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diff --git a/old/51392-0.txt b/old/51392-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 28ce381..0000000 --- a/old/51392-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,1644 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook, Hafiz in London, by Hāfiz, 1th cent., -Translated by Justin H. (Justin Huntly) McCarthy - - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - - -Title: Hafiz in London - - -Author: Hāfiz, 1th cent. - - - -Release Date: March 8, 2016 [eBook #51392] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - - -***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HAFIZ IN LONDON*** - - -E-text prepared by Emmanuel Ackerman and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made -available by Internet Archive (https://archive.org) - - - -Note: Images of the original pages are available through - Internet Archive. See - https://archive.org/details/hafizinlondontra00hafiuoft - - - - - -HAFIZ IN LONDON - - -Printed by -Spottiswoode and Co., New-Street Square -London - - -HAFIZ IN LONDON - -by - -JUSTIN HUNTLY McCARTHY, M.P. - - - ﺍﻛﺮ ﺑﺰﻟﻒ ﺫﺭﺍﺯ ﺗﻮ ﺩﺳﻦ ﻣﺎ ﻧﺮ ﺳﺪ - ﻛﻨﺎﻩ ﺑﺨﺖ ﭘﺮﻳﺸﺎﻥ ﻭ ﺩﺳﺖ ﻛﻮﺗﻪ ﻣﺎﺳﺖ - - - - - - - -London -Chatto & Windus, Piccadilly -1886 - -[The right of translation is reserved] - - - - -_DEDICATION._ - - - Ferangis, at thy feet I lay - These roses from the haunted coast - Of Faristan, whose poets boast - Their Rocknabad and Mosellay; - For I was in Shiraz to-day, - With ancient Hafiz for my host, - Who, like a comfortable ghost, - With Persian roses crowned my stay. - They are thy tribute from the land - Of Khayyam and our Khalifate, - For on their crimson folds of fate - A wizard ciphered with his wand - Words which I dare not here translate, - But you will read and understand. - - - - -_CONTENTS._ - - - PAGE - DEDICATION v - HAFIZ IN LONDON 1 - MEMORY 6 - ELD 11 - LONG AGO 14 - VANITY 19 - KAIF 21 - YOU AND I 25 - CONSOLATION 28 - LOTUS 31 - PHILOSOPHY FOR OTHERS 33 - WISDOM 36 - RENUNCIATION 38 - AFTER RHAMAZAN 40 - LONELY 44 - COURAGE 47 - VINE-VISIONS 49 - A DREAM 52 - ATTAR OF LOVE 58 - VAULTING AMBITION 60 - A NIGHT-PIECE 62 - FALLEN ANGELS 65 - PRAISE OF WINE 67 - HAROUN ER-RASHEED’S POET 70 - GHAZEL 74 - THE GRAVE OF OMAR-I-KHAYYAM 77 - OMAR ANSWERS 86 - TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE - - - - -HAFIZ IN LONDON. - - - - -_HAFIZ IN LONDON._ - - - Hafiz in London! even so. - For not alone by Rukni’s flow - The ruddy Persian roses grow. - - Not only ’neath the cypress groves, - With soul on fire the singer roves, - And tells the laughing stars his loves. - - Here in this city--where I brood - Beside the river’s darkling flood, - And feed the fever in my blood - - With Eastern fancies quaintly traced - On yellow parchment, half effaced - In verses subtly interlaced-- - - Men eat and drink, men love and die, - Beneath this leaden London sky, - As eastward where the hoopoos fly, - - And through the tranquil evening air - A muezzin from the turret stair - Summons all faithful souls to prayer. - - And we who drink the Saki’s wine - Believe its juice no less divine - Than filled, Hafiz, that cup of thine. - - Master and most benign of shades, - Before thy gracious phantom fades - To Mosellay’s enchanted glades, - - Breathe on my lips, and o’er my brain - Some comfort for thy child, whose pain - Strives as you strove, but strives in vain. - - When sundown sets the world on fire, - The music of the Master’s lyre - Deadens the ache of keen desire. - - Reading this painted Persian page, - Where, half a lover, half a sage, - You built your heart a golden cage, - - My fancy, skimming southern seas, - Wanders at twilight where the breeze - Flutters the dark pomegranate trees. - - We all are sultans in our dreams - Of gardens where the sunlight gleams - On fairer flowers and clearer streams; - - And thus in dreams I seek my home - Where dim Shiraz, dome after dome, - Smiles on the water’s silver foam; - - The dancing girls, with tinkling feet - And many-coloured garments, beat - Their drums adown the twisted street; - - And while the revel sways along, - The scented, flower-crowned, laughing throng - Seem part and parcel of thy song. - - Hafiz, night’s rebel angels sweep - Across the sun; I pledge you deep, - And smiling, sighing, sink to sleep. - - - - -_MEMORY._ - - - Sitting silent in the twilight, faces of my former loves - Float about my fancy softly, like a silver flight of doves. - - Brighter than the stars of heaven is the shining of their eyes, - Sweeter are their angel voices than the speech of Paradise. - - I am old and grey and weary, winter in my blood and brain; - But to-night these haunting phantoms conjure up my youth again. - - Lovingly I name them over, all that world of gracious girls, - Almond-eyed and