Chapter XXI: Preface (7)

Our Arab man, from far in desert’s sandy waste,
Has reached at length the walls of Bagdād,--home of taste.
The guards, the officers, on duty at the gate,
Received him with politeness, kindness delicate.
Without a question asked, his case they’d understood.
Their charge was to show kindness first, ere asked for food. 535
So they addressed him thus: “Ho, thou, good Arab prince!
Whence comest thou? How fares it? Straight thy wish evince!”

He answered: “Prince I am, if you to me be kind;
But if you me contemn, I’m naught in my own mind.
Your aspects indicate you’re men of wealth and rank;
Your speech and smiles betoken breeding, noble, frank.
Mere sight of your kind features salve is to the eyes;
Your looks alone enrich;--gold in your voices lies.
Each one of you expression is of God’s own grace;
In Caliph’s bosom nurtured, favoured with high place; 540
That you, in turn, dispense th’ elixir of support,
And brighten longing eyes by words of kind import.
I am a stranger, poor, come from the desert’s sands,
In hopes some favour to obtain from sovereign hands.
The rumour of his goodness fills the wilderness;
Each atom in its wastes blooms thence in joyfulness.
In search of wealth have I approached his capital;
Now I’m arrived, I burn with pleasures optical.
E’en as the lass in search of bread at baker’s shop,
Struck with his ‘prentice’ beauty, swooned;--a lifeless drop! 545
Or like the saunterer for air in royal park,
Who lost his heart to one he met, gay as a lark!
Or like the desert merchant drawing from a well
What he thought water, was entranced by Joseph’s spell!
Again, as Moses hasted for a coal of fire,
And found the burning bush, that led him to empire!
Or Jesus, who escaped his foes with one fleet bound,
And found himself then landed where the sun goes round![319]
An ear of corn it was that baited Adam’s trap.[320]
But thence himself became the source of mankind’s sap! 550
The falcon stoops to earth enticed by luring fate;
He there meets man’s good teaching, soars to princely state.
A child is sent to school to teach him learning’s prize,
In hope of toys and treats he studies till he’s wise.
On leaving school he sits in seat of law or power;
He paid his schoolpence then;--he’s now lord of the hour!
So Abbās[321] sallied forth to war, with fierce intent,
To put Muhammed down,--Islām to circumvent.
Defender of the Faith, till death, he then became;
The Caliphate was destined, in his line, to fame! 555
So am I come, in hopes at this court to advance;
Though at its gate as yet, I feel I’ve every chance.
In quest of bread am I; as offering, water bring.
The hope of bread sets wide heaven’s portals at one swing.
’Twas bread that drove out Adam from his paradise;
’Tis bread will gain me entrance where my hopes take rise.
From bread, from water, both, as angels, far I stroll;
And, following the spheres, around this centre roll!
Without an object none will toil on earth, you see,
Save true and godly lovers. They’re from motives free!” 560

Th’ Infinite’s lovers finite’s worshippers are not.
Who seek the finite lose th’ Infinite, as we wot.
When finite with the finite falls in love, perforce,
His loved one soon returns to her infinite source.
A beard that puts itself into another’s grasp,
In lather’s smothered; emblem of a weak mind’s gasp.
He’s not his own lord; cannot guide his own affairs;
He does but what he’s told; where’er he’s bid, repairs.

Would’st sin with woman? Choose, at least, one that is free.
Would’st rob and steal? Let pearls and jewels be thy fee. 565
A slave obeys a master; has himself no will;
The scent is all the rose’s; thorns show no such skill.
A slave may not attain to wish that he may form;
His toil is vain, his trouble profitless;--poor worm!
Shall hunter snare a shadow? Where were then his food?
A shadow’s not a substance;--can do no one good.
A foolish hunter seized the shadow of a bird!
The fowl, on tree securely perched, not one foot stirred;
But, wondering, thought: “What is the stupid fool about?
Demented, sure; his little wit he’s let ooze out!” 570

But if thou thinkest finite’s of th’ Infinite born;
And sayest: “For love of rose, do honour to the thorn;”
Consider: finite unto Infinite’s not joined.
Or what need of the prophets? They’ve not scripture coined.
The prophets have been sent to link the two in one.
If they’re not two, but one, what have the prophets done?
But let that be. Th’ inquiry has no useful end.
The day is waning; let us to our tale attend.

The Arab now his little pot of water showed.
As seed to earth, he it on Caliph’s court bestowed; 575
And said: “Present my offering at the sovereign’s feet,
If beggar save his king from want, it’s surely meet.
The water’s fresh; the little jar green-glazed and new;
Filled from a pool replenished by the rain and dew.”
On hearing this the guards were laughing in their sleeves;
But still, as precious, took the jar;--polite court-reeves!
The Caliph’s kindly nature, active, well-informed,
To kindness had each member of his court reformed.
For as the sovereign is, so will his subjects be.
The azure vault of heaven makes green the earth;--you see. 580

A king’s a reservoir; his servants are his mains,
Through whom his bounty flows, to swell his subjects’ veins.
The stream, if flowing from a tank all sweet and pure,
Each main distributes bounty, courtesy;--be sure.
But should the reservoir prove foul and nauseous, then,
The mains can flow with naught but venom, like a fen.
The mains can only what they get convey around.
Remember this. We’re treading now on solid ground.

A sovereign’s goodness is an unembodied soul,
That permeates the clay of human frame, its goal. 585
It is the mind, the all-informing, well-derived,
That brings the body into discipline, where hived.
Love is a wanton, restless, reckless of control,
That drives the man to madness; passion does extol;
But goodness is a stream as sweet as Fount of Life;
Its pebbles are all pearls, all jewels, beauteous, rife.

Whichever be the science makes a teacher famed,
His scholars’ minds with that will surely be inflamed.
A jurist’s pupils study principles of law,
If but their mental principles be free from flaw. 590
A lawyer’s prentice over subtle cases pores;
The principles, with him, are most unwelcome bores.
A syntax-teacher rears a host of grammar’s sons,
With whom his syntax passes for the sun of suns.
A teacher who inculcates abnegation’s creed,
Surrounds himself with pupils free from lust and greed.
But at the hour of death, of science’s long roll,
The art of poverty’s what most behoves man’s soul.

