Translated into English Verse by J. D. Carlyle, BD
Sure Harut's * potent spells were breathed
Upon that magic sword, thine eye;
For if it wounds us thus while sheathed,
When drawn 'tis vain its edge to fly.
How canst thou doom me, cruel fair,
Plunged in the hell ** of scorn, to groan?
No idol e'er this heart could share
This heart has worshipped thee alone.
Footnotes:
* A wicked angel, who is permitted to tempt mankind by teaching them magic: see the legend respecting him in Sale's Koran.
** The poet here alludes to the punishments denounced in the Koran against those who worship a plurality of gods: "their couch shall be in hell, and over them shall be coverings of fire." Sur. 2.
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