jasmine-bosomed, like a poet stringing pearls. - - In my tranquil cypress mazes just outside the sleepy town, - Blooms a tribe of laughing lilies fairer than a kingly crown. - - Every lily in the garden wears a woman’s gracious name, - Every lily in the garden set my spirit once aflame; - - And amongst that throng of lilies scarcely whiter than his hair, - Hafiz sits and dreams at sunset of the flowers no longer fair; - - Of the sweethearts dead and buried whom I worshipped long ago, - When this beard as grey as ashes was as sable as the sloe. - - I would weep if I were wiser, but the idle child of song - Leaves reflection to the Mullah, sorrow to the Sufi throng. - - Am I wrong to be contented in the sunlight to rehearse - Pleasant tales of love and lovers in my honey-laden verse? - - While the vinepress with the life-blood of the purple clusters drips, - I forget how slowly, surely, day by day to darkness slips, - - Heedless how beyond the gateway in the field the nations jar, - Hand on throat and hand on sabre in the trampled lanes of war. - - Ah! ’tis better on this pleasant river bank to lie reclined, - While the ghosts of old affections fill the harem of my mind. - - Think no more of love and lasses, Hafiz; you can scarcely hold - The Koran with trembling fingers. Hafiz, you are growing old. - - - - -_ELD._ - - - Hafiz, you are growing old; - Hafiz, all the girls abandon - Bards whose blood is getting cold, - Bards whom Time has laid his hand on. - All the merry songs you sung - In the days when you were young, - Are not worth a feather’s weight - To arrest the fist of Fate - When it jogs your shifting sand on. - - Hafiz, though a tinge of grey - Shames the locks that once were sable, - Drink and laugh the world away, - Swear that eld’s a housewife’s fable; - Vow that youth is always yours - While the graceful gait allures, - While the perfume haunts the rose, - While a ruddy balsam flows - From the flagon on the table. - - Just a word within your ear, - Hafiz: you’re a craven creature - If you waste a single tear - On the thought that every feature - Of the fairest face a maid - Ever showed the sun must fade; - Rather bid your mistress weigh - Youth and beauty’s barren stay, - And a wiser lesson teach her. - - Tell her youth was made for love; - Tell her wine was made for drinking; - Tell her that in heaven above - Mahmoud and his saints are winking - At the golden jest of youth; - Tell her wisdom’s wisest truth - Is, be merry while you may, - Cease regretting yesterday, - Or about to-morrow thinking. - - - - -_LONG AGO._ - - - All my youth’s desires are buried, - Each within its narrow grave; - Long ago their ghosts were ferried - O’er Jaihun’s enchanted wave; - Wild ambitions bright and brave, - Loves that made me serve a slave, - All have slipped away like snow - Long ago. - - Stars in which my youth delighted - Vanish from the heavenly band, - And I wander a benighted - Stranger in a stranger land; - There is no one left to stand - By my side or take my hand, - Of the friends I worshipped so - Long ago. - - One sweet name of all the number - Haunts the chambers of my brain, - One sweet shape disturbs my slumber, - Loved too well and loved in vain. - Ah, Ferangis! give again - Half the pleasure, all the pain, - That my boyhood used to know - Long ago. - - These are dreams: I must remember - That my youthful days are dead, - That the rigours of December - Grizzle e’en a poet’s head. - Gone is gone, and dead is dead, - And no roses bloom as red - As the roses used to blow - Long ago. - - Though my eyes pursue the swallow - As he travels towards the sun, - Aged limbs refuse to follow - Where the fancies lightly run. - Hafiz, cease, the game is done, - Life’s fantastic robe is spun; - Fate marked out the way to go - Long ago. - - You were passionate, my poet, - In your manhood’s golden dawn; - Seized the seed of life to sow it - On the tulip-tinted lawn; - Now you sit at home and yawn, - Withered, grizzled, bent and drawn, - By the hearth: you scorned its glow - Long ago. - - What is left? a sigh, a shudder, - For my past, and for the goal - Where, a boat without a rudder, - Drifts my tempest-troubled soul; - Ah! death’s angel, taking toll, - Shall I find within thy bowl - Better wine than used to flow - Long ago? - - - - -_VANITY._ - - - I dreamt all night of your cold caresses; - Your kisses froze on my lips like flakes - Of pitiless snow that chills and breaks - The warm heart snared in your sombre tresses. - - I woke with a groan in the livid morning, - Groaned and swore I would break away - From the bitter bondage of love, and repay - Laughter with laughter, and scorn with scorning. - - Ere noon was hot in the heavens, I met you; - You had but to smile as you passed, and lo! - I was your lover again. Heigho! - Hate you or love you, I can’t