A syntax-teacher, once, was mounted in a boat,
Who to the skipper turned, as soon as e’er afloat, 595
And asked: “Hast studied syntax?” “No indeed,” quoth he.
The teacher then: “Thy life’s half-wasted! Dost thou see?”
The skipper felt heart-broken at this pert remark;
But, for the moment, held his peace;--wise man’s bulwark.
The wind arose; the bark was sorely tempest-tossed;
The skipper then addressed the teacher, sickness-crossed:
“Knowest thou the swimmer’s art, good friend? With speed reply.”
“Nay,” said the teacher, “that’s an art the schools decry.”
The skipper now remarked: “Thy whole life’s gone to waste.
The ship must go to pieces. Water salt thou’lt taste. 600
With syncope, not syntax, now we’ll have to deal.
With syncope, from water comes nor hurt, nor weal,
The sea bears on its surface bodies of the dead;
But living men it drowns; them sinks, as though of lead.
So soon as thou’lt be dead to every human art
To thee eternity its secrets will impart.
Thou hitherto hast deemed us mortals asses all;
Now thou thyself, as ass on ice, must have a fall.
Although thou be the very Plato of the age,
Thou’st still to learn that time, the world, is but a page.” 605

This tale about the syntax-teacher we’ve tacked on,
To show the grammar dissolution turns upon.
All syntax, grammar, jurisprudence, law, and art,
Thou’lt find, my friend, of knowledge is but a small part.
Our little learning is the Arab’s water-pot.
In Caliph, of God’s wisdom we’ve an emblem got.
We bring our pot of water to great Tigris’ stream.
If we ourselves not asses call, us asses deem.
The Arab of our tale excusable was,--troth;
He knew not of a Tigris. Where’s the Arab doth? 610
Had he, as we, known Tigris’ stream, and all its store,
His water-pot had never travelled to its shore;
Had he become aware of what a Tigris meant,
Arrived at Bagdād, he’d his pot to fragments sent.

The Caliph, when he saw that pot, and heard that tale,
The vase had filled with golden sequins, like a bale,
Our Arab thus to free from poverty’s rude grasp;—
A robe of honour, too; and presents for his clasp,
He ordered. Then the whole unto the guards were sent,
With kindliest injunctions, fruit of good intent: 615
“That all unto that Arab man be safely given,
Whose journey home by Tigris’ arrowy stream be driven.
By land he came; he’d travelled all the way on foot;
But Tigris’ stream may bear him back a shorter route.”

Our Arab in a boat was placed at river’s side;
The stream he saw, admired, bowed low, lost all his pride;
Exclaiming: “Wondrous goodness of the sovereign will!
Th’ acceptance of my water-pot more wondrous still!
How could that sea of wealth my drop deign to accept,
And largely thus to recompense the trifle kept?” 620

Know now, my friend, this world’s one mighty water-pot,
With wisdom and with beauty teeming; as all wot.
One drop, however, ’tis, from ocean of His grace,
Whose fulness cannot be confined in any place.
That treasure latent was. Through fulness it burst forth,
More glorious than the heavens became thenceforth the earth.
The latent treasure, pouring out its riches great,
The earth made kinglike, clothed with more than regal state.
One little branch canal from th’ ocean of God’s grace,
Thus overwhelms this mighty water-pot of space. 625

They who see God are ever rapt in ecstasy;
And raptured, hold that water-pot mere fallacy.
O thou! envy of whom is to that pot a stone!
Though fractured by the shock, the pot yields sounder tone.
The pot is cracked; but, still, its water is not spilt;
The crack’s the very source through which it’s sounder built.
The jar’s each single particle’s in dance and revery,
Though unto man’s poor wisdom this seems foolery.
The pot, the world, all it contains, are lost to view.
Consider well this fact! God knows it’s simply true. 630

If thou canst grasp this meaning, thou’rt like falcon strong.
Beat, then, the pinions of thy thoughts. Be hawk, ere long.
Thought’s pinions are bemired in thee, and heavy move;
Because thou feedest on clay; clay’s bread to thee, I’ll prove.
As flesh, bread is but clay. Trust not thereon for strength;
Or thou’lt remain, claylike, within the earth at length.

Dost hunger? What art thou, then, but a dog?
Fierce, ill-affected, raging; lusts thy vitals clog!
And when with food thou’rt filled, polluted straight becomest.
Thou losest strength and sense; mere stock, thou sleep
welcomest. 635
So, being doglike or a stock, senseless, impure,
How canst thou progress make in path of virtue, sure?
Whatever ’tis thou huntest, dog thou art, in sooth.
Feed not, then, thus, the dog of lust’s voracious tooth.
When dogs are satisfied, obedience they forswear;
To follow up the game they one and all forbear.

His want it was disposed the Arab of our tale,
To travel till he’d reached the Caliph’s courtly vale.
We’ve shown the bounty of that sovereign merciful,
Shed on the Arab’s wretchedness, most plentiful. 640

Whate’er a lover says, the sentiment of love
Shines through his words, if but thoughts towards his mistress rove.
Discourses he on law, love furnishes the theme;
Throughout his labouring periods, love’s the enthymeme.
Should blasphemy rise to his lips, of faith it smacks.
Doubt, when by him expressed, shows confidence’s knacks.
The spume that rises from the sea of his pure heart
Partakes the nature of its source, truth’s counterpart.
We must esteem such spume as foam of mountain-rill;—
Upbraiding from a lip beloved is worshipped still. 645
Attention we pay not to harsh words issuing thence;—
The features we adore divest them of offence.
However strange such utterances, they all seem true;
The stranger they appear, to sense they lend more cue.

