Part 35

Turn from that chin's fair apple; a pit is on the way. To what, O heart, aspir'st thou? Whither thus quickly? Say!

Seek not, O friend, in Háfiz Patience, nor rest from care: Patience and rest--what are they? Where is calm slumber, where?

XIV

At eve a son of song--his heart be cheerful long!-- Piped on his vocal reed a soul-inflaming lay.

So deeply was I stirred, that melody once heard, That to my tearful eyes the things of earth grew gray.

With me my Sákí was, and momently did he At night the sun of Daï[16] by lock and cheek display.

When he perceived my wish, he filled with wine the bowl; Then said I to that youth whose track was Fortune's way:

"Sákí, from Being's prison deliverance did I gain, When now and now the cup thou lit'st with cheerful ray.

"God guard thee here below from all the haps of woe; God in the Seat of Bliss reward thee on His day!"

When Háfiz rapt has grown, How, at one barleycorn, Should he appraise the realm, E'en of Káús the Kay?[17]

XVI

I said: "O Monarch of the lovely, a stranger seeks thy grace this day." I heard: "The heart's deceitful guidance inclines the stranger from his way."

Exclaimed I then: "One moment tarry!" "Nay," was the answer, "let me go; How can the home-bred child be troubled by stories of a stranger's woe?"

Shall one who, gently nurtured, slumbers with royal ermine for a bed, "Care if on rocks or thorns reposing the stranger rests his weary head?"

O thou whose locks hold fast on fetters so many a soul known long ago, How strange that musky mole and charming upon thy cheek of vermil glow!

Strange is that ant-like down's appearance circling the oval of thy face; Yet musky shade is not a stranger within the Hall which paintings grace.[18]

A crimson tint, from wine reflected gleams in that face of moonlight sheen; E'en as the bloom of syrtis, strangely, o'er clusters of the pale Nasrín.[19]

I said: "O thou, whose lock so night-black is evening in the stranger's sight, Be heedful if, at break of morning, the stranger sorrow for his plight."

"Háfiz," the answer was, "familiars Stand in amaze at my renown; It is no marvel if a stranger In weariness and grief sit down."

XVII

'Tis morn; the clouds a ceiling make: The morn-cup, mates, the morn-cup take!

Drops of dew streak the tulip's cheek; The wine-bowl, friends, the wine-bowl seek

The greensward breathes a gale divine; Drink, therefore, always limpid wine.

The Flower her emerald throne displays: Bring wine that has the ruby's blaze

Again is closed the vintner's store, "Open, Thou Opener of the door!"[20]

While smiles on us the season's boon, I marvel that they close so soon.

Thy lips have salt-rights, 'tis confessed, O'er wounds upon the fire-burnt breast.

Háfiz, let not Thy courage fail! Fortune, thy charmer Shall unveil.

XIX

Lo! from thy love's enchanting bowers Rizván's bright gardens fresher grow;[21] From the fierce heat thine absence kindles, Gehenna's flames intenser glow.

To thy tall form and cheek resplendent, as to a place of refuge, fleet Heaven and the Túbâ-tree, and find there--"Happiness--and a fair retreat."[22]

When nightly the celestial river glides through the garden of the skies, As my own eye, it sees in slumber, nought but thy drunk narcissus eyes.

Each section of the spring-tide's volume makes a fresh comment on thy name, Each portal of the Empyrean murmurs the title of thy fame.

My heart has burned, but to ambition, the aim, still wished for, is denied: These tears that tinged with blood are flowing, if I could reach it, would be dried.

What ample power thy salt-rights give thee (which both thy mouth and lips can claim), Over a breast by sorrow wounded, and a heart burnt within its flame!

Oh! think not that the amorous only are drunk with rapture at thy sway: Hast thou not heard of zealots, also, as reckless and as wrecked as they?

By thy lips' reign I hold it proven that the bright ruby's sheen is won By the resplendent light that flashes out of a world-illuming sun.[23]

Fling back thy veil! how long, oh tell me! shall drapery thy beauty pale? This drapery, no profit bringing, can only for thy shame avail.

A fire within the rose's bosom was kindled when she saw thy face; And soon as she inhaled thy fragrance, she grew all rose-dew from disgrace.

The love thy countenance awakens whelms Háfiz in misfortune's sea; Death threatens him! ho there! give help, ere yet that he has ceased to be!