forget you. - - - - -_KAIF._ - - - Mine be the musk and the music, mine be the laughing girl; - Mine be the ample flagon, brimmed with the blood of the vine; - Mine the divan encushioned, watching the dancers twirl; - Mine the narghili serpent, breathing its soul divine. - - Others can juggle with statecraft, others can lust for command; - Others can envy their fellows woman or vintage or gold; - Others can wrangle for title, fight for a rood of land; - Others think souls and bodies things to be bought and sold. - - Such as they are, God made them; such as they are, God guides; - Such as they are, they do their task, fill place in the world - awhile; - Such as they are, they eat and drink, and sleep on the breasts of - their brides; - Such as they are, they sicken and die--may jackals their graves - defile. - - I for my part am happy, I for my part am calm, - I for my part rejoice to the full in the hour that glideth by, - I for my part with all my heart delight in the vineyard’s balm, - I for my part will love and laugh till my moment comes to die. - - Grant me, Allah, digestion; grant me, Allah, desire; - Grant me a mistress with almond eyes and cinnamon-scented breath; - Grant me a golden vessel filled with the vineyard’s fire; - Grant me, Allah, a lazy life, and later a lazy death. - - Dearest, I once was foolish; dearest, I once was young; - Dearest, I once would have sold my soul for the price of a - passionate kiss; - Dearest, you know what your lover was when the songs of his youth - were sung; - Dearest, the devil deserves your soul for driving me down to this. - - - - -_YOU AND I._ - - - Spare your censures, worthy friend, on my love of drinking; - Shut your senses, if you please, to the glasses clinking. - - Only, while you rest with me, prithee keep your curses - For some other fellow’s wine, other fellow’s verses. - - By what frenzy of reproof is your wisdom bitten? - Are the sins that I commit in your volume written? - - If I run a tavern score, you don’t pay the reckoning; - If the Lotus-maiden nods, not to you she’s beckoning. - - Who shall say behind the Veil which is good and evil? - Who shall say if you or I journey to the devil? - - Very varied laws of life you and I are firm on; - Which of us, my friend, is text? which of us is sermon? - - Every sober man or drunk seeks his soul’s ideal; - In the tavern and the mosque love alike is real. - - Paradise is fair indeed; but this side of heaven - There is joy in noonday sun, joy in shades of even. - - Be not boastful of thy worth, for who knows when mounted - To the final judgment-seat how his sum is counted? - - Sanctimonious folk like you, filled with moral phrases, - May be sent, to your surprise, packing off to blazes; - - While poor rogues like us, who drink ere the vintage fail us, - May be plucked to Paradise from this very alehouse. - - - - -_CONSOLATION._ - - - Weep not for the lost Yusuf, in Canaan his eyes shall close; - Weep not for your wasted garden, it shall blossom like the rose. - - Weep not for your nights of revel, weep not for your days of tears, - For an hour’s repentance cancels all the sins of sixty years. - - Weep not, soul with sorrow laden, once again the spring returns; - Singer of the night, your planet once again in heaven burns. - - Weep not for your boyhood’s passions, weep not for your youth’s - despair; - Every poet’s heart was tangled sometime in a woman’s hair. - - Weep not, watcher for to-morrow, that thou never canst prevail - With the stars to tell the secret shrouded up behind the Veil. - - Weep not if life’s gloomy pathway terrifies your wandering soul, - For the byeway, not the highway, best conducteth to the goal. - - Weep not for the loss of brother, grieve not at the gain of foe; - Would you with Allah be angry when the winds of winter blow? - - Weep not, Hafiz, poor and lonely, but not all unhappy man, - While your life’s as true and upright as ordained by Alkoran. - - - - -_LOTUS._ - - - I love the Lotus-blossom when it wreathes - Its painted petals in my sweetheart’s tresses, - And she, enchanted by its odour, breathes - Soft words of love, and soothes with soft caresses. - - I love the Lotus-blossom when it lies - On the white bosom of a sleeping woman, - And falls and rises as the dreamer sighs, - For that love’s sake she yet has told to no man. - - I love the Lotus-blossom, for it grows - On a lone grave beside a silent river; - There my youth’s mistress takes her last repose: - I loved, I hated, and I now forgive her. - - - - -_PHILOSOPHY FOR OTHERS._ - - - Salute the summer, breathe the breath of God, - Be happy while you can, for by-and-by - You that are now so full of life must die, - And redder roses blossom from your sod. - - Believe me, brother, that behind the Veil - A harp is touched, and one is singing to it - A song of