Part 17
And heal thy wounds, and draw out thy cares by the daughter of the vine, her the desired:
And assign to thy evening draught a cup-bearer who will stir the torment of desire when she gazes;
And a singer who will raise such a voice that the mountains of iron shall thrill at it when she chants.
And rebel against the adviser who will not permit thee to approach a beauty when she consents.
And range in thy cunning even to perverseness; and care not what is said of thee, and catch what suits thee:
And leave thy father if he refuse thee, and spread thy nets and hunt who comes by thee.
But be sincere with thy friend, and avoid the niggardly, and bestow kindness, and be constant in gifts;
And take refuge in repentance before thy departure; for whoso knocks at the door of the Merciful causes it to open.
Then I said to him, "O rare thy recitation, but fie on thy misconduct! Now, by Allah, tell me from what thicket is thy root, for thy puzzle vexes me." He said I love not to disclose myself; yet I will intimate it:
I am the novelty of the time, the wonder of nations;
I am the wily one, who plays his wiles among Arabs and foreigners;
But not the less a brother of need, whom fortune vexes and wrongs,
And the father of children who lie out like meat on the tray:
Now the brother of want, who has a household, is not blamed if he be wily.
Said the narrator: Then I knew that it was Abu Zayd, the man of ill-fame and disgrace, he that blackens the face of his hoariness. And the greatness of his contumacy offended me, and the foulness of the path of his resorting: so I said to him with the tongue of indignation and the confidence of acquaintance: "Is it not time, old man, that thou withdraw from debauchery?" But he was angry, and growled, and his countenance changed, and he thought a while: and then he said, "It is a night for merriment, not for rebuke, an occasion for drinking wine, not for contention; so leave speaking thy thought until we meet to-morrow." Then I left him, through fear of his drunken humor, not through dependence on his promise; and I passed my night clothed in the mourning of repentance, at having advanced the steps of my foot to the daughter of the vine, not of grace. And I made a vow to God Almighty that I would never again enter the tavern of a liquor-seller, even that I might be endowed with the dominion of Bagdad; and that I would not look upon the vats of wine, even that the season of youth might be restored to me. Then we saddled the white camels in the last darkness of night, and left together Abu Zayd and Iblis.
ARABIC LITERATURE
THE POETS OF ARABIA
"_Mortal joys, however pure, Soon their turbid source betray; Mortal bliss, however sure, Soon must totter and decay._" THE CALIPH RAHDI.
THE POETS OF ARABIA
(INTRODUCTION)
Arabic poetry, as explained in introducing the "Assemblies" of Al Hariri, is based largely on harmonies of sound and striking turns of phrasing. Hence most of the poems are brief; and a poet's fame depended upon a few brilliant couplets rather than on any sustained melody or long-continued flight of noble thought. One distinguished philosophical poem of some length is the well-known "Lament of the Vizier Abu Ismael." This we give in full at the conclusion of this section; but mainly we must illustrate the finest flowering of Arabic verse by selecting specimens of characteristic brevity.
Many of the Arab caliphs inclined to the gaieties of life rather than to their religious duties, and kept many poets around them. Indeed some of the caliphs themselves were poets: The Caliph Walid composed music as well as verse; and was hailed by his immediate companions as a great artist. His neglect of religion, however, was so reckless as to rouse the resentment of his people, and he lost his throne and life.
Most noted of all the Arab poets was Mutanabbi (905-965). His fantastic imagery and extravagant refinements of language were held by his admirers to be the very perfection of literature. More than forty commentaries were written to explain the subtleties of his verse. Such, indeed, was the intensity of Mutanabbi's poetic ecstasy that he fancied himself a prophet and began to preach a new religion, until a term in prison persuaded him to cling to the accepted form of Mohammedanism. In one well-known passage ridiculed by the great French critic, Huart, Mutanabbi says of an advancing army that it was so vast
"The warriors marched hidden in their dust; They saw only with their ears."
The commentators explain, perhaps unnecessarily, that this means that the warriors' senses were confused by all the tumult, so that while they thought they saw, in reality they only heard the clamor of the marchers around them. In translation, Mutanabbi's verses lose all value. Deprived of their Arabic melody they seem mere bombast and absurdity. This, in fact, is the general charge which must be made against the later Arabic poetry. It too often degenerated into empty sound.
THE POETS OF ARABIA
THE SONG OF MAISUNA[28]
(WIFE OF THE CALIPH MOWIAH)
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.