If sugar we should cast in mould to look like bread,
Then eat it, we the sugar taste. Form’s of no stead.
Should true believer golden idol light upon,
Will he for worship set it up, anon, anon?
Nay! To the fire he’ll quickly it in wrath consign,
And strip it of the form that makes it sin’s foul sign. 650
The gold, abstracted from the idol’s form, is pure.
That form it is corrupts,--can men to sin allure.
The gold’s an essence fixed, produced by nature’s God;
The idol stamp is transitory;--soon downtrod.
Thou for one flea to flames thy bed wouldst never give;
For one musquito’s hum, not wish to cease to live.
If form-entrapped thou be, idolater thou art!
Eschew mere form; attend to essence, as thy part.
Art bound on pilgrimage? Seek other pilgrims out;—
Be they from Hind, from Tatary, or Hadramout. 655
Peer not into their features; look not at their skins.
Inquire their thoughts, their hearts;--if these be free of sins.
A negro findest thou one with thee in faith and creed?
Him deem a white;--thy brother is he in thy need.

Our tale is told. Its ups and downs are manifold.
Like lovers’ thoughts, it’s wandering, unconnected, bold.
Commencement it has none;--eternity’s its sign;—
Still less conclusion;--so, eternity’s design.
Or, rather, it’s like water;--every drop, so rich,
Commencement is, and end;--yet shows not which is which. 660

But, God forbid! Our story’s not a fable. See!
Its narrative’s a point concerns both me and thee!
A gnostic, in possession of his wits and sense,
Repeats not what is past;--he bides the present tense.

The Arab, his poor pitcher, Caliph, all, observe,
Ourselves are. “He shall swerve whom God shall cause to swerve!”[322]
Our Arab, know, ’s the mind; his wife, our lusts and greed.
These two are tenebrous; the mind’s the torch they need.
Now hear whence has arisen the ground of their dispute:
Th’ infinite finites holds, of various attribute;— 665
Parts finite;--not parts infinite of th’ infinite,
Like scent of rose,--part infinite of definite.
The verdure’s beauty infinite is, as a part;
The cooing of the dove’s as infinite, in logic art.
But go we not too far afield for sorts and kinds;
Or poor disciples ne’er will slake their thirsting minds.

Dost doubt? Art racked with difficulties? To excess?
Have patience. “Patience is the key of all success!”[323]
Be abstinent. Let not thy crowding thoughts run wild.
Thoughts lions are, and antelopes. Mind’s forest; child! 670

The prime of remedies is abstinence, we know.
And scratching irritates the itch;--as leeches show.
Of treatment medical the base is abstinence.
Therefore be abstinent. Show strength of mind and sense.
Accept my counsel. Lend an ear as I advise;
In golden earrings, counsel’s pearls shall be thy prize.
Be thou as slave to this, my cunning goldsmith-art;
I’ll teach thee how to soar beyond the stars’ bright chart.
Know, first of all, creation’s minds are manifold,
As are its forms;--from Alpha to Omega told. 675
From this variety, disorder seems to rise;
Though, in true sense, to unity the series hies.
In one sense, they’re discordant; other, in accord;
They now as folly, now as wisdom, pass a word.
The day of judgment will to each assign its place;
All men of wisdom yearn to see that day of grace.

He who, as blackamoor, is steeped in sin’s dark dye,
In that dread day shall gulp dishonour’s foulest lye.
The wretch whose countenance beams not bright as the sun,
Shall strive in vain behind the densest veil to run. 680
If, like some thorns, his stem display no single rose,
That springtide will prove fatal to his safe repose.
But he that blooms from head to foot with righteous deeds,
With joy shall welcome spring’s awakening of those meads.

The useless thorn desires the nipping wintry blast,
To lay all low and simplify the flowery vast;
That so, all beauty cloaked, all squalor hid, the same,
All glorious hues, all hideous sights, be rendered tame.
The leaf’s fall to such thorn more grateful is than spring;
The ruby and the flint are one in tithesman’s ring. 685
True, that the gardener’s eye in winter knows the thorn;
But what is one eye’s scrutiny to general scorn!

The vulgar public is, as ’twere, one witless wight;
Each star’s a clipping of the moon, in its fond sight.
Not so great men of wisdom, radiant with troth,
They shout with joy: “Good tidings! Spring breaks into growth!”

Unless the flowers blossom on the fertile trees,
How can the fruit be gathered, honey store the bees?
The flowers blow and fade; the fruit begins to swell.
So, when our bodies die, our souls in glory dwell. 690
The fruit’s reality; the flower is but a sign;
The flower’s the harbinger; the fruit, the true design.
The flower blown and past, the fruit then comes in sight;
The first must perish ere the other can see light.
Unless a loaf be broke, no nutriment it yields;
Until the grapes are crushed, no cup of wine man wields.
So drugs, to prove a solace to the sufferer’s ache,
Together must be blended, rolled in one smooth cake. 694

X.

Patience and Perseverance under a Teacher.

Husāmu-’d-Dīn, Light of the Truth, take up, my friend,
A sheet, that thou a Teacher’s virtues mayst append.
True, thou’rt not strong; thy frame is delicate, at best;
But thou’rt the sun that lights my thoughts to their safe nest.
Thou art both lamp and lantern, all in one. Dost see?
Guide to my heart’s behests, clue to my wish,--thou’rt he.
Their thread is in thy hand; thy guidance can it shift;
The pearls upon it strung are gems, thy soul’s free gift.

Write down the qualities by which a Teacher’s known.
Select thy Teacher first; then, follow all he’s shown. 5
A Teacher’s summer’s glow; cold winter, crowd terrene;
The rabble’s darkness self; the Teacher, moon serene.

Young Fortune have I named my Teacher, for the nonce;—
Young Fortune, truth’s real Teacher; vigorous at once.
An ancient Teacher he; commencement he ne’er had;
A solitary pearl;--all peerless, never sad.
Increase of age gives wine fresh strength, as well is known;
Especially truth’s wine, that flows from God’s high throne.
Select a Teacher, then. Without such, travel’s vain;
The way is dangerous,--beset with evil’s train. 10

By well-known road, though travelled many times before,
Without a guide to venture, opens peril’s door.
How then an unknown path thou ne’er hast followed yet?
Go not alone, without a guide;--act not in fret.
Unless thy Teacher be at hand to lead thee right,
The clamours of the demons surely thee’ll affright.
Those demons will mislead thee, into danger cast;
More clever ones than thou have lost their wits at last.

