Chapter VI: Front Matter (6)

Through this joy beneath thy shade the world doth its desires behold;
With thy praises eloquent the tongues of all, both young and old.
Thou to Faith and Empire then didst render services untold
Hurling down to earth the foeman’s house in one assault right bold!
O Vezīr! Jem-high! think not that flattery my words enfold;
Though a poet, not with false or vaunting boasts I’ve thee extolled.
Midst the fight for Egypt’s conquest firm in stirrup was thy hold,
Under thy Egyptian charger trod’st thou foemen like the mould.
From the handle of thy sword, like water, down the red blood rolled;
Thou the foe mad’st turn his face, mill-like, in terror uncontrolled.
“Bravo! Champion of the Epoch! rending ranks in serried fight!
O’er the ‘Arsh hang now thy sabre, sparkling like the Pleiads bright!”
Those who sing thy glories, like to Wāsif, wildered aye must be;
Sayeth Wāsif: “None on earth like Huseyn Pacha I shall see.”
If there be who has in vision seen a peerless one like thee,
As a dream all void of meaning, let him it relate to me.
Cannon-ball like, ’gainst the foe thou threw’st thyself from terror free;
Like the winter blast thou mad’st the foeman shake in front of thee.
Claim to manliness forsaking, even as the blind was he,
Sword in hand despairing stood he, like to one who naught can see;
Quick his throat thou seizedst, like the dragon direful in his glee,
’Neath thy sabre’s wave thou drown’dst the misbeliever, like the sea!
“Bravo! Champion of the Epoch! rending ranks in serried fight!
O’er the ‘Arsh hang now thy sabre, sparkling like the Pleiads bright!”

_Wāsif._

SHARQĪ

O Rosebud of joy’s flowery lea!
O graceful one with step so free!
If thou wilt yield thee not to me,
On earth the glass of mirth and glee
To me’s forbid, apart from thee.

Behold my breast, by guile unprest,
Is’t not mid thousand treasures best?
Until thou tak’st me to thy breast,
On earth the glass of mirth and glee
To me’s forbid, apart from thee.

O Rose-leaf fresh! concealed from sight
With thee till morn a livelong night
If I may not enjoy delight,
On earth the glass of mirth and glee
To me’s forbid, apart from thee.

Yearning for union fills my soul,
Patience and peace have no control;
O wanton one! my longing’s goal!
On earth the glass of mirth and glee
To me’s forbid, apart from thee.

Seek, Wāsif, her who hearts doth snare
Yon maid with bosom silver-fair;
Until thou thither dost repair,
On earth the glass of mirth and glee
To me’s forbid, apart from thee.

_Wāsif._

SHARQĪ

To whom that wine-red ruby’s shown
Is captive by those locks o’erthrown;
’Tis meet like nightingale I moan:
A lovely Scio Rose is blown.

Unmatched yon maid with waist so spare,
Unrivalled too her wanton air;
Her ways than e’en herself more fair:
A lovely Scio Rose is blown.

The roses like her cheeks are few;
That rose--blush-pink its darling hue;
This summer ere the roses blew,
A lovely Scio Rose is blown.

The rose--the nightingale’s amaze;
The rose the nightingale dismays;
A smile of hers the world outweighs:
A lovely Scio Rose is blown.

O Wāsif, on the rosy lea,
The nightingale thus spake to me:
“Be joyful tidings now to thee--
A lovely Scio Rose is blown.”

_Wāsif._

GAZEL

Although my heart the truth of Those who wrong themselves doth show,
O Lord!
In virtue of the words Do not despair, Thy love bestow, O Lord!
Beside the mead of truth and calm make aye my soul to go, O Lord!
My virtue’s rose to tint and scent as captive do not throw, O Lord!
From vain attachments’ stain wash pure and clean my heart as snow, O Lord!
Against me place not Thou the loathsome pool of lies of foe, O Lord!
The burning pain of exile no relief can ever know, O Lord!
Enow, if Thou the camphor-salve, the dawn of hope, did show, O Lord!
Thy slave is Rāmiz; unto none save Thee doth he bend low, O Lord!
Before Thy mercy’s gate his tears from eyes and eyelids flow, O Lord!