counsel, if you only knew it; - When wilt thou list, and let that song prevail? - - Ask not poor Hafiz to admonish you - With whom you should frequent, with whom be drinking, - For surely half an hour of tranquil thinking - Will teach you better what you ought to do. - - The road that leads us to the Friend at last - Is hard to travel, full of fear, temptation; - But think, my brother, think of the elation - In looking back along the road you’ve past. - - Cease this perplexing problem to revolve; - Him the world clutches with a thousand fingers - Who on the pathway of his purpose lingers - To solve the riddle none were meant to solve. - - For every flower that in the meadow blows, - Is like a book God opened to confess on - His secret purpose. But canst read the lesson - Writ in the purple petals of the rose? - - And yet, O Hafiz! thou that talkest so wise - Of prudence, and of patience, and compassion, - Thy heart is all on fire with foolish passion - For one fair face and two tormenting eyes. - - - - -_WISDOM._ - - - Weep not for the waning rose - Sigh not when the south wind blows, - Drown reflection in the can, - Dissipated Mussulman; - Better to be glad than sad, - By the waves of Rocknabad. - - If the truth must be confest, - Youth’s a juggle, love’s a jest, - Life’s a comic caravan, - Discontented Mussulman; - Better to be glad than sad, - By the waves of Rocknabad. - - Eat your crust and drink your wine, - Deem the girl you love divine, - Make you merry for a span, - Philosophic Mussulman; - Better to be glad than sad, - By the waves of Rocknabad. - - - - -_RENUNCIATION._ - - - Thus Allah makes proclamation: - Ye that seek for peace of mind, - What ye seek will only find - In the word renunciation. - - Must I spill the wine I’m drinking, - Must I practise what I preach, - Ere Mohammed’s hand will reach - Out to save my soul from sinking? - - Must I shrink from soft caresses, - Must I turn my eyes away, - Must my heart no longer stay - In the tangle of your tresses? - - Talk no more; I’ll not believe it; - Love is far too sweet to lose, - And while wine is in the cruse, - By my beard I’ll never leave it. - - Hafiz, if the dedication - Of thy being must belong - Thus to woman, wine, and song, - Cease to preach renunciation. - - - - -_AFTER RHAMAZAN._ - - - Thank Allah! the fast is over; - Thank Allah! the feast is here; - And at last each jolly lover - Of the vintage lives in clover - Through the sweetest of the year. - - Hide thy visage, sour ascetic; - Go thy ways, thy hour has past; - While all revellers poetic - Join in union sympathetic, - Drinking full and drinking fast. - - Why should I incur reproaches - If I like a stoup of wine? - Thank Allah! the hour approaches - When the jolly tapster broaches - Liquor more than half divine. - - He that drains a decent flagon - At the wine house, can ignore - How the tongues of envy wag on. - Think how dull their days must drag on, - Who run up no wine-house score. - - For Allah’s illumination, - Shining on this rosy tide, - Finds no smug dissimulation, - Calling out for reprobation, - Fair without and foul inside. - - Clean our lives, our language civil, - Alkoran’s law understood; - And we never let the devil - Catch us calling good things evil, - And the things of evil good. - - Where’s the harm of my carouses - With the vineyard’s sanguine flood? - If I drink till dawn arouses - All the Muftis from their houses, - Do I drink my brother’s blood? - - Hafiz, cease thy soul to trouble - With the wherefore and the how; - Laugh and love, for life’s a bubble; - Drink till everything grows double, - And the roses leave your brow. - - - - -_LONELY._ - - - I am lonely, very lonely, for the girl who stole my heart - Shines a star in other heavens, plays another lover’s part, - While I sit in sombre silence, hearing how my heart will beat, - When I catch the faintest footfall sounding down my dreary street. - Is it she, or else some message sent from her to soothe my pain, - Falling on the thirsty seeds of passion like a holy rain? - No, the sounds die out in silence, and the twilight deepens down, - And the orisons of evening breathe above the darkening town; - But my mosque is not the Mufti’s, for my beacon in the gloom - Is the crimson lamp-light floating from the tavern’s warmest room. - There I sit and drug my sorrow to a sleep that seems like death, - There forget that I have ever kissed her lips and felt her breath - From the parted smiling petals of the rose-flower of her mouth - Breathe upon my eyes and hair the perfumes of the odorous south. - It is war ’twixt wine and memory; on the tavern’s trampled sill - I will plant my colours proudly, ruddy as the drops that fill - Yonder jars, whose prisoned magic slays regret and saps desire, - Burning folly from my bosom with the vineyard’s liquid