Learn from the Prophet’s words the error of their ways;
How Satan led them far astray in bygone days. 15
From off the track to all that’s good he them misled;
Them carried off; them rendered blind, by vain thoughts fed.
Behold their bones, their skeletons, along the road!
Take warning thence. Drive not thy beast with maddening goad!
Dismount; and to the rightful path safe lead him back,
Where guides abound,--experienced travellers dot the track.
Leave not thy beast; his rein loose not thou from thy hand.
His inclination is to wander o’er the land.
One moment only leave him carelessly to roam;
Towards the pastures he at once will rush, all foam. 20
Thy beast is not a friend to travelling by the road.
How many muleteers through this have lost a load!
Know’st not the way? Observe which path thy beast would take,
And follow the reverse. Secure this will thee make.
“Consult thou them;”[324] but then, do not what they advise;
For he who them opposes not, to ruin hies.
Lend not thyself to lust and fancy’s every wind;
For these are what lead men astray; to God’s truth blind.
There’s nothing in the world that better curbs the lusts,
Than holy company. Protected, he who trusts. 25

The Prophet said to ‘Ali: “Cousin, list to me.
The ‘Lion of the Truth’[325] art thou; a hero. See!
Trust not too much, however, to thy courage, sole;
Confide, much rather, on God’s arm to keep thee whole.
Put faith in aid from His divine, omniscient mind,
That never can be baffled by disputant blind.
His shadow on the earth is what keeps it in place;
His spirit, sunbird-like, soars in supernal space.
Were I to speak His praises until judgment day,
No end, no interruption, would admit my say. 30
Himself He’s veiled in man, as sun behind a cloud.
This seek to comprehend. God knows what mysteries shroud.
The sun He is;--the sun of spirit, not of sky;
By light from Him man lives;--and angels eke, forby.
Then, ‘Ali, of all service man can offer here,
Do thou choose trust in God, dependence firm, sincere.
Each man betakes himself some special worship to;
And each some special friend selects, without ado.
Do thou take refuge in God’s wisdom, full, divine;
He’ll foil the secret foe that would thee undermine. 35
Of all the modes of worship, this choose thou, the best;
Thou’lt distance all competitors, the prize thou’lt wrest.
Thy Teacher having chosen thus, obedience yield,
Implicit; even as Moses journeying o’er that field.[326]
Whate’er events betide, beware, and question not;
For fear thy guide should turn, and drive thee from the spot.[327]
Should He destroy a ship,[328]--no murmur from thy mouth;
Should He an infant choke,[329]--let slip no word uncouth.

God hath declared his hand is like the hand of God,
By saying: ‘God’s right hand above all hands doth plod.’[330] 40
God’s hand it is that kills him; makes him living, too.
But what is living? The everlasting spirit. Lo!
Whoever journeys, now and then, this road alone,
The prayers of saints it is leads him to safety’s zone.
A saint’s protection is not less than angel’s aid;
His help is God’s right hand, when all is truly said.
Now, if an absent saint have such portentous power,
A present Teacher’s honour sure must higher tower.
If for the absent tempting viands are prepared,
For present guests what may not largely be outshared? 45
The varlet who to serve his lord is present there,
Must rank before the absentee, for goodly fare.
Thus, having Teacher chosen, be not too thin-skinned,
Nor wishy-washy, to a muddy puddle kinned.
For every buffet, see thou do not umbrage take:
How can a mirror polished be, unless it bear a shake?”

Hear now this pregnant tale narrators have preserved;
A practice it relates in Qazwīn much observed:
Upon the breast, the arms, the bladebones, and the like,
With needle’s point and indigo, tattooed designs they strike. 50

A certain Qazwīn bully to an artist hied,
To have a brave design imprinted on his hide.
The artist first inquired what pattern he’d select.
The man a lion rampant thought he must elect;
And said: “My luck resides in Leo,--lion-sign;
Depict thou then a lion, deep-blue stained, benign.”
The artist then demanded where he’d wish it done;
Our man replied: “Between my bladebones it enthrone.”

The artist then began to ply his needles’ train;
The Qazwīn bully bellowed, smarting with the pain. 55
The artist he addressed: “Most clever man of skill,
Thou’lt drive me mad. What picture works me so much ill?”
Said he: “A lion’s form is what thou didst enjoin.”
“O yes!” replied the bully. “What part dost thou coin?”
The artist: “At the tail have I commenced this time.”
Our man: “O never mind the tail, designer prime!
Your lion’s tail has whacked me on my rump so hard,
That I’ve no power to breathe, nor such pain disregard.
Allow thy lion to remain without a tail;
Thy needles have unnerved me with their sharp assail.” 60

The artist then began upon another part,
And worked his instruments. They soon induced new smart.
The patient screamed again: “What member limnest thou now?”
Our artist answered: “’Tis the lion’s ear, I trow.”
His man replied: “O leave him without ears this time;
An earless lion’s not so bad. Cut short the rhyme.”

Anew the artist on a part assayed his hand.
Afresh the bully interfered, by pain unmanned.
“What part art now at work on? Say, my worthy friend!”
“O,” said the artist, “now his body I append.” 65
“Leave out his body!” gasped the suffering Qazwīn man;
“The pain’s unbearable. Make short work, as thou can.”

The artist now quite lost his wits, as well he might;
He scratched his head; sought how to mend his plight;
Dashed all his needles, indigo, design, to earth;
In anger saying: “What the plague’s come now to birth?
A lion tailless, headless, bodiless, who’s seen?
God such a lion ne’er created, sure, I ween!”
Have patience, thou too, brother, with thy needle’s smart.
So shalt thou ’scape the sting of conscience in thy heart. 70
They who have conquered,--freed themselves from body’s thrall,
Are worshipped in the spheres, the sun, the moon, stars, all.
Whoever’s killed pride’s demon in his earthly frame,
The sun and clouds are slaves, to do his bidding, tame.
His heart can lessons give of flaming to the lamp;
The very sun not equals him in ardent vamp.
For God hath said, in speaking of the scorching sun,
These words: “It swerved from them.”[331] It had new course to run.