_Rāmiz Pacha._

GAZEL

After old rags longing hath the figure tall and slight of Love?
Fresh and fresh renews itself aye the brocade fire-bright of Love.
’Gainst the flames from thorns and thistles ne’er a curtain can be wove,
Nor ’neath honor’s veil can hide the public shame, the blight of Love.
Through a needle’s eye it sometimes vieweth far-off Hindustān--
Blind anon in its own country is the piercing sight of Love.
It will turn it to a ruin where naught save the owl may dwell,
In a home should chance be set the erring foot of plight of Love.
Will a single spark a hundred thousand homes consume at times:
One to me are both the highest and the lowest site of Love.
Never saw I one who knoweth--O most ignorant am I!
Yet doth each one vainly deem himself a learned wight in Love.
Rent and shattered--laid in ruins--all my caution’s fortress vast
Have my evil Fate, my heart’s black grain, the rage, the blight of Love.
In its hell alike it tortures Mussulmān and infidel,
‘Izzet, is there chance of freedom from its pangs, this plight of Love?
Of reality hath made aware the seeker after Truth,
Showing lessons metaphoric, He, the Teacher bright, St. Love!

_’Izzet Molla._

GAZEL

That I’m fall’n her conquered slave, yon maiden bright feigns not to know;
Thus pretending, she who doth the soul despite feigns not to know.
Though I fail naught in her service, she doth me as alien treat;
Know not I why yonder Darling, earth’s Delight, feigns not to know.
If I dare to speak my eager longing those her lips to kiss,
Friendship she disclaims, in sooth with cruel slight feigns not to know.
That she whets her glance’s arrow and therewith doth pierce the heart,
E’en her bow-like eyebrow, yonder Ban of might feigns not to know.
Well the loved one knows the Sphere doth keep no faithful troth; but, ah!
How she copies it, that Heart-ensnarer bright feigns not to know.
There is ne’er a refuge, ‘Adlī, from the grief of rivals’ taunts;
I my love conceal not, still yon maiden slight feigns not to know.

_’Adlī._

ON THE DEATH OF ‘ANDELĪB KHĀNIM

‘Andelīb, th’ adopted sister, from this transient world hath flown,
Yonder midst the flowers of Eden while still in her youth to stray.
No physician, neither charmer, on the earth her pain could ease;
So that youthful beauty bided not to smile on earth’s mead gay.
With her two-and-twenty summers, cypress-like was she, ah me!
But the sullen blast of autumn smote her life’s bright, lovely May.
For its tyranny and rancor might have blushed the vile, hard Sphere,
As the sister of earth’s Monarch pined in grief without allay.
Though her kind friend never parted from her eye’s sweet, gentle beam,
Still did she to God her soul yield, and the call, Return, obey.
Down the wayward Sphere hath stricken that bright Jewel to the earth;
What avail though men and angels tears of blood shed in dismay?
Length of days to that great Sultan grant may He, the God of Truth!
And yon fair Pearl’s tomb make rival His own Eden’s bright display!
With the dotted letters, Leylā, thou the year tell’st of her death--
Calm among delightsome bowers may ‘Andelīb her nest array!

_Leylā Khānim._

TAKHMĪS

’Tis yonder Darling of my soul that wildering my sense o’er-throws;
My waving Cypress ’tis that freshness to the garden doth disclose;
The bird, my heart, my gardener is in Love’s fair parterre of the rose:
Mine eyes’ field with thy cheek’s reflection as my flowery orchard
shows;
For long my heart the picture of thy palm-like figure doth enclose.

The world seems in my eyes as prison that doth my dear love control;
Through love for thee my heart acquireth many a scar, and that’s the
whole;
From hour to hour thine absence makes my tears like rushing waters roll:
The heart bows down through grief for thee, and constant weeps the life,
the soul;
The fountain of this vineyard is the stream that from my weeping flows.

As well thou know’st, through fire of love for thee how sad my plight
of woe,
My smiling Rosebud, wilt thou ne’er a glance of pity toward me throw?
My sighs and wailings thou dost see, Oh, but for once compassion show:
Through gazing on the rose and bower, my heart repose shall never know,
The ward where doth my loved one dwell alone can yield my soul repose.

Oh, how I think upon thy box-tree form in sorrow’s night so drear!
My story would Mejnūn’s and Ferhād’s tales from mind make disappear.
My groans and sighs and wails thus high do I unto the Heavens uprear,
By reason of the sparks my sighings raise that steely bowl, the Sphere,
Revolves each night, my gold-enamelled beaker at the feast of woes.

From thought of yonder witching eye my heart is ne’er a moment free;
When flow thy tears recall not thou to mind, O Leylā, ‘Omān’s Sea.
Beneath thy shade my own heart’s blood is all that hath been gained by me:
My tears, an ocean vast; my lashes, coral branches, O Bāqī!
The mem’ry, ’tis of thy palm-form that as my Judas-tree bright glows.

