ON A VALETUDINARIAN

BY THE SAME.

Translated into English Verse by J. D. Carlyle, BD

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 THE DEATH OF HIS MISTRESS

BY ABU SAHER ALHEDILY.

Translated into English Verse by J. D. Carlyle, BD

Dost thou wonder that I flew

 Charmed to meet my Leila's view?

 Dost thou wonder that I hung

 Raptured on my Leila's tongue?--

 If her ghost's funereal screech

 Through the earth my grave should reach,

 On that voice I loved so well

 My transported ghost would dwell:

 If in death I can descry

 Where my Leila's relics lie,

 Saher's dust will flit away,

 There to join his Leila's clay.

ON HIS FRIENDS

BY MESKIN ALDARAMY.

Translated into English Verse by J. D. Carlyle, BD

WITH conscious pride I view the band

 Of faithful friends that round me stand;

 With pride exult, that I alone

 Can join these scattered gems in one:

     For they're a wreath of pearls, and I

     The silken cord on which they lie.

'Tis mine their inmost souls to see;

 Unlocked is every heart to me;

 To me they cling, on me they rest,

 And I've a place in every breast:

     For they're a wreath of pearls, and I

     The silken cord on which they lie.

THE SONG OF MAISUNA.

Translated into English Verse by J. D. Carlyle, BD

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 through its fluttering walls,

 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, unspoiled by art,

   Son of my kindred, poor but free,

 Will ever to Maisuna's heart

   Be dearer, pampered fool, than thee!

[MAISUNA was a daughter of the tribe of Calab; a tribe, according to Abulfeda, remarkable both for the purity of dialect spoken in it and for the number of poets it had produced. She was married, whilst very young, to the Khalif Mowiah; but this exalted situation by no means suited the disposition of Maisuna; and, amidst all the pomp and splendour of Damascus, she languished for the simple pleasures of her native desert.

These feelings gave birth to the following simple stanzas, which she took the greatest delight in singing, whenever she could find an opportunity to indulge her melancholy in private. She was unfortunately overheard one day by Mowiah, who was of course not a little offended, both with the discovery of his wife's sentiments, and with the contemptuous manner in which she had expressed herself with regard to her husband; and, as a punishment for her fault, he ordered her to retire from court. Maisuna immediately obeyed, and, taking her infant son Yezid with her, returned to Yemen; nor did she revisit Damascus till after the death of Mowiah, when Yezid ascended the throne.]

ON TEMPER

BY NABEGAT BENI JAID.

Translated into English Verse by J. D. Carlyle, BD

YES, Leila, I swore, by the fire of thine eyes,

   I ne'er could a sweetness unvaried endure;

 The bubbles of spirit that sparkling arise

   Forbid life to stagnate, and render it pure.

But yet, my dear maid, though thy spirit's my pride,

   I'd wish for some sweetness to temper the bowl:

 If life be ne'er suffered to rest or subside,

   It may not be flat, but I fear 't will be foul.

VERSES OF YEZID TO HIS FATHER

VERSES OF YEZID TO HIS FATHER, MOWIAH, WHO REPROACHED HIM FOR DRUNKENNESS

Translated into English Verse by J. D. Carlyle, BD

MUST then my failings from the shaft

   Of anger ne'er escape?

 And dost thou storm because I've quaffed

   The water of the grape?

That I can thus from wine be driven,

   Thou surely ne'er canst think--

 Another reason thou hast given

   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!

TO THE KHALIF HAROUN ALRASHID, ON HIS UNDERTAKING A PILGRIMAGE TO MECCA

By IBRAHIM BEN ADHEM.

Translated into English Verse by J. D. Carlyle, BD

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.

ISAAC ALMOUSELY'S POEM

BY ISAAC ALMOUSELY.


ON THE INAUGURATION OF HAROUN ALRASHID, AND THE APPOINTMENT OF YAHIA TO BE HIS VIZIER.

Translated into English Verse by J. D. Carlyle, BD

TH' affrighted sun erewhile had 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 sceptre sways,

 And Yahia's arm sustains the globe.

THE ADIEU

BY ABU MOHAMMED.

Translated into English Verse by J. D. Carlyle, BD

THE boatmen shout, "'Tis time to part,

   No longer we can stay; "

 'Twas then Maimuna taught my heart

   How much a glance could say.

With trembling steps to me she came;

   "Farewell," she would have cried,

 But ere her lips the word could frame,

   In half-formed sounds it died.

Then bending down, with looks of love,

   Her arms she round me flung,

 And as the gale hangs on the grove,

   Upon my breast she hung.

My willing arms embraced the maid,

   My heart with raptures beat;

 While she but wept the more and said,

   "Would we had never met!"

ABU TEMAN HABIB'S POEM

BY ABU TEMAN HABIB.


VERSES ADDRESSED TO HIS MISTRESS, WHO HAD FOUND FAULT WITH HIM FOR PROFUSION

Translated into English Verse by J. D. Carlyle, BD

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 don the mountain rolls,

   And stagnates in the swamp belay.

TO A FEMALE CUPBEARER

BY ABD ALSALAM BEN RAGBAN.

Translated into English Verse by J. D. Carlyle, BD

COME, Leila, fill the goblet up--

   Reach 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.