The sharpest thorns are welcome, as the roseleaf soft,
To finite who to th’ Infinite can soar aloft. 75
What signifies to glorify the Lord of heaven;
To humble self to dust; with meekness, pride to leaven?
What use to learn to formulate God’s unity;
What use to bow one’s self before the Deity?
Wouldst shine as brilliantly in sight of all?
Annihilate thy darksome self,--thy being’s pall.
Let thy existence in God’s essence be enrolled,
As copper in alchemist’s bath is turned to gold.
Quit “I” and “We,” which o’er thy heart exert control.
’Tis egotism, estranged from God, that clogs thy soul. 80

XI.

The Lion’s Hunt, in Company.

A lion, wolf, and fox together went to hunt;
Among the hills, in quest of game, they turned their brunt.
By mutual help and aid, they hoped to make the field
Too hot for other animals not under union’s shield.
Co-operating with each other, they surmised,
A heavy bag they each would make of what each prized.

’Tis true, the noble lion felt of this ashamed.
Still, he politely showed towards them his spirit tamed.
A king feels inconvenienced by throngs of troops;
But out of kindness makes them share his warlike swoops. 5
The sun would feel ashamed, did stars with him appear;
’Tis generous in the sun to grace the starry sphere.
’Twas God’s command to Ahmed still: “With them consult.”[332]
True, they gave no advice; no counsel did result.
Upon the balance barley’s weighed, as well as gold;
But barley, thence, has not acquired gold’s value told.
The spirit with the flesh is fellow-traveller now;
A dog has sometimes charge of palace-yard below.

The company, then, set out for the woods amain,
As followers of the lion’s majesty, and train. 10
A mountain-ox, an ibex, next a hare, they took;
Since fortune smiled on them in each succeeding nook.
A lion’s followers on the plain of strife and war,
Of food, by day or night, shall know no want, no bar.

Their prey they carried from the hills into the plain;
Or dead, or sorely wounded;--bleeding, or clean slain.
The wolf and fox were moved to pitch of keen desire,
To see the prey shared out with justice by their sire. 15
The shade of their cupidity caught Leo’s eye,
He understood their confidence, their longing’s dye.
Whoe’er has insight to the hearts and minds of men,
Knows at a glance what’s passing under his sharp ken.
Beware, O heart, thou ever-fond one, in his sight,
Thy secret to betray,--thy wish to bring to light!
He knows it all, though ignorance he may pretend;—
His smile is but a veil thy aim to comprehend.

The lion, having measured all their secret thought,
Made no remark; he knew how they could both be bought; 20
Within his breast revolved their fitting punishment:
“I’ll show you, my fine fellows, what’s by _lion_ meant.
My pleasure’s, for you both, what you should seek to know;
Not calculate beforehand what I may bestow.
Your every thought should but reflect my sovereign will,
And thankfully await what I may give you still.
Have pictures aught to say to guide the artist’s hand?
His cunning ’tis decides what portrait shall expand.
So all your paltry surmise of my royal mind
An insult is,--an arrogance,--that must be fined. 25
‘They who conceive an evil thing of God’[333] are cursed;
And if I spare you, justice will be clean reversed.
To rid the world of scandal, I must end your lives;
Your story shall a moral point; whoe’er contrives.”
With this he smiled again most grimly on the pair.
Trust not a lion’s smile, all ye to live who care.
The riches of the world are smiles of Providence;
They make men proud, and lead them to their fate prepense.
Through poverty and suffering we may escape
The trap that riches bait; and so avoid the scrape. 30

The lion now addressed the wolf: “Share out the spoil.
Do justice to us all. Thou’rt versed in cunning’s foil.
Be thou my factor. Carve the game as may be fit.
So shalt thou honour win from all who see thy wit.”
The wolf then: “Royal Sir, the mountain-ox is thine.
Thou’rt great; the ox is large and fat; let none repine.
The ibex is my share. As I, so it’s the mean.
And thou, O fox, shalt have the hare. ’Tis not too lean.”

The lion interposed: “Wolf! What is this thou’st said?
I present; and to talk of ‘thou’ and ‘I,’ so staid! 35
What rubbish is a wolf, to deem himself a judge
In presence of a lion, who’ll soon make him budge?
Come hither, ass! Thyself alone it is thou’st sold!”
With this he tears the wolf to pieces, all too bold.

He saw the wolf had not one grain of common sense;
So stripped him of his hide, his life, his brain so dense.
Then said: “Since sight of me chased not all thought of self
From thee, death by my paw was due, thou wretched elf!
Thyself thou shouldst have vanquished in my presence dread.
Not having done so, thou’rt now numbered with the dead.” 40

“All perisheth, except His counsel” ’s holy writ.[334]
If we’re not of “His counsel,” life cannot us fit.
He that will lose his life for God’s sake, hath it still;
“All perisheth” hath then no power his soul to kill.
He’s of th’ excepted; not of those to perish doomed.
For, who’s excepted, saved is he. His spring hath bloomed.
But he that, in God’s court, of “me” and “thee” shall prate,
Will be cut off;--far banished from the heavenly gate.

A man once came and gaily knocked at a friend’s door.
The other asked: “Who’s there? Is this a threshing-floor?” 45
“’Tis I,” said he. “O then thou straight mayest go away.
’Tis dinner-time. Mature, not crude, must be who’d stay.
Thou’rt thou? Most crude thou art; by rawness’ self estranged.
By fire of trial those crude humours must be changed.
’Tis fire matures the crude. Let absence be the fire,
Shall purge thee of thyself, burn out all selfish mire.”

Away he went in anguish; travelled a whole year;
Saw not his friend; so pined with yearning, anxious fear;
Matured his soul with suffering’s searching throes and pains.
Then sought the door from whence he’d been repulsed, again. 50
He knocked anew,--his heart with many fears oppressed,
Lest from his lip some word unwelcome drop confessed.