_Leylā Khānim._

SHARQĪ

Our hopes, our thoughts, are for the weal of our dear native land;
Our bodies form the rampart strong to guard our frontier strand:
We’re Ottomans--a gory shroud our robe of honor grand.
“God is Most Great!” we shout in rush and charge on field of fight;
We’re Ottomans! our lives we give, our gain is glory bright.

The name of Ottoman with terror doth the hearer thrill;
The glories of our valiant fathers all the wide world fill;
Think not that nature changeth--nay, this blood is yon blood still.
“God is Most Great!” we shout in rush and charge on field of fight;
We’re Ottomans! our lives we give, our gain is glory bright.

A sabre on a blood-red field--our banner famed behold!
Fear in our country dwelleth not, in mountain or in wold:
In every corner of our land croucheth a lion bold.
“God is Most Great!” we shout in rush and charge on field of fight;
We’re Ottomans! our lives we give, our gain is glory bright.

Then let the cannon roar, and shower its flames on every side!
For those our brothers brave let Heaven ope its portals wide!
What have we found on earth that one from death should flee or hide?
“God is Most Great!” we shout in rush and charge on field of fight;
We’re Ottomans! our lives we give, our gain is glory bright.

_Ref’et Beg._

GAZEL

A tavern which each moment takes a life as pleasure’s pay is earth;
A glass which for a thousand souls doth sell each drop of spray is earth.
The world’s a Magian that adores the flame of power and fortune high;
If thou should brightly shine, a moth about thy taper’s ray is earth.
Anon one is, anon is not--thus ever runs the course of time;
From end to end a warning-fraught, a strange, romantic lay is earth,
’Twixt sense and frenzy ’tis indeed right hard to draw the sund’ring line,
Ah me! if understanding’s wise, demented sooth alway is earth.
The desolation of the world beside its weal is truth itself;
Just as prosperity it seems, so ruin and decay is earth.
How many Khusrevs and Jemshīds have come, and from its bower have passed!
A theatre that vieweth many and many an act and play is earth.
Ziyā, a thousand caravans of wise men through its realms have passed;
But yet not one can tell its tale, and all unknown this day is earth.

_Ziyā Beg._

ON A BEYT OF MAHMŪD NEDĪM PACHA

Heart! heart! how long shall last this sorrow, anguish, and dismay?
All things upon earth’s ruin-cumbered waste must needs decay.
What was the splendor of Jemshīd? where Khusrev and where Key?
Hold fast the goblet and the wine, let chance not fleet away!
“Our coming to this world is one; man must reflect, survey;
Care must one banish, and look out for calm and quiet aye.”

Be he Khusrev, or Rustem, or Nerīmān, or Jemshīd,
Or be he beggar; be Islām or heathenesse his creed;
A few days in earth’s inn a guest is he, then must he speed:
Something to render gay that time is surely wisdom’s need.
“Our coming to this world is one; man must reflect, survey;
Care must one banish, and look out for calm and quiet aye.”

When viewed with understanding’s eye, the mote hath no repose;
The world must thus be imaged for exemption from its woes:
Of my coming and my going it no lasting picture shows--
That a departure surely is which no returning knows.
“Our coming to this world is one; man must reflect, survey;
Care must one banish, and look out for calm and quiet aye.”

Events the workings of the Lord Most High make manifest;
Being the mirror is in which the Absolute’s exprest;
He who this mystery perceives in every state is blest;
The exit of each one who enters earth decreed doth rest.
“Our coming to this world is one; man must reflect, survey;
Care must one banish, and look out for calm and quiet aye.”

See that thou grievest not thyself with sorrows all unwise;
’Tis need all pleasure to enjoy as far as in thee lies;
Alike is he who lives in joy and he whom trouble tries;
If thou be prudent, ne’er thine opportunities despise.
“Our coming to this world is one; man must reflect, survey;
Care must one banish, and look out for calm and quiet aye.”

Since first the banquet fair, this world, was cast in form’s designs,
How many rakes have passed away! how many libertines!
As counsel meet for revellers, when he perceived those signs,
Around the goblet’s rim the Magian priest engraved these lines:
“Our coming to this world is one; man must reflect, survey;
Care must one banish, and look out for calm and quiet aye.”

At length, Ziya, shall joy beam forth, and grief an end shall find;
But yet, O man, these ever enter Fortune’s feast combined.
This hidden mystery learn thou, by Mahmūd Beg defined,
Who has the secret of the same within this verse enshrined:
“Our coming to this world is one; man must reflect, survey;
Care must one banish, and look out for calm and quiet aye.”

_Ziyā Beg._

THE COUNSELS OF NABI EFENDI TO HIS SON ABOUL KHAIR

[_Translated by A. P. de Courteille and Robert Arnot_]