TO MY FATHER[29]
(BY THE CALIPH YAZID)
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.
ON FATALISM[30]
(BY THE HOLY IMAN SHAFAY)
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.
TO THE CALIPH HAROUN AL RASHID[31]
(BY PRINCE IBRAHIM BEN ADHAM)
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.
LINES TO HAROUN AND YAHIA[32]
(BY THE MUSICIAN, ISAAC AL MOUSELI)
Th' affrighted sun ere while he fled, And hid his radiant face in night; A cheerless gloom the world o'erspread— But Haroun came and all was bright.
Again the sun shoots forth his rays, Nature is decked in beauty's robe— For mighty Haroun's scepter sways, And Yahia's arm sustains the globe.
THE RUIN OF THE BARMECIDES[33]
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 caressed, The widowed world bewails her lord.
TO TAHER BEN HOSIEN[34]
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.
TO MY MISTRESS[35]
(BY ABU TAMMAM HABIB)
Ungenerous and mistaken maid, To scorn me thus because I'm poor! Canst thou a liberal hand upbraid For dealing round some worthless ore?
To spare 's the wish of little souls, The great but gather to bestow; Yon current down the mountain rolls, And stagnates in the swamp below.
TO A FEMALE CUP-BEARER[36]
(BY ABU AL SALAM)
Come, Leila, fill the goblet up, Beach round the rosy wine, Think not that we will take the cup From any hand but thine.
A draught like this 'twere vain to seek, No grape can such supply; It steals its tint from Leila's cheek, Its brightness from her eye.
MASHDUD ON THE MONKS OF KHABBET[37]
Tenants of yon hallowed 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.
Though your pallid faces prove How you nightly vigils keep, 'Tis but that you ever love Flowing goblets more than sleep.
Though your eye-balls dim and sunk Stream in penitential guise, 'Tis but that the wine you've drunk Bubbles over from your eyes.
RAKEEK TO HIS FEMALE COMPANIONS
Though the peevish tongues upbraid, Though the brows of wisdom scowl, Fair ones here on roses laid, Careless will we quaff the bowl.
Let the cup, with nectar crowned, Through the grove its beams display, It can shed a luster round, Brighter than the torch of day.
Let it pass from hand to hand, Circling still with ceaseless flight, Till the streaks of gray expand O'er the fleeting robe of night.
As night flits, she does but cry, "Seize the moments that remain"— Thus our joys with yours shall vie, Tenants of yon hallowed fane!
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.
Destined now to keener woes, I must see the youth depart, He must go, and as he goes Bend at once my bursting heart.
Slumber may desert my bed, 'Tis not slumber's charms I seek— 'Tis the robe of beauty spread O'er my Selim's rosy cheek.
TO A LADY WEEPING[38]
(BY EBN ALRUMI)
When I beheld thy blue eyes shine Through the bright drop that pity drew, I saw beneath those tears of thine A blue-ey'd violet bathed in dew.
The violet ever scents the gale, Its hues adorn the fairest wreath, But sweetest through a dewy veil Its colors glow, its odors breathe.
And thus thy charms in brightness rise— When wit and pleasure round thee play, When mirth sits smiling in thine eyes, Who but admires their sprightly ray? But when through pity's flood they gleam, Who but must love their softened beam?
ON A VALETUDINARIAN
(BY EBN ALRUMI)
So careful is Isa, and anxious to last, So afraid of himself is he grown, He swears through two nostrils the breath goes too fast, And he's trying to breathe through but one.
ON A MISER
(BY EBN ALRUMI)
"Hang her, a thoughtless, wasteful fool, She scatters corn where'er she goes"— Quoth Hassan, angry at his mule, That dropped a dinner to the crows.
TO CASSIM OBIO ALLAH[39]
(BY ALI IBN AHMED)
Poor Cassim! thou art doomed to mourn By destiny's decree; Whatever happens it must turn To misery for thee.
Two sons hadst thou, the one thy pride, The other was thy pest; Ah, why did cruel death 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.
A FRIEND'S BIRTHDAY[40]
When born, in tears we saw thee drowned, While thine assembled friends around, With smiles their joy confessed; So live, that at thy parting hour, They may the flood of sorrow pour, And thou in smiles be dressed!
TO A CAT
(BY IBN ALALAF ALNAHARWANY)
Poor puss is gone! 'Tis fate's decree— Yet I must still her loss deplore, For dearer than a child was she, And ne'er shall I behold her more.