Within, the question’s heard: “Who knocks at my street door?”
He answered: “Thy own second self;--though all too poor.”
The invitation followed: “Let myself walk in.
My cot’s too small for two selves to find room therein.
The thread’s not double in a needle’s single eye.
As thou’rt now single, enter. Room thou’lt find. Pray, try!”
The thread and needle have relation, each to each;
For needle’s eye a camel’s far beyond all reach. 55
How shall a camel ever be so fine and slim
Unless long fasting his redundant flesh should skim?
The hand of God is wanted, then, to make it pass;—
The God who by His word creates both man and grass.
Impossibilities are possibles to Him;
The stubbornest is docile when His will curbs whim.
The blind from birth, the leper, e’en the dead, arise,
Whole, sound, whene’er th’ Omnipotent “Come forth” but cries.
E’en non-existence, death of death, at His command,
Starts into life, compelled by His supreme demand. 60

Recite, my friend: “Each day He’s busied with a work:”[335]
And know, He’s never idle, unemployed to lurk.
His smallest daily toil,--a work like pleasure still,—
Is to send forth three armies, bound to work His will.
One, from the loins of spheres the elements to stir;
So that all plants may vegetate, from moss to fir.
One, from the wombs of mothers to earth’s surface prone,
That male and female may increase, not lie like stone.
The third hence wends its way to sepulchre’s dread bourn,
There to receive, at length, reward; and joy, or mourn. 65
Leave we this theme;—’tis endless,--never would have done.
Let’s see, now, how the friends enjoyed themselves alone.

Our host invites his guest to enter, free from scorn:
“Thou’rt welcome, self of mine! We’re not like rose and thorn.
Our thread is single,--free from knots and tangle; done,
As ‘Be,’ though duplex as to form, in sense is one.”
That “Be” ’s a rope, of power collective, to the end
That nullity may be united to a friend.
Thus duplex means are wanted, for appearances;
Though, in effect, one means there be of all that is. 70
The biped, as the quadruped, goes but one road.
The one-edged knife, the two-edged shears, make one inroad.

Observe yon pair of bleachers at their daily toil.
Apparently, they differ, combat, as they moil.
The one’s for ever wetting cloths in their stream’s tide,
The other dries them just as fast in hot noontide.
The first, again to soak the scarce-dried cloths makes haste;
As though in opposition to his partner’s waste.
But, in reality, the two have but one aim:
Co-operation’s what they jointly, both proclaim. 75

Each prophet, every saint, has his especial rite;
But, as all tend to God, they’re one, multipartite.
Sleep overcomes alike the followers of all creeds;
As water makes all mills to turn and grind, at needs.
The water flows from upwards, down upon the mill;
Its flowing through the trough is but man’s wants to fill.
No sooner has man’s need been fully satisfied,
He turns the water off;--straight in its bed it’s tied.

To teach men wisdom, stream of speech flows through the mouth;
But spirit hath another course, far less uncouth. 80
Without a voice or repetition it rolls on,
As through elysium, streams;--flowers springing aye, anon.
O Lord! Do Thou vouchsafe to my weak, erring soul
To see the realm where, voiceless, spirit thoughts may stroll,
That so my mind, in glee, on foot or head, may wing
Its flight to the far bourn that parts from nothing, thing,
Careering o’er the boundless fields of ecstasy,
Where fancy joins reality in entity.
Far-reaching more’s nonentity than fancy’s stretch;
And thus, his fancy is a source of woe to wretch. 85
Then, being’s narrower far than fancy’s power of wing;
E’en as the full moon wanes, till it becomes a string.
The world of matter and its forms is narrower still;
A prison all too strait for mind to have its will.
Plurality and composition are the cause;
Our senses these alone can comprehend, and pause.
Beyond our senses lies the world of unity.
Desirest thou unity? Beyond thy senses fly!
Divine command, “Be!” was one act; two-lettered word;
Of grave import, though short, sprung from all being’s Lord. 90
But leave we this, and turn to see how fares it now,
With our acquaintances, wolf, fox, and lion;--trow.

The lordly lion ’d torn poor wolf’s head from his tail,
That so two heads there might not be for one avail.
“On them We vengeance took”[336] ’s a well-known sacred text;
Wherefore, poor wolf, not quash thyself, when lion’s next?

The lion turned, then, to the fox, and bade him share
The prey they’d seized; that they might make a meal, not spare.
The wily fox, low bowing with a reverence meet,
Said: “Sire, the ox your share is, for your breakfast treat. 95
The ibex, then, will suffice for your midday lunch,
To serve as stop-gap in the interval of munch.
The hare a light repast will furnish ere you sleep;
The royal paunch from indigestion’s pains ’twill keep.”
The lion answered: “Well said, fox. Thou’rt justice’ self.
Who taught thee with such judgment rare to portion pelf?
Where didst thou learn to do full justice with great art?”
Said he: “My Lord, to teach me was that dead wolf’s part.”

The lion thus replied: “For us much love thou’st shown.
Take thou all three unto thyself, as very own. 100
Good fox! Thou’st given up thyself entire, for us.
Why should I injure thee? Thou’rt I myself. No fuss!
Myself am thine; the prey is thine; all,--every bit.
Exalt thy head above the spheres. For that thou’rt fit.
Thou’st taken warning from that wretched, selfish wolf.
No longer fox art thou, my lion, my own self!
A wise head ever lessons learns from others’ ills,—
Who sees his neighbours victims fall, knows what them kills.”

The fox now thanked his stars a hundred, thousandfold,
For that the lion first the wolf to share had told; 105
And reasoned: “Had he given me first his high command
To share the prey, my life I had not kept in hand.
Then praise to Him who ’th placed me low in this world’s scale,
To follow after mightier ones when they regale.”

So have we heard God’s judgments wrought in ages past
On people of the eld;--set forth as mountains fast,
That we may learn from them,--the wolves of early days.
Then let us, as the fox, glean wisdom from those lays.
“God’s people sanctified” ’s the title on us cast,
By God’s own Prophet, truthful witness, and the last. 110
The bones, the skeletons of all those old-world wolves,
Consider well, ye readers;--think upon yourselves.
Who’s wise will from his heart cast out all fond conceits
Of greatness, when he hears of ‘Ād’s[337] and Pharaoh’s feats.
Unless he warning take from what on others fell,
Men shall a moral draw from his case, sad to tell.