While life is thine, consent not, Háfiz, That it should speed ignobly by; But strive thou to attain the object Of thy existence ere thou die.

XX

I swear--my master's soul bear witness, faith of old times, and promise leal!-- At early morning, my companion, is prayer for thy unceasing weal.

My tears, a more o'erwhelming deluge than was the flood which Noah braved, Have washed not from my bosom's tablet the image which thy love has graved.

Come deal with me, and strike thy bargain: I have a broken heart to sell, Which in its ailing state out-values a hundred thousand which are well.

Be lenient, if thou deem me drunken: on the primeval day divine Love, who possessed my soul as master, bent my whole nature unto wine.

Strive after truth that for thy solace the Sun may in thy spirit rise; For the false dawn of earlier morning grows dark of face because it lies.[24]

O heart, thy friend's exceeding bounty should free thee from unfounded dread; This instant, as of love thou vauntest, be ready to devote thy head!

I gained from thee my frantic yearning for mountains and the barren plain, Yet loath art thou to yield to pity, and loosen at mid-height my chain.

If the ant casts reproach on Ásaf, with justice does her tongue upbraid, For when his Highness lost Jem's signet, no effort for the quest he made.[25]

No constancy--yet grieve not, Háfiz-- Expect thou from the faithless fair; What right have we to blame the garden, Because the plant has withered there?

XXII

Veiled in my heart my fervent love for him dwells, And my true eye holds forth a glass to his spells.

Though the two worlds ne'er bowed my head when elate, Favors as his have bent my neck with their weight.

Thine be the lote, but I Love's stature would reach. High like his zeal ascends the fancy of each.

Yet who am I that sacred temple to tread? Still let the East that portal guard in my stead!

Spots on my robe--shall they arouse my complaint? Nay! the world knows that he at least has no taint.

My turn has come; behold! Majnún is no more;[26] Five days shall fly, and each one's turn shall be o'er.

Love's ample realm, sweet joy, and all that is glad, Save for his bounty I should never have had.[27]

I and my heart--though both should sacrificed be, Grant my friend's weal, their loss were nothing to me.

Ne'er shall his form within my pupil be dim, For my eye's cell is but a chamber for him.

All the fresh blooms that on the greensward we view, Gain but from him their scent and beauty of hue.

Háfiz seems poor; But look within, for his breast, Shrining his love, With richest treasure is blest.

XXIII

Prone at my friend's high gates, my Will its head lays still: Whate'er my head awaits is ordered by that will.

My friend resembles none; in vain I sought to trace, In glance of moon or sun, the radiance of that face.

Can morning's breeze make known what grief this heart doth hold, Which as a bud hath grown, compressed by fold on fold?

Not I first drained the jar where rev'lers pass away:[28] Heads in this work-yard are nought else than wine-jars' clay.

Meseems thy comb has wreathed those locks which amber yield: The gale has civet breathed, and amber scents the field.

Flowers of verdant nooks be strewn before thy face: Let cypresses of brooks bear witness to thy grace!

When dumb grow tongues of men that on such love would dwell, Why should a tongue-cleft pen by babbling strive to tell?

Thy cheek is in my heart; no more will bliss delay; Glad omens e'er impart news of a gladder day.

Love's fire has dropped its spark In Háfiz' heart before: The wild-grown tulip's mark Branded of old its core.[29]

XXV

Breeze of the morn, if hence to the land thou fliest--Of my friend, Return with a musky breath from the lock so sweet Of my friend.

Yea, by that life, I swear I would lay down mine in content, If once I received through thee but a message sent Of my friend.

But--at that sacred court, if approach be wholly denied, Convey, for my eyes, the dust that the door supplied Of my friend.

I--but a beggar mean--can I hope for Union at last? Ah! would that in sleep I saw but the shadow cast Of my friend.

Ever my pine-cone heart, as the aspen trembling and shy, Has yearned for the pine-like shape and the stature high Of my friend.

Not at the lowest price would my friend to purchase me care; Yet I, a whole world to win, would not sell one hair Of my friend.

How should this heart gain aught, Were its gyves of grief flung aside? I, Háfiz, a bondsman, still Would the slave abide Of my friend.

XXIX

Who of a Heaven on earth can tell, pure as the cell--Of dervishes? If in the highest state you'd dwell, be ever slaves Of dervishes.