With many a sad presaging 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 Resolved to balance loss of time By eating faster than she crept.
Her subtle foes were on the watch, And marked her course, with fury fraught, And while she hoped the birds to catch, An arrow's point the huntress caught.
In fancy she had got them all, And drunk their blood and sucked their breath; Alas! she only got a fall, And only drank the draught of death.
Why, why was pigeons' flesh so nice, That thoughtless cats should love it thus? Hadst thou but lived on rats and mice, Thou hadst been living still, poor puss.
Curst be the taste, howe'er refined, That prompts us for such joys to wish, And curst the dainty where we find Destruction lurking in the dish.
FIRE
_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.
TO A LADY BLUSHING[41]
(BY THE CALIPH RADHI BILLAH)
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.
ON THE VICISSITUDES OF LIFE
(BY THE CALIPH RADHI BILLAH)
Mortal joys, however pure, Soon their turbid source betray; Mortal bliss, however sure, Soon must totter and decay.
Ye who now, with footsteps keen, Range through hope's delusive field, Tell us what the smiling scene To your ardent grasp can yield?
Other youths have oft before Deemed their joys would never fade, Till themselves were seen no more Swept into oblivion's shade.
Who, with health and pleasure gay, E'er his fragile state could know, Were not age and pain to say Man is but the child of woe?
TO A DOVE
(BY SERAGE ALWARAK)
The dove to ease an aching breast, In piteous murmurs vents her cares; Like me she sorrows, for opprest, Like me, a load of grief she bears.
Her plaints are heard in every wood, While I would fain conceal my woes; But vain's my wish, the briny flood, The more I strive, the faster flows.
Sure, gentle bird, my drooping heart Divides the pangs of love with thine, And plaintive murm'rings are thy part, And silent grief and tears are mine.
ON A THUNDER-STORM
(BY IBRAHIM BEN KHIRET ABOU ISAAC)
Bright smiled the morn, till o'er its head The clouds in thicken'd foldings spread A robe of sable hue; Then, gathering round day's golden king, They stretched their wide o'ershadowing wing, And hid him from our view.
The rain his absent beams deplored, And, soften'd into weeping, poured Its tears in many a flood; The lightning laughed with horrid glare; The thunder growled, in rage; the air In silent sorrow stood.
TO MY FAVORITE MISTRESS
(BY SAIF ADDAULET, SULTAN OF ALEPPO)
I saw their jealous eyeballs roll, I saw them mark each glance of mine, I saw thy terrors, and my soul Shared ev'ry pang that tortured thine.
In vain to wean my constant heart, Or quench my glowing flame, they strove; Each deep-laid scheme, each envious art, But waked my fears for her I love.
'Twas this compelled the stern decree, That forced thee to those distant towers, And left me naught but love for thee, To cheer my solitary hours.
Yet let not Abla sink deprest, Nor separation's pangs deplore; We meet not—'tis to meet more blest; We parted—'tis to part no more.
CRUCIFIXION OF EBN BAKIAH
(BY ABU HASSAN ALANBARY)
Whate'er thy fate, in life and death, hou'rt doomed above us still to rise, Whilst at a distance far 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 Poured in the mosque the solemn prayer.
Still, generous Vizier, we survey Thine arms extended o'er our head, As lately, in the festive day, When they were stretched thy gifts to shed.
Earth's narrow boundaries strove in 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.
CAPRICES OF FORTUNE[42]
(BY SHEMS ALMAALI CABUS)
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 eclipsed alone appear The lord of day, the queen of night.
ON LIFE
Like sheep, we're doomed to travel o'er The fated track to all assigned, These follow those that went before, And leave the world to those behind.
As the flock seeks the pasturing shade, Man presses to the future day, While death, amidst the tufted glade, Like the dun robber,[43] waits his prey.
EXTEMPORE VERSES[44]
(BY EBN ALRAMACRAM)
Lowering as Barkaidy's face The wintry night came in, Cold as the music of his bass, And lengthened as his chin.
Sleep from my aching eyes had fled, And kept as far apart, As sense from Ebn Fahdi's head, Or virtue from his heart.
The dubious paths my footsteps balked, I slipp'd along the sod, As if on Jaber's faith I'd walked, Or on his truth had trod.
At length the rising King of day Burst on the gloomy wood, Like Carawash's eye, whose ray Dispenses every good.
ON THE DEATH OF A SON[45]
(BY ALI BEN MOHAMMED ALTAHMANY)
Tyrant of man! Imperious Fate! I bow before thy dread decree, Nor hope in this uncertain state To find a seat secure from thee.
