As hidden effect of a diet of sweets,

By long incubation, boils break out, or gleets.

The flesh, with praise pampered, a Pharaoh becomes.
The flesh, mortified, due submission assumes.
A servant to all be; princely power be forgot.
Submit to cuffs, ball-like; like bat, batter not.
So soon, otherwise, as thee fortune forsakes,

Thy flatterers will turn. 'Tis greed only, them makes.
The throngs of gross flatterers, who sang loud thy praise.

Will shake their heads, shout out: "Poor de'il! What 330

a craze!"

On seeing thee, then, as thou wanderest about,

They cry: "Cursed hobgoblin! From grave he's come out!"

Like beardless, vain boy they've addressed as "My Lord,"
To work on his vanity, fair fame defraud,

In vice when he's nurtured, his beard thickly grown,
E'en Satan would blush a pact with him to own.
'Tis men Satan seeks out, to work them mischief.

Thee he'll never seek; worse than him, thou, a thief.

So long as thou'rt man, Satan follows thy track.

He tempts thee to drain manhood's lees, still, and wrack. 335 When thou'rt become devil, just like to himself,

He flees thee in fright; leaves thee quite to thyself.

All they who before refuge took in thy power,
With horror fly from thee, in this thy fallen hour.

Our words are mere lies, all tergiversations.1
Without the divine grace, they're sheer delusions.
Without grace of God, holy aid from His saints,
Best "record" of man must be blots and complaints.2
O God! Thy grace, sole, 'tis sustains us as men,
Another to name with Thee suits not a pen.

1 This section purports to be a dissertation on the dictum: "What God wills, is."

2 Man's "record" is the register

of his thoughts, words, and deeds, kept by angels, to be produced in the last judgment.

340

To servants, sound judgment Thou'st kindly vouchsafed. This gift made the means, we've from error escaped.

One drop from the sea of Thy knowledge, does us
With omniscience, surely, make confluous.
That drop have I gathered up in my soul's trust.
Do Thou save it, Lord, from lust's soil and sin's gust.
Sin's soil, oh! permit not that drop to absorb!
Those gusts forbid Thou more to lessen its orb!
True, Thou art All-Powerful, and Thy gracious will
345 Could force them to yield it back, grace to fulfil.

A drop, lost in air, dispersed in the soil,

Is still, through Thy providence, safe from despoil.
Become it, or others, a nonentity,

Thy beck can them summon to new entity.
How many diverse still combine to form one.
Thou givest the word, they part, each to its zone.
Each moment, from naught fresh creations still come,
In flocks and in crowds. 'Tis Thou makest them a home.

Each night, in profound sleep our consciousness sinks; 350 Becomes non-existent ;-waves on seashore's brinks. When morning afresh dawns, they wake up anew, Like fish in the sea, plashing drops, falling dew.

In autumn, the leaves see. They quit, then, the trees;
Like scattered battalions, they fly with the breeze.
The rook, in robes sable, as mourner acts, chief;
In wood and field croaks for his much-deplored leaf.
Command from Thee goes forth;-Thou, true Forest-King;
Nonentity gives back each late stolen thing.

O Death! Thou restorest, now, the whole prey of thine; 355 The leaves, flowers, and fruits, in their due season shine.

Consider, my friend, in thyself; now, awhile,

The spring and the autumn thou in thee seest smile.

Look thou that thy heart be green, yield its good fruits
Of righteousness, purity,-heaven's best recruits.
Through garlands of verdure thy rough branches hid;
With bloom in profusion, hills, plains, all tumid.

These words of mine come from the Spirit supreme,
To call to mind heaven's everlasting grand scheme.
Thou smellest a perfume of flowers. Flowers are not
yet;

Thou dreamest fermentation, though wine is not set.
That odour will draw thee to where the flowers grow,1
The joys of sweet paradise," where rivers flow." 2
Of hope it perfume is that leads our souls on;
As hope led forth Jacob in quest of his son.3
Bad tidings and fearful cost Jacob his sight.
Reunion, in hope, to him brought back the light.
If thou'rt not a Joseph, a Jacob be yet.

As he did, weep, mourn; joy, like him, thou shalt get.

4

If thou art not Shirin, thou may'st Ferhad be;+
And if not Laylà dear, Majnūn's ravings see.5
Accept the advice of old Gazna's sage, wise."
To thee, ever, new life from old life may rise:
"To give one's self airs, requires, first, a fair face;
If beauty thou hast not, run not thou that race."
An ugly face ugly is, all the world round.
A blind eye's affliction, where'er it be found.
In presence of Joseph, no coquetries use.7
But humble thyself; soft entreaties infuse.

1 The same word in Persian, bu, signifies “odour” and "hope." The thing hoped for becomes a distant, odoriferous flower.

2 Qur'an ii. 23, and forty places in all.

3 Jacob is said to have wept himself blind on losing Joseph; the smell of his son's coat, when refound, later, restored him.

4 Ferhad was Shirin's lover. (See Tale 6, distich 107, note).

5 Majnun, in story, went mad for love of Laylà.

6 The "Sage of Gazna" is the poet Sana'ī, already mentioned in the notes to the present tale, distich 230.

7 Joseph is held to have been most superlatively beautiful.

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365

The parrot had death simulated, as prayer. 370 Do thou to pride die; thou mayest so live for e'er. From Jesus a breath may, then, blow upon thee; Transform thee to what he was, what thou mayest be. A stone will not blossom because it is spring. As earth make thyself; flowers around thee may cling. For years thou a stone 'st been; lay this well to heart. 373 Try patience a short time; 'twill give a fresh start.

VIII.

The Harper.

HAST heard, perchance, there was in days of good 'Umer
A minstrel talented, whose harpings moved the sphere?
The nightingales all wept in transports at his voice,
One pleasure made men's hearts a hundred fold rejoice.
His song enchanted every gathering where he went,
Applause as thunder broke forth, to his heart's content.
Like voice of Israfil, whose trump on judgment day,1
Will wake the dead to life, his made the saddest
Dear friend to Israfil he was, and mendicant;
His notes made plumes to sprout on hide of elephant.

gay.

Some day will Israfil attention pay to moans.
Their souls he will recall to old and putrid bones.
The prophets, likewise, all, musicians are on hearts.
Disciples hence expire with joy by fits and starts.

Our outward ears the strains hear not which thence proceed;

Those ears, in many ways, degraded are indeed.

Mankind the songs of fairies never hear at all,

They are not versed in fairies' ways, their voices small.

1 Israfil is the angel who will blow the last trump, twice. At the first, all living will die; at the second, all

the dead will rise to be judged. His voice is the most musical among all those of the angels.

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