The talisman of magic Might hid in some ruin's lonely site, Emerges from its ancient night at the wild glance Of dervishes.

When the proud sun has run his race, and he puts off his crown apace, He bows before the pomp and place which are the boast Of dervishes.

The palace portal of the sky, watched by Rizván's unsleeping eye, All gazers can at once descry from the glad haunts Of dervishes.

When mortal hearts are black and cold, that which transmutes them into gold Is the alchemic stone we hold from intercourse Of dervishes.

When tyranny, from pole to pole, sways o'er the earth with dire control, We see from first to last unroll the victor-flag Of dervishes.

There is a wealth which lasts elate, unfearful of decline from fate; Hear it with joy--this wealth so great, is in the hands Of dervishes.

Khosráus, the kiblahs of our prayer have weight to solace our despair,[30] But they are potent by their care for the high rank Of dervishes.

O, vaunter of thy riches' pride! lay all thy vanity aside, And know that health and wealth abide but by the will Of dervishes.

Korah lost all his treasured store, which, cursed of Heaven, sinks daily more, (Hast thou not heard this tale of yore?) from disregard Of dervishes,[31]

The smiling face of joy unknown, yet sought by tenants of a throne, Is only in the mirror shown of the clear face Of dervishes.

Let but our Ásaf's eye request, I am the slave of his behest, For though his looks his rank attest, he has the mind Of dervishes.

Háfiz, if of the tide thou think, which makes immortal those who drink, Seek in the dust that fountain's brink, at the cell door Of dervishes.

Háfiz, while here on earth, be wise: He who to empire's rule would rise, Knows that his upward pathway lies Through his regard Of dervishes.

XXXI

In blossom is the crimson rose, and the rapt bulbul trills his song; A summons that to revel calls you, O Súfis, wine-adoring throng!

The fabric of my contrite fervor appeared upon a rock to bide; Yet see how by a crystal goblet it hath been shattered in its pride.

Bring wine; for to a lofty spirit, should they at its tribunal be, What were the sentry, what the Sultan, the toper, or the foe of glee?

Forth from this hostel of two portals as finally thou needs must go, What of the porch and arch of Being be of high span or meanly low?

To bliss' goal we gain not access, if sorrow has been tasted not; Yea, with Alastu's pact was coupled the sentence of our baleful lot.

At Being and Non-being fret not; but either with calm temper see: Non-being is the term appointed for the most lovely things that be.

Ásaf's display, the airy courser, the language which the birds employed, The wind has swept; and their possessor no profit from his wealth enjoyed.[32]

Oh! fly not from thy pathway upward, for the winged shaft that quits the bow A moment to the air has taken, to settle in the dust below.

What words of gratitude, O Háfiz Shall thy reed's tongue express anon, As its choice gems of composition From hands to other hands pass on?

XXXV

Now on the rose's palm the cup with limpid wine is brimming, And with a hundred thousand tongues the bird her praise is hymning.

Ask for a song-book, seek the wild, no time is this for knowledge; The Comment of the Comments spurn, and learning of the college,[33]

Be it thy rule to shun mankind, and let the Phoenix monish, For the reports of hermit fame, from Káf to Káf astonish.[34]

When yesterday our rector reeled, this sentence he propounded: "Wine is a scandal; but far worse what men's bequests have founded."

Turbid or clear, though not thy choice, drink thankfully; well knowing That all which from our Sákí flows to his free grace is owing.

Each dullard who would share my fame, each rival self-deceiver, Reminds me that at times the mat seems golden to its weaver.

Cease, Háfiz! store as ruddy gold The wit that's in thy ditty: The stampers of false coin, behold! Are bankers for the city.[35]

XLII

'Tis a deep charm which wakes the lover's flame, Not ruby lip, nor verdant down its name.

Beauty is not the eye, lock, cheek, and mole; A thousand subtle points the heart control.

XLIII

Zealot, censure not the toper, guileless though thou keep thy soul: Certain 'tis that sins of others none shall write upon thy scroll.

Be my deeds or good or evil, look thou to thyself alone; All men, when their work is ended, reap the harvest they have sown.

Never of Eternal Mercy preach that I must yet despair; Canst thou pierce the veil, and tell me who is ugly, who is fair?

Every one the Friend solicits, be he sober, quaff he wine; Every place has love its tenant, be it or the mosque, or shrine.