Life is a dark, tumultuous stream, With many a care and sorrow foul, Yet thoughtless mortals vainly deem That it can yield a limpid bowl.
Think not that stream will backward flow, Or cease its destined course to keep; As soon the blazing spark shall glow Beneath the surface of the deep.
Believe not Fate at thy command Will grant a meed she never gave; As soon the airy tower shall stand, That's built upon a passing wave.
Life is a sleep of threescore years, Death bids us wake and hail the light, And man, with all his hopes and fears, Is but a phantom of the night.
ON MODERATION IN OUR PLEASURES[46]
(BY ABU ALCASSIM EBN TABATABA)
How oft does passion's grasp destroy The pleasure that it strives to gain? How soon the thoughtless course of joy Is doomed to terminate in pain?
When prudence would thy steps delay, She but restrains to make thee blest; Whate'er from joy she lops away, But heightens and secures the rest.
Wouldst thou a trembling flame expand, That hastens in the lamp to die? With careful touch, with sparing hand, The feeding stream of life supply.
But if thy flask profusely sheds A rushing torrent o'er the blaze, Swift round the sinking flame it spreads, And kills the fire it fain would raise.
THE VALE OF BOZAA[47]
(BY AHMED BEN YUSEF ALMENAZY)
The intertwining boughs for thee Have wove, sweet dell, a verdant vest, And thou in turn shalt give to me A verdant couch upon thy breast.
To shield me from day's fervid glare Thine oaks their fostering arms extend, As anxious o'er her infant care I've seen a watchful mother bend.
A brighter cup, a sweeter draught, I gather from that rill of thine, Than maddening drunkards ever quaff'd, Than all the treasures of the vine.
So smooth the pebbles on its shore, That not a maid can thither stray, But counts her strings of jewels o'er, And thinks the pearls have slipped away.
TO ADVERSITY[48]
(BY ABU MENBAA CARAWASH)
Hail, chastening friend Adversity! 'Tis thine The mental ore to temper and refine, To cast in virtue's mold the yielding heart, And honor's polish to the mind impart. Without thy wakening touch, thy plastic aid, I'd lain the shapeless mass that nature made; But formed, great artist, by thy magic hand, I gleam a sword to conquer and command.
ON THE INCOMPATIBILITY OF PRIDE AND TRUE GLORY[49]
(BY ABU ALOLA)
Think not, Abdallah, pride and fame Can ever travel hand in hand; With breast opposed, and adverse aim, On the same narrow path they stand.
Thus youth and age together meet, And life's divided moments share; This can't advance till that retreat, What's here increased is lessened there.
And thus the falling shades of night Still struggle with the lucid ray, And e'er they stretch their gloomy flight Must win the lengthened space from day.
THE DEATH OF NEDHAM ALMOLK
(BY SHEBAL ADDAULET)
Thy virtues famed through every land, Thy spotless life, in age and youth, Prove thee a pearl, by nature's hand, Formed out of purity and truth.
Too long its beams of Orient light Upon a thankless world were shed; Allah has now revenged the slight, And called it to its native bed.
TO A LADY
No, Abla, no—when Selim tells Of many an unknown grace that dwells In Abla's face and mien, When he describes the sense refined, That lights thine eye and fills thy mind, By thee alone unseen.
'Tis not that drunk with love he sees Ideal charms, which only please Through passion's partial veil, 'Tis not that flattery's glozing tongue Hath basely framed an idle song, But truth that breathed the tale.
Thine eyes unaided ne'er could trace Each opening charm, each varied grace, That round thy person plays; Some must remain concealed from thee, For Selim's watchful eye to see, For Selim's tongue to praise.
One polished mirror can declare That eye so bright, that face so fair, That cheek which shames the rose; But how thy mantle waves behind, How float thy tresses on the wind, Another only shows.
AN EPIGRAM[50]
Whoever has recourse to thee Can hope for health no more, He's launched into perdition's sea, A sea without a shore.
Where'er admission thou canst gain, Where'er thy phiz can pierce, At once the Doctor they retain, The mourners and the hearse.
ON A LITTLE MAN WITH A VERY LARGE BEARD
(BY ISAAC BEN KHALIF)
How can thy chin that burden bear? Is it all gravity to shock? Is it to make the people stare? And be thyself a laughing stock?
When I behold thy little feet After thy beard obsequious run, I always fancy that I meet Some father followed by his son.