Cried Noah: “Ye stiff-necked race! I am not I, indeed.
My self I’ve sacrificed; of God’s love have I need.
From every fleshly sense and wish I’m severed, quite.
God is my light, my mind, my visual organ’s site. 115
I am not I. The breath I breathe is God’s own breath.
Whoe’er gainsays this word, blasphemes, courts his own death.
Within my form of fox there lurks the lion’s power;
Against this feeble fox ’tis useless now to lower.
Unless you lay aside scorn for my fox’s form,
You’ll hear the lion growl more fierce than raging storm.”

If Noah had not possessed the mighty aid of God,
Could he a world have upside down turned with a nod?
Within his form whole herds of lions, as one paw,
Lay hid. A fire was he; the world a stack of straw. 120
That misled straw refused to pay its tithe to him.
Fire flashed. Forthwith the straw in smoke and flames sank grim.

Whoe’er ’gainst the hidden lion in saint’s form
Upraise the voice of pride, like to our wolf, base worm,
Shall, like that wolf, be torn by lion piecemeal quite;
The text: “On them we vengeance took” he shall recite.[338]
A stroke shall lay him low, as wolf by lion’s paw.
A madman must he be who’d rush in lion’s maw.
O that the stroke had fallen upon the body frail;
And that the heart and faith had ’scaped! ’Twere vast avail! 125
Upon this point I feel my strength must all give way.
How shall I tell the secrets of this mystic play?
Just like the fox, do you yourselves deny in all.
In lion’s presence raise no cavil, or you’ll fall.
Relinquish thoughts of “I” and “We” when “He” ’s afield.
The kingdom is the Lord’s; to God the kingdom yield.
The straight way enter all, like paupers as you are.
The lion and the prey will both fall to your share.

God is a spirit pure. All-Glorious is His name!
He hath no need of praise, of honour, glory, fame! 130
All these, and all besides, whatever may befall,
Upon His servants He bestows. He’s Lord of all!
God hath no envy, wish, desire for creatures’ ruths;
And blessed is he who takes to heart this truth of truths.
’Twas He created both worlds;--all their pomp and pride.
Shall He desire what He hath made in His own tide?
Keep, then, your hearts pure in the sight of God the Lord,
That you may never be ashamed of thought or word.
He knows the secrets, aims, desires of all your hearts;
They’re patent to Him, as a hair in milk at marts. 135
Whoever hath a breast cleansed from all thoughts of guile,
His breast a mirror is, where heavenly truths will smile.
Its secrets are all known to God;--its every part;
“Believer’s heart’s the mirror of believer’s heart.”
He tries our metal on the touchstone of His law.
The fine, the base, He will distinguish, without flaw.
Our talents being tried by His omniscient skill,
What’s good, what’s bad, will sure appear, plain, by His will. 139

XII.

Joseph and the Mirror.

The kings of yore a custom had, so I’ve been told,
Of course thou’st heard it;--must remember it, of old,
On their left hand their champions took their usual place;
Because the heart is on the left of body’s space.
Their chancellor and scribes stood on their right hand all;
In that the writer’s art to the right hand doth fall.
Before their face the holy teachers stood erect,—
The mirrors of the soul;--than mirror more correct.
Their breasts they’ve polished with the acts of thought and praise,
That, mirror-like, they catch each image facts may raise. 5
Each object born in nature with a lovely mien
Should always have a mirror set to catch its sheen.
A beauteous face enamoured is with mirror’s glance;
Heart’s piety’s the polish best the soul can chance.

A friend of tried sincerity came from afar,
And guest became with trusty Joseph;--free from bar.
They had been friends before, in childhood’s artless days;
Had leant their elbows on one cushion, in their ways.

His brethren’s envy and wrong-dealing touched upon,
Said Joseph: “’Twas a chain. It bound a lion. ‘Non! 10
Disgrace affects not lions, if with chains they’re bound.
With God’s decree I quarrel not;--it’s always sound.
A lion with a chain around his lordly neck,
Is still the lord of them who forged the chain as check.”
The friend asked: “How wert, in the well, the prison, cast?”
Said Joseph: “As the moon in wane and change at last.”

At change, the new moon’s bent in two, a poor weak thing,
But ripens to the full apace, night’s matchless king.[339]
Pearls in a mortar pounded are, by chance, sometimes;
Still, they’re esteemed a joy to glad eyes in all climes. 15
Then, grains of wheat are cast into the lowly earth;
But golden ears thence spring, a source of glee and mirth.
These, too, are ground to dust in mill;--vile as to show;
Increased in value, thence, bread it becomes, we know.
Again ’tis crushed between the teeth; to chyme it turns,
And feeds the mind, the thoughts, the soul;--in wisdom burns.
The soul, in turn, is subject to the stress of love;
New miracles, as seen, “the sowers marvel”[340] prove.
But truce to these reflections; let us follow now
The words of Joseph’s friend. ’Tis worth while these to know. 20

That conversation closed, said Joseph to his guest:
“What gift, my friend, hast brought in token of thy zest?”

To go with empty hands and visit friends long missed,
Is like a man who goes to mill without his grist.
E’en God will ask His creatures in the judgment day:
“What offerings have you brought to meet your Maker? Say!
‘Alone, and empty-handed? Is it thus you come?
E’en as We first created you? Gifts left at home?’[341]
What have you brought as timely offerings in your hands?
What are the gifts with which you’d grace your new life’s lands? 25
Or, was it that you’d no belief in this return?
Our promise of this day by you was laughed to scorn?
If you denied thus the hope to be My guest,
Then dust and ashes wait you in My realm, at best.
If you did not deny it, whence your empty hands?
How come you to a friend’s gate, scorning just demands?”