From the still retreat of virtue not the first am I to roam, For my father also quitted his eternal Eden home.

See this head, devout submission: bricks at many a vintner's door: If my foe these words misconstrue--"Bricks and head!"--Say nothing more.

Fair though Paradise's garden, deign to my advice to yield: Here enjoy the shading willow, and the border of the field.

Lean not on thy store of merits; know'st thou 'gainst thy name for aye What the Plastic Pen indited, on the Unbeginning Day?

Háfiz, if thou grasp thy beaker When the hour of death is nigh, From the street where stands the tavern Straight they'll bear thee to the sky.

XLV

O breeze of morn! where is the place which guards my friend from strife? Where is the abode of that sly Moon who lovers robs of life?

The night is dark, the Happy Vale in front of me I trace.[36] Where is the fire of Sinäi, where is the meeting place?

Here jointly are the wine-filled cup, the rose, the minstrel; yet While we lack love, no bliss is here: where can my Loved be met?

Of the Shaikh's cell my heart has tired, and of the convent bare: Where is my friend, the Christian's child, the vintner's mansion, where?

Háfiz, if o'er the glade of earth The autumn-blast is borne, Grieve not, but musing ask thyself: "Where has the rose no thorn?"

LIX

My Prince, so gracefully thou steppest, that where thy footsteps fall--I'd die. My Turk, so gracefully thou glidest, before thy stature tall I'd die.

"When wilt thou die before me?"--saidst thou. Why thus so eagerly inquire? These words of thy desire delight me; forestalling thy desire I'd die.

I am a lover, drunk, forsaken: Sákí, that idol, where is he? Come hither with thy stately bearing! let me thy fair form see, I'd die.

Should he, apart from whom I've suffered a life-long illness, day by day, Bestow on me a glance, one only, beneath that orb dark-gray I'd die.

"The ruby of my lips," thou saidst, "now bale, now balsam may exhale": At one time from their healing balsam, at one time from their bale I'd die.

How trim thy gait! May eye of evil upon thy face be never bent! There dwells within my head this fancy; that at thy feet content I'd die.

Though no place has been found for Háfiz In Love's retreat, where hid thou art, For me thine every part has beauty, Before thine every part-- I'd die.

LXIII

My heart has of the world grown weary and all that it can lend: The shrine of my affection holds no Being but my friend.

If e'er for me thy love's sweet garden a fragrant breath exhale, My heart, expansive in its joy, shall bud-like burst its veil.

Should I upon love's path advise thee, when now a fool I've grown, 'Twould be the story of the fool, the pitcher, and the stone.

Go! say to the secluded zealot: "Withhold thy blame; for know, I find the arch of the Mihráb[37] but in an eyebrow's bow."

Between the Ka'bah and the wine-house, no difference I see: Whate'er the spot my glance surveys, there equally is He.

'Tis not for beard, hair, eyebrow only, Kalandarism should care: The Kalandar computes the Path by adding hair to hair.[38]

The Kalandar who gives a hair's head, An easy path doth tread: The Kalandar of genuine stamp, As Háfiz gives his head.

LXIX

My heart desires the face so fair--Of Farrukh;[39] It is perturbed as is the hair Of Farrukh.

No creature but that lock, that Hindú swart, Enjoyment from the cheek has sought Of Farrukh.

A blackamoor by Fortune blest is he, Placed at the side, and near the knee Of Farrukh.

Shy as the aspen is the cypress seen, Awed by the captivating mien Of Farrukh.

Sákí, bring syrtis-tinted wine to tell Of those narcissi, potent spell Of Farrukh.

Bent as the archer's bow my frame is now, From woes continuous as the brow Of Farrukh.

E'en Tartar gales which musky odors whirl, Faint at the amber-breathing curl Of Farrukh.

If leans the human heart to any place, Mine has a yearning to the grace Of Farrukh.

That lofty soul Shall have my service true, That serves, as Háfiz, The Hindú--[40] Of Farrukh.

LXXI

When now the rose upon the meadow from Nothing into Being springs, When at her feet the humble violet with her head low in worship clings,

Take from thy morn-filled cup refreshment while tabors and the harp inspire, Nor fail to kiss the chin of Sákí while the flute warbles and the lyre.

Sit thou with wine, with harp, with charmer, until the rose's bloom be past; For as the days of life which passes, is the brief week that she shall last.