fire. - Woe is me! I boast untimely; even as I lift the cup, - On the purple flood the face of the beloved comes floating up. - - - - -_COURAGE._ - - - My soul rose out of its sleep, and said - There were angels once, but they all are dead; - And heaven is empty, and cold and grey - As a world whose heat has burnt away. - - The leaves of the tree of life are shed, - The bird who sang in the boughs has fled, - The coffin of night shrouds the corpse of the day, - And winter withers the mirth of May. - - Allah and Shitan have gone to bed, - The prophets and saints are lapped in lead, - The shrines are shattered and no men pray, - The law is broken and none obey. - - The roses of youth are no longer red, - Bitter life’s wine is, bitter its bread, - The lips of the poets are stopped with clay, - And beauty fades into dull decay. - - Then I turned me to Alkoran and read, - And Mohammed whispered, ‘Hold up thy head. - Sin is an enemy hard to slay; - Cry Allah ’l ’Akbar, and fight your way.’ - - - - -_VINE-VISIONS._ - - - While the House of Hope is builded on the weak and shifting sand, - While our breath is as the wind is, take the flagon in your hand; - - For while I was quaffing, laughing in the tavern yester-night, - From the unknown world an angel floated on my swimming sight-- - - Handed me a golden vessel, bade me drink, and as I drank - All my swooning senses straightway in the pool of slumber sank; - - And I dreamed a dream enchanted of a land beyond the sky, - Where no youthful cheek grows paler, where no flagon e’er runs dry, - - Where no woman whispers falsely, where no eyes are ever wet, - Where no kisses ever weary, where no loving hearts forget. - - Then I woke, and wept at waking, leaving in that pleasant land - Fairer flowers than Mosellay has, bluer domes than Samarcand. - - Nevermore, unhappy Hafiz, will you tread that pleasant land, - Though you sucked the Seven Oceans from their cup of golden sand. - - - - -_A DREAM._ - - - I dreamt, about the morning hours, - That in a field of scented flowers, - By Rocknabad’s cool flow, - I saw Ferangis go - Swift by me like a dream of spring; - And I, whose heart was hot to fling - Myself before my dear, - Stood full of silent fear. - - And then I dreamt she came to lay - Softly her hand in mine and say, - ‘Hafiz, you yet shall know - How happy is your woe; - For what gift can the silent years - Offer so precious as these tears, - And memory of the ache - Your heart had for my sake?’ - - Then, seeming stirred by pitying thought - Of all the joy I vainly sought, - You gave your hand to kiss, - Saying, ‘Remember this - When you and I are grey and old, - When all this fiery love is cold, - And, honouring lost delight, - Keep your soul’s whiteness white.’ - - I had no power to speak or move; - Slowly the image of my love - Faded before my eyes - Like light from summer skies. - I wake and find Ferangis gone, - Yet scarce believe I am alone; - One minute since my hand - Had touched her where I stand. - - I read of men whom love made mad - In antique legends, softly sad - As wind is after rain. - I weep for Saadi’s pain, - And stir the dust that lies above - Long shelves of poets crossed in love, - To gain from their disgrace - Some comfort for my case. - - I find fit voices for my grief - In many a buried poet’s leaf; - But, ah! what ancient song - Contains a charm so strong - That it shall make your heart confess - You love me, neither more or less? - Which learning, surely I - Might be content to die. - - And yet, when I reflect how fair - Those almond eyes and sable hair - And gracious body are, - I cry, ‘Out of my star - Such beauty is;’ I am as one - Who dreams of kingdoms till the sun - Warns, if he would be fed, - To rise and beg his bread. - - Soft voices whisper in my ears, - ‘What girl deserves the grace of tears?’ - Courage! the world is wide; - Life’s best is to be tried. - If this love fail, fresh loves await; - The reddest roses blossom late. - Have you not passed before - Out of love’s curtained door? - - - - -_ATTAR OF LOVE._ - - - There is neither pledge nor pity in the beauty of the rose - For the nightingale, whose sorrow in melodious madness flows; - - Though the brown bird sang for ever till its singing spirit fled, - Still the rose would greet the west wind with its petals’ perfect - red. - - Once a songster in the garden chanted to a scornful rose, - ‘Cease thy scorn, for in the hedges many a fairer blossom grows.’ - - Then the rose made answer smiling, ‘Singer, thou hast spoken sooth, - But no lover e’er addresses lover with so little ruth. - - ‘Think not how the roses wither, be but gay while roses bloom, - For the world’s delight is little in the shadow of the tomb.’ - - Hafiz, if you sang more sweetly than the wind among the reeds, - She you love is but the rose tree, and the rose tree never heeds. - - - - -_VAULTING AMBITION._ - - - Once in my way an Arab story came - Relating how a poet, drugged with wine, - Watched from the tavern door where the divine - Pale moon lit all the sky with silver flame; - And crying, ‘By Allah’s eternal name, - I swear that argent splendour shall be mine!’ - Leaped, clutching at the sky, and rolled supine - A muddy rascal, steeped in mire and shame. - This is our common madness. Am not I - Moon-haunted by thy beauty? Yet I stand - No farther from the empress of the sky - Than from one touch of thy all-conquering hand; - And though my songs made all the heavens sigh, - I know you will not pity, nor understand. - - - - -_A NIGHT-PIECE._ - - - Once at night I paced my garden, seeking--but I sought in vain-- - From the perfume of the roses balsam for my burning brain; - - For through all that dusk the circle of a single damask bloom - Shone more brightly than the cresset on a true believer’s tomb; - - And so haughty in the splendour of her beauty burned this rose, - That she banished from the bosom of the nightingale repose, - - While the eyes of sad narcissus floated o’er with loving tears, - And the tulip bared her bosom wounded by a thousand spears. - - Vainly then the lily offered to console the poet’s care, - Vainly too the violet pleaded, ‘Are no other blossoms fair?’ - - Since the only potent rival of the rose tree is the vine, - Let me drown my hopeless passion in the Seven Seas of wine. - - ‘Hafiz, I conjure thee, from the rose tree pluck thy heart away.’ - Lo, the message is delivered, and the bearer speeds away. - - - - -_FALLEN ANGELS._ - - - ’Tis written in the Writing how a pair - Of angels dwelt with children of the dust, - And judged between the just and the unjust; - Loyal to God, until a woman, fair - As sun or stars, entangled in her hair - The hearts of those twin angels, and dark lust - Consumed them, till they whispered, ‘Surely must - We temper justice to a thing so rare.’ - God punished those false angels, yet if I - Were placed like them upon some judgment-seat - Speaking the law, and you came wandering by, - One smile of yours would fling me at your feet - Crying, ‘Have pity upon me, O most sweet! - Do with me as you will, and let me die.’ - - - - -_PRAISE OF WINE._ - - - Once again the ruddy vintage storms the chambers of my brain, - Steals my senses with its kisses, steals and yet shall steal again; - - But I do not blame the grape’s blood for the vengeances it wreaks - When it plants its purple standard on the stronghold of my cheeks. - - May Allah confer his blessing on the hands that pluck the grape, - May their footsteps never fail who tread its clusters out of shape. - - Since the love of wine was written by Fate’s finger on my brow, - What is written once is written, and you cannot change it now; - - Talk no babble about wisdom: in the awful hour of death, - Is the breath of Aristotle better than the beggar’s breath? - - Spare me, pious friend, reproaches, for the selfsame God who chose - You to be so wise and pious, made me love the wine and rose. - - Hafiz, spend thy life so wisely that when thou at last art dead, - ‘Dead’ may not be all the comment, all the requiem that’s said. - - - - -_HAROUN ER-RASHEED’S POET._ - - - Khalifah Haroun, surnamed Er-Rasheed, - In the calm evening of a festal day, - Ordered his bard, Abu-l’Atahiyeh, - To praise the life it pleased his lord to lead. - - The poet bowed and stirred the silver wires, - And sang, ‘Khalifah, peace and pleasure wait - Within the shadow of your palace gate, - And deep fulfilment of your heart’s desires.’ - - Said Haroun, smiling, ‘Here is silver speech - That shall be sealed with silver; speak again, - And find my bounty boundless as the main - Which knows, so poets say, no further beach.’ - - Again the poet’s voice and lute allied, - ‘Let not the day star nor the night star shine - Upon the hour that leaves a wish of thine, - Thy lightest wish, Haroun, ungratified.’ - - Still Haroun smiled, ‘This time thy words are gold, - And shall be guerdoned with a golden fee; - Sing on, sweet voice, sing on and comfort me, - Nor ever fear to find thy master cold.’ - - Then sang Abu-l’Atahiyeh aloud, - ‘In those dark moments when thy faltering breath - Shall strive in vain against all-conquering death, - These things shall seem like shadows on a shroud.’ - - There fell a fearful silence on the place, - While the scared guests saw Haroun from his throne - Frown at the bard, and then, with a deep groan, - Hide in his trembling hands his weeping face. - - Straightway a supple courtier standing by - Cried to the singer, ‘Blasted be the throat - Which frights our master with a boding note - In lieu of mirthful music; look to die.’ - - ‘Nay,’ Haroun whispered, ‘do not blame the bard; - He saw our soul benighted, and, like wind, - Dispersed the veil of error. Let him find - My richest gems too poor for his reward.’ - - - - -_GHAZEL._ - - - If the gracious girl I worship would but take my heart in hand, - I would give her for her beauty Ispahan and Samarcand. - - But this lass, the very fairest trouble of our tranquil town, - Plucks all patience from my bosom, lifts my hopes to laugh them down. - - She has slandered me, so be it; I forgive her, speaking sooth, - For the harshest words fall softly from the scarlet lips of youth; - - Yet I dare not call her cruel, though she does me grievous wrong, - For what lovely face is flattered by the proudest poet’s song? - - Fill, then, friend, while wine remaineth, for in Paradise, dear lad, - We shall sigh for Mosellay and weep the waves of Rocknabad. - - Speak of wine and song and women; cease, I pray, to seek in vain, - What that mystery most mystic called to-morrow may contain. - - String thy pearls and sing them, Hafiz, for from heaven’s golden bars - God has shed upon thy verses all the sweetness of the stars. - - - - -_THE GRAVE OF OMAR-I-KHAYYAM._ - - - I, named Nizami, child of Samarcand, - The holy place whose towers aspire to heaven, - Whose domes are blue as heaven’s inverted cup, - The consecrated shrine, head of Islam, - Whose heart is at Meccah, the happy spot - Where bloom the gardens of the Heart’s Delight, - Where in the house upon the Shepherd’s Hill - Wise men pursue the pathway of the stars-- - I, even Nizami, write this record down - In God’s name, merciful, compassionate, - A proof of his compassion. - When my youth - Burned in my body like a new-fed flame, - When wisdom seemed an easy flower to pluck, - And knowledge fruit that ripens in a day; - Ah me! that merry When so long ago - I was a pupil of that man of men, - Omar, the tent-maker of Naishapur, - That is Khorassan’s crown, Omar the wise, - Whose wisdom read the golden laws of life, - And made them ours for ever in his songs, - Omar the star-gazer. - One day by chance, - I taxing all my student’s store of wit - With thought of is and is not, good and bad, - And fondly dreaming that my fingers soon - Would close upon the key of heaven and earth, - I met my master in a garden walk, - Musing as was his wont, I knew not what, - Perhaps some better mode of marshalling - Those daily soldiers of the conquering years, - Perchance some subtler science which the stars - Ciphered in fire upon the vaulted sky - For him alone, perchance on some rare rhymes - Pregnant with mighty thoughts, or on some girl, - Star-eyed and cypress-slender, tulip-cheeked - And jasmine-bosomed, for he loved such well, - And deemed it wisdom. - Omar saw me not, - And would have passed me curtained in his thoughts; - But I, perked up with youthful consequence - At mine own wisdom, plucked him by the sleeve, - And with grave salutation, as befits - The pupil to the master, stayed his course - And craved his patience. - Omar gazed at me - With the grave sweetness which his servants loved, - And gave me leave to speak, which I, on fire - To tell the thing I thought, made haste to do, - And poured my babble in the master’s ear - Of solving human doubt. - When I had done, - And, panting, looked into my master’s eyes - To read therein approval of my plan, - He turned his head, and for a little while - Waited in silence, while my petulant mind - Galloped again the course of argument - And found no flaw, all perfect. - Still he stood - Silent, and I, the riddle-reader, vexed - At long-delayed approval, touched again - His sleeve, and with impatient reverence - Said, - ‘Master, speak, that I may garner up - In scented manuscripts the thoughts of price - That fall from Omar’s lips.’ - He smiled again - In sweet forgiveness of my turbulent mood, - And with a kindly laughter in his eyes - He said, - ‘I have been thinking, when I die, - That I should like to slumber where the wind - May heap my tomb with roses.’ - So he spoke, - And then with thoughtful face and quiet tread - He past and left me staring, most amazed - At such a pearl from such a sea of thought, - And marvelling that great philosophers - Can pay so little sometimes heed to truth - When truth is thrust before them. God be praised! - I am wiser now, and grasp no golden key. - - Years came and went, and Omar passed away, - First from those garden walks of Samarcand - Where he and I so often watched the moon - Silver the bosoms of the cypresses, - And so from out the circle of my life, - And in due season out of life itself; - And his great name became a memory - That clung about me like the scent of flowers - Beloved in boyhood, and the wheeling years - Ground pleasure into dust beneath my feet; - And so the world wagged till there came a day - When I that had been young and was not young, - I found myself in Naishapur, and there - Bethought me of my master dead and gone, - And the musk-scented preface of my youth. - Then to myself I said, ‘Nizami, rise - And seek the tomb of Omar.’ - So I sought, - And after seeking found, and, lo! it lay - Beyond a garden full of roses, full - As the third heaven is full of happy eyes; - And every wind that whispered through the trees - Scattered a heap of roses on his grave; - Yea, roses leaned, and from their odorous hearts - Rained petals on his marble monument, - Crimson as lips of angels. - Then my mind, - Sweeping the desert of departed years, - Leaped to that garden speech in Samarcand, - The cypress grove, my fretful questioning, - And the mild beauty of my master’s face. - Then I knelt down and glorified Allah, - Who is compassionate and merciful, - That of his boundless mercy he forgave - This singing sinner; for I surely knew - That all the leaves of every rose that dripped - Its tribute on the tomb where Omar sleeps, - Were tears and kisses that should smooth away - His record of offence; for Omar sinned, - Since Omar was a man. - He wished to sleep - Beneath a veil of roses; Heaven heard, - Forgave, and granted, and the perfumed pall - Hides the shrine’s whiteness. Glory to Allah! - - - - -_OMAR ANSWERS._ - - - Now by the memory of Kai Khosru, - Of Kaikobad, of Zal and Rustem too, - O English singer rousing me from sleep, - The student of the stars will answer you. - - For what avails it cycles to have lain - Since first the roses gushed their scented rain - Upon my grave in Naishapur if men - In the world’s winter take my name in vain? - - Through piled-up earth and ages echoes reach - My tranquil slumbers of an alien speech, - Blown over seas wherein strange doctors preach - Strange sermons on the things I thought to teach. - - For, misinterpreting the songs I sung, - By vain desire and vain ambition stung, - O for one hour of that lost age! they cry, - That golden age when old Khayyam was young. - - Fools who believe the world was otherwise - Than what it now is in the Persian’s eyes, - Or think the secret of content was found - Beneath the canopy of Persian skies. - - Man is to-day what man was yesterday-- - Will be to-morrow; let him curse or pray, - Drink or be dull, he learns not nor shall learn - The lesson that will laugh the world away. - - The world as grey or just as golden shows, - The wine as sweet or just as bitter flows, - For you as me; and you, like me, may find - Perfume or canker in the reddest rose. - - The tale of life is hard to understand; - But while the cup waits ready to your hand, - Drink and declare the summer roses blow - As red in London as in Samarcand. - - Lips are as sweet to kiss and eyes as bright - As ever fluttered Omar with delight; - English or Persian, while the mouth is fair, - What can it matter how it says good-night? - - Whether the legend in the Book of Youth - Runs left or right, it reads a prayer for ruth; - The music of the bird upon the bough - Meant, and still means, no more nor less than truth. - - The wisdom of the wisest of the wise - Is but the pinch of powder in the eyes - Thrown by the fingers of the fiend, that we - True things from false may fail to recognise. - - And not a pang which vexes human flesh, - And not a problem which the Sufis thresh, - But scared my body or perplexed my soul, - And what I felt each man must feel afresh. - - So, brother, by Allah! forbear to weep: - Life is a wine which you may drink as deep - As ever I did, for the hour will come - When you, like old Khayyam, will fall asleep. - - Therefore, O northern singer! prithee cease - To vex my sprite with questions. Know, thy lease - Was by the selfsame Master made as mine; - Be patient, then, and let me sleep in peace. - - - ﺗﻢ ﺍﻟﻜﺘﺎﺏ - - -PRINTED BY -SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE -LONDON - - - - - * * * * * * - - - - -Transcriber’s note: - -Unusual, archaic and obsolete spellings have not been changed. The only -change made in the text was to add the Dedication and the Transcriber’s -Note to the Table of Contents. - -The Persian phrase on the title page is a line from one of the Ghazels -of Hafiz, which might be translated as: ‘If my hand cannot reach -your trailing tress the fault lies in my own ill-starred fate and -stumpy arm.’ The Persian phrase at the end of the book means ‘The end -of the book.’ Persian transliteration and translations by Matthew -Melvin-Koushki. - - - -***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HAFIZ IN LONDON*** - - -******* This file should be named 51392-0.txt or 51392-0.zip ******* - - -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: -http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/5/1/3/9/51392 - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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