Put by a little from thy daily meat and drink,
So shalt thou have a store for offerings’ binding link.
“Sleep little” when thou art of those “who lay them down.”[342]
“Of mornings,” be of them who “ask for pardon’s crown.”[343] 30
Give signs of life, though slight;--as babes do in the womb;
So may God grant thee inward light to cheer thy tomb.
And when thou ’scapest from dark and narrow prison there,
Then mayst thou soar from earth beyond the realms of air.
“The spacious land of God” ’tis named in holy writ,[344]
The land to which the prophets all have gladly flit.
The heart is never lonesome in that vast abode;
Its green trees never wither, frosts no leaves corrode.
If now thou load thyself with sensual burden’s weight,
Fatigued and jaded, faint thou’lt prove beneath their freight. 35

In sleep thou bearest no burden; borne thou art, instead.
Fatigue is thence recruited;--strength regains its head.
Know then, thy sleep’s a foretaste of what is to come,
From the rapt state of saints arriving at their home.
The saints were well prefigured by the “Sleepers Seven.”[345]
“Their sleep,” “their stretchings,” “their awaking,”
lead to heaven.
Without the least exertion on their parts by acts,
The “right and left-hand registers” draw them by facts.
The “right-hand register” ’s the record of good deeds;[346]
The “left-hand register” ’s the list of fleshly greeds.[347] 40
But both of these abolished are in case of saints.
To them such things are but as echo dies and faints.
Though good and evil may their echoes round thee peal,
The echoing mountain hears them not in the ordeal.

Now Joseph once again inquired: “What offering bringest?”
His friend, ashamed of urgent pressing, sighed. Thou singest?
Said he: “Full many offerings have I sought and seen;
But none was worthy of thee; or I much misween.
How could I bring a diamond to its native mine;
Or add a drop of water to a sea of brine? 45
Shall I to Kāshān cummin bring, whence it is drawn,[348]
By offering up my life and soul to beauty’s fawn?
I know no rarity that’s not surpassed by thee;
Thy loveliness the rarity men nowhere see.
The fittest present, then, I’ve found, a mirror is.
And this I’ve brought; unsullied, bright, refulgent ’tis.[349]
Therein thou’lt contemplate thy beauteous, matchless face,
As beaming as the sun that decorates sky’s space.
A mirror have I brought, thou charming, witching one;
In it admire thyself; and think of me, when gone.” 50

The mirror now he drew from underneath his skirt.
A mirror is, to beauty, with attractions girt.
In non-existence’ mirror if existence gleams,
Present this mirror to it, thou, as best beseems.
In non-existence mirrored, being we may see;
As wealthy men their wealth may show by beggars’ glee.
The hungry man’s the mirror best shows what is bread.
And tinder mirrors flint and steel’s gleam, quickly spread.
Wherever want, defect, is seen, beauty’s most prized.
The mirror of perfection’s then best realised. 55

If clothes grew, ready cut and sewn, to meet our needs,
Where’d be the use of tailor’s art, to fashion weeds?
The unhewn trunk is needed, for the carver’s skill,
And carpenter, to cut out thence his frames, his thill.
The surgeon hastens to the couch where suffering lies;
Where limbs are broken, there his bandages he ties.
Were there no patient, malady, no fever, ache,
Could art sublime, the medical, its marvels make?
If humble brass and copper were not to be found,
Th’ alchemist’s stone could not to gold transmute them round. 60

Defect is thus the mirror whence perfection’s seen;
And vileness is the foil to show off grandeur’s sheen.
By contrast does each opposite its fellow show,
Sweet honey by sharp vinegar we best can know.
The man who sees and feels his imperfections sore,
Exerts himself to cure them quickly all the more.
And he’ll ne’er take his flight towards heaven’s eternal King,
Who holds at heart the thought that he’s a perfect thing.

No worse disease exists, to taint the human mind,
Than self-conceit, that paints its owner gold refined. 65
How many bitter tears has not the vain to shed,
Ere arrogance can be expelled, and pride be dead!
The malady of Satan,--self-conceit:—“I’m best,”[350]
Exists in germ in every panting human breast.
These fancy they have mortified themselves throughout.
Take them to be pure streams; their filth seek in the grout.

Just stir them up a little, for a trial’s sake;
Thou’lt see their mud discolour all the water’s lake.
There’s ooze at bottom of the pond,--be sure of that,—
However clear the surface of the dull dead flat. 70
Our greatest teacher is endowed with fair device.
He digs a conduit in the very soil of vice.
How can he make the water of that conduit pure?
All human wisdom’s but one spark from God’s vast store.
Does sword inflict a wound in its own handle,--blade?
Find me a surgeon who shall cure a gash so made.
Where wound exists, the flies will ever flock amain,
To hide its hideousness from sight, and lull the pain,
Those flies the symbols are of man’s vain, baseless thoughts;
The wound they cover over’s ignorance high-wrought. 75
’Tis only when the teacher salve applies with skill,
The throes are quieted that shoot across man’s will.
He then imagines that his wound is healing fast.
Effect this is of cunning used, that salve to cast.
O man, whose back is galled, accept his salve with thanks.
Thy solace thence arises; not from thy own pranks. 78

XIII.

The Prophet’s First Amanuensis.

There was a scribe,[351] before ‘Uthmān[352] had filled that post,
Most diligent in noting revelation’s host.
Whatever text the Prophet had to promulgate
On parchment did this scribe trace all its terms of fate.

The splendour of those inspirations filled his soul.
His mind became enlightened, as a glowing coal.
The substance of that wisdom from the Prophet came.
The silly scribe imagined ’twas his genius’ flame:
“The texts the Prophet promulgates with rare effect,
Appear _verbatim_ in my mind, without defect.” 5

The Prophet was aware of this egregious sin.
The wrath of God descended from high heaven’s welkin.
The scribe renounced his office, and his faith at once.
Religion’s fiercest foe he stood now, for the nonce.
The Prophet questioned him: “Benighted, wretched man!
If light there be in thee, whence this thy darkest plan?
Hadst thou a fountain of God’s truth been, verily,
This turbid stream had never flowed thence, heavily.”

Not caring to expose his scribe to all his friends,
The Prophet held his peace, to watch th’ adventure’s ends. 10
The scribe’s heart hardened more and more as time rolled on.
Repentance he felt not; his pride grew thereupon.
He sighed. His sighs were not the signs of contrite heart;
But tokens sure that justice made him feel its smart.
God caused his pride to weigh more heavy than a chain.
How many thus are fettered; none can heal their pain.
His blasphemy and pride held him in iron grip;
His very sighs he felt constrained to stifle on his lip.
He cried: “‘The iron collars they’re compelled to wear;’[353]
There’s naught but iron collars; these are all we bear! 15
‘Behind them is a barrier; but We’ve bound their eyes.’[354]
So that they see not what’s before, behind those ties.”