The face of earth, from herbal mansions, is lustrous as the sky; and shines With asterisms of happy promise, with stars that are propitious signs.

In gardens let Zoroaster's worship again with all its rites revive, While now within the tulip's blossoms the fires of Nimrod[41] are alive.

Drink wine, presented by some beauty of Christ-like breath, of cheek fair-hued; And banish from thy mind traditions to Ád relating, and Thamúd.[42]

Earth rivals the Immortal Garden during the rose and lily's reign; But what avails when the immortal is sought for on this earth in vain?

When riding on the windy courser, as Solomon, the rose is found, And when the Bird, at hour of morning, makes David's melodies resound,

Ask thou, in Solomon's dominion, a goblet to the brim renewed; Pledge the Vizir, the cycle's Ásaf, the column of the Faith, Mahmud.

O Háfiz, while his days continue, let joy eternal be thine aim; And may the shadow of his kindness eternally abide the same!

Bring wine; for Háfiz, if in trouble, Will ceaselessly the help implore Of him who bounty shall aid ever, As it have aid vouchsafed before.

LXXVII

Upon the path of Love, O heart, deceit and risk are great! And fall upon the way shall he who at swift rate Shall go.

Inflated by the wind of pride, the bubble's head may shine; But soon its cap of rule shall fall, and merged in wine Shall go.

O heart, when thou hast aged grown, show airs of grace no more: Remember that such ways as these when youth is o'er Shall go.

Has the black book of black locks closed, the album yet shall stay, Though many a score the extracts be which day by day Shall go.

LXXXV

To me love's echo is the sweetest sound Of all that 'neath this circling Round Hath stayed.

LXXXVI

A beggar am I; yet enamoured of one of cypress mould: One in whose belt the hand bides only with silver and with gold.

Bring wine! let first the hand of Háfiz The cheery cup embrace! Yet only on one condition-- No word beyond this place!

LXXXVII

When beamed Thy beauty on creation's morn, The world was set on fire by love new-born.

Thy cheek shone bright, yet angels' hearts were cold: Then flashed it fire, and turned to Adam's mould.

The lamp of Reason from this flame had burned, But lightning jealousy the world o'erturned.

The enemy Thy secret sought to gain; A hand unseen repelled the beast profane.

The die of Fate may render others glad: My own heart saddens, for its lot is sad.

Thy chin's deep pit allures the lofty mind: The hand would grasp thy locks in twines entwined,

Háfiz his love-scroll To Thyself addressed, When he had cancelled What his heart loved best.

LXXXVIII

The preacher of the town will find my language hard, maybe: While bent upon deceit and fraud, no Mussulman is he.

Learn drinking and do gracious deeds; the merit is not great If a mere brute shall taste not wine, and reach not man's estate.

Efficient is the Name Divine; be of good cheer, O heart! The dív becomes not Solomon by guile and cunning's art.

The benisons of Heaven are won by purity alone: Else would not pearl and coral spring from every clod and stone?

CI

Angels I saw at night knock at the wine-house gate: They shaped the clay of Adam, flung into moulds its weight.

Spirits of the Unseen World of Purities divine, With me an earth-bound mortal, poured forth their 'wildering wine.

Heaven, from its heavy trust aspiring to be free, The duty was allotted, mad as I am, to me.

Thank God my friend and I once more sweet peace have gained! For this the houris dancing thanksgiving cups have drained.

With Fancy's hundred wisps what wonder that I've strayed, When Adam in his prudence was by a grain bewrayed?[43]

Excuse the wrangling sects, which number seventy-two: They knock at Fable's portal, for Truth eludes their view.

No fire is that whose flame the taper laughs to scorn: True fire consumes to ashes the moth's upgarnered corn.

Blood fills recluses' hearts where Love its dot doth place, Fine as the mole that glistens upon a charmer's face.

As Háfiz, none Thought's face Hath yet unveiled; not e'en Since for the brides of Language Combed have their tresses been.

CXV

Lost Joseph shall return to Kanaan's land--Despair not: Affliction's cell of gloom with flowers shall bloom: Despair not

Sad heart, thy state shall mend; repel despondency; Thy head confused with pain shall sense regain: Despair not.

When life's fresh spring returns upon the daïs mead, O night-bird! o'er thy head the rose shall spread: Despair not,

Hope on, though things unseen may baffle thy research; Mysterious sports we hail beyond the veil: Despair not.