealth, not always force
A splendid destiny commands;
The lordly vulture gnaws the corse
That rots upon yon barren sands.
Nor want, nor weakness still conspires
To bind us to a sordid state;
The fly that with a touch expires
Sips honey from the royal plate.
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.
TO THE CALIPH HARUN-AL-RASHID[11]
Religion's gems can ne'er adorn
The flimsy robe by pleasure worn;
Its feeble texture soon would tear,
And give those jewels to the air.
Thrice happy they who seek th' abode
Of peace and pleasure, in their God!
Who spurn the world, its joys despise,
And grasp at bliss beyond the skies.
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.
LINES TO HARUN AND YAHIA[12]
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.
THE RUIN OF BARMECIDES[13]
No, Barmec! Time hath never shown
So sad a change of wayward fate;
Nor sorrowing mortals ever known
A grief so true, a loss so great.
Spouse of the world! Thy soothing breast
Did balm to every woe afford;
And now no more by thee 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.
TO TAHER BEN HOSIEN[14]
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.
[14] Taher Ben Hosien was ambidexter and one-eyed and, strange to say, the most celebrated general of his time.
THE ADIEU[15]
The boatmen shout, "Tis time to part,
No longer we can stay"—
'Twas then Maimnna taught my heart
How much a glance could say.
With trembling steps to me she came;
"Farewell," she would have cried,
But ere her lips the word could frame
In half-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.
TO MY MISTRESS[16]
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.
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.
TO A FEMALE CUP-BEARER[17]
Come, Leila, fill the goblet up,
Reach round the rosy wine,
Think not that we will take the cup
From any hand but thine.
A draught like this 'twere vain to seek,
No grape can such supply;
It steals its tint from Leila's cheek,
Its brightness from her eye.
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.
MASHDUD ON THE MONKS OF KHABBET[18]
Tenants of yon hallow'd fane!
Let me your devotions share,
There increasing raptures reign—
None are ever sober there.
Crowded gardens, festive bowers
Ne'er shall claim a thought of mine;
You can give in Khabbet's towers—
Purer joys and brighter wine.
Tho' your pallid faces prove
How you nightly vigils keep,
'Tis but that you ever love
Flowing goblets more than sleep.
Tho' your eye-balls dim and sunk
Stream in penitential guise,
'Tis but that the wine you've drunk
Bubbles 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.
RAKEEK TO HIS FEMALE COMPANIONS
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 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 hallow'd fane!
DIALOGUE BY RAIS
Rais:
Maid of sorrow, tell us why
Sad and drooping hangs thy head?
Is it grief that bids thee sigh?
Is it sleep that flies thy bed?
Lady:
Ah! I mourn no fancied wound,
Pangs too true this heart have wrung,
Since the snakes which curl around
Selim's brows my bosom stung.
Destin'd now to keener woes,
I must see the youth depart,
He must go, and as he goes
Rend at once my bursting heart.
Slumber may desert my bed,
Tis not slumber's charms I seek—
'Tis the robe of beauty spread
O'er my Selim's rosy cheek.
TO A LADY WEEPING[19]
When I beheld thy blue eyes shine
Thro' the bright drop that pity drew,
I saw beneath those tears of thine
A 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 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 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.
ON A VALETUDINARIAN
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.
ON A MISER
"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.
TO CASSIM OBIO ALLAH[20]
Poor Cassim! thou art doom'd 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 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.
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.
A FRIEND'S BIRTHDAY[21]
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.
TO A CAT
Poor Puss is gone! 'Tis fate's decree—
Yet I must still her loss deplore,
For dearer than a child was she,
And ne'er shall I behold her more.
With many a sad presaging tear
This morn I saw her steal away,
While she went on without a fear
Except that she should miss her prey.
I saw her to the dove-house climb,
With cautious feet and slow she stept
Resolv'd to balance loss of time
By 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 find
Destruction lurking in the dish.
Ibn Alalaf Alnaharwany.
AN EPIGRAM UPON EBN NAPHTA-WAH[22]
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.
FIRE[23]
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.
TO A LADY BLUSHING[24]
Leila, whene'er I gaze on thee
My altered cheek turns pale,
While upon thine, sweet maid, I see
A deep'ning blush prevail.
Leila, shall I the cause impart
Why such a change takes place?
The crimson stream deserts my heart,
To mantle on thy face.
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.
ON THE VICISSITUDES OF LIFE
Mortal joys, however pure,
Soon their turbid source betray;
Mortal bliss, however sure,
Soon must totter and decay.
Ye who now, with footsteps keen,
Range through hope's delusive field,
Tell us what the smiling scene
To your ardent grasp can yield?
Other youths have oft before
Deem'd their joys would never fade,
Till themselves were seen no more
Swept into oblivion's shade.
Who, with health and pleasure gay,
E'er his fragile state could know,
Were not age and pain to say
Man is but the child of woe?
The Caliph Radhi Billah.
TO A DOVE
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 heart
Divides the pangs of love with thine,
And plaintive murm'rings are thy part,
And silent grief and tears are mine.
Serage Alwarak.
ON A THUNDER STORM
Bright smil'd 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 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'd
Its tears in many a flood;
The lightning laughed with horrid glare;
The thunder growl'd, in rage; the air
In silent sorrow stood.
Ibrahim Ben Khiret Abou Isaac.
TO MY FAVORITE MISTRESS
I saw their jealous eyeballs roll,
I saw them mark each glance of mine,
I saw thy terrors, and my soul
Shar'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.
CRUCIFIXION OF EBN BAKIAH[25]
Whatever thy fate, in life and death,
Thou'rt doom'd 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 tongue
Pour'd in the Mosque the solemn prayer.
Still, generous Vizir, we survey
Thine 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 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.
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.
CAPRICES OF FORTUNE[26]
Why should I blush that Fortune's frown
Dooms me life's humble paths to tread?
To live unheeded, and unknown?
To sink forgotten to the dead?
'Tis not the good, the wise, the brave,
That surest shine, or highest rise;
The feather sports upon the wave,
The pearl in ocean's cavern lies.
Each lesser star that studs the sphere
Sparkles with undiminish'd light:
Dark and eclips'd alone appear
The 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.
ON LIFE
Like sheep, we're doom'd to travel o'er
The 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.
EXTEMPORE VERSES[27]
Lowering as Barkaidy's face
The 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 day
Burst on the gloomy wood,
Like Carawash's eye, whose ray
Dispenses every good.