ON THE MONKS OF KHABBET

THE THREE MOST CELEBRATED IMPROVISATORI POETS IN BAGDAD, AT AN ENTERTAINMENT GIVEN BY ABU ISY, SON OF THE KHALIF MOTAWAKKEL COLLECTION PART ONE

(THE preface with which these Poems are accompanied in the Mostatraf, at the same time that it explains the cause of their composition, gives no bad picture of Arabian manners during the flourishing period of the Khalifate:--

I was one day going to the mosque [says Abu Akramah, an author who supported himself at Bagdad by the profits of his pen], in order to see if I could pick up any little anecdote which might serve for the groundwork of a tale. As I passed the gate of Abu Isy, son of the Khalif Motawakkel, I saw Mashdud, the celebrated extempore poet, standing near it.

Mashdud saluted me, and asked whither I was going. I answered, to the mosque, and confessed without reserve the business which drew me thither. The poet, upon hearing this, pressed me to accompany him to the palace of Abu Isy. I declined, however, complying with his solicitations, conscious of the impropriety of intruding myself uninvited into the presence of a person of such rank and consequence. But Abu Isy's porter, overhearing our conversation, declared that he would put an end to my difficulties in a moment, by acquainting his master with my arrival. He did so; and in a short time two servants appeared, who took me up in their arms, and carried the into a most magnificent apartment, where their master was sitting.

Upon my introduction, I could not help feeling a little confused, but the Prince soon made me easy, by calling out in a good-natured manner, "Why do you stand blushing there, you simpleton? Take a seat." I obeyed: and in a few minutes a sumptuous collation was brought in, of which I partook. Nor was the juice of the grape forgotten: a cupbearer, brilliant as the morning star, poured out wine for us, more sparkling than the beams of the sun reflected by a mirror.

After the entertainment I arose, and having invoked every blessing to be showered down upon the head of my bounteous host, I was preparing to withdraw. But Abu Isy prevented me, and immediately ordered Mashdud, together with Rakeek and Rais, two musicians, whose fame was almost equal to Mashdud's, to be called in. They appeared accordingly and having taken their places, Mashdud gave us the following satiric song:)

By MASDHUD 

Translated into English Verse by J. D. Carlyle, BD

TENANTS of yon hallowed fane!

   Let me your devotions share:

 There unceasing 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 eyeballs, dim and sunk,

   Stream in penitential guise,

 'Tis but that the Hine you've drunk

   Bubbles over from your eyes.

FEMALE COMPANIONS

THE THREE MOST CELEBRATED IMPROVISATORI POETS IN BAGDAD, AT AN ENTERTAINMENT GIVEN BY ABU ISY, SON OF THE KHALIF MOTAWAKKEL COLLECTION PART TWO

BY: RAKEEK TO HIS FEMALE COMPANION

Translated into English Verse by J. D. Carlyle, BD

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 lustre 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

THE THREE MOST CELEBRATED IMPROVISATORI POETS IN BAGDAD, AT AN ENTERTAINMENT GIVEN BY ABU ISY, SON OF THE KHALIF MOTAWAKKEL COLLECTION PART THREE

BY : RAIS.

Translated into English Verse by J. D. Carlyle, BD

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

THE THREE MOST CELEBRATED IMPROVISATORI POETS IN BAGDAD, AT AN ENTERTAINMENT GIVEN BY ABU ISY, SON OF THE KHALIF MOTAWAKKEL COLLECTION PART FOUR

BY : RAIS

Translated into English Verse by J. D. Carlyle, BD

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,

   Rend 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

BY EBN ALRUMI.

Translated into English Verse by J. D. Carlyle, BD

WHEN I beheld thy blue eye shine

   Through the bright drop that Pity drew,

 I saw beneath those tears of thine

   A blue-eyed violet bathed in dew.

The violet ever scents the gale,

   Its hues adorn the fairest wreath;

 But sweetest through a dewy veil

   Its colours glow, its odours 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 FATALISM

BY THE IMAM SHAFAY MOHAMMED BEN IDRIS.

Translated into English Verse by J. D. Carlyle, BD

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.

VERSES

BY ALFADHEL IBN ALABAS.


ADDRESSED TO A KINDRED TRIBE AT VARIANCE WITH THE ONE TO WHICH THE POET BELONGED

Translated into English Verse by J. D. Carlyle, BD

Why thus to passion give the rein?

   Why seek your kindred tribe to wrong?

 Why strive to drag to light again

   The fatal feud entombed so long?

Think not, if fury ye display,

   But equal fury we can deal;

 Hope not, if wronged, but we repay

   Revenge for every wrong we feel.

Why thus to passion give the rein?

   Why seek the robe of peace to tear?

 Rash youths, desist! your course restrain;

   Or dread the wrath ye blindly dare!

Yet friendship we nor ask from foes,

   Nor favour hope from you to prove:

 We loved you not, great Allah knows!

   Nor blamed you that ye could not love.

To each are different feelings given;

   This slights, and that regards his brother:

 'Tis ours to live--thanks to kind Heaven--

   Hating and hated by each other.

ON THE BATTLE OF SABLA

BY JAAFER BEN ALBA.

Translated into English Verse by J. D. Carlyle, BD

Sabla, thou saw'st th' exulting foe

   In fancied triumphs crowned;

 Thou heard'st their frantic females throw

   These galling taunts around:

Make now your choice--the terms we give,

   Desponding victims, hear:

 These fetters on your hands receive,

   Or in your hearts the spear."

"And is the conflict o'er?" we cried;

   "And lie we at your feet?

 And dare you vauntingly decide

   The fortune we must meet?

"A brighter day we soon shall see,

   Though now the prospect lowers;

 And conquest, peace, and liberty

   Shall gild our future hours."

The foe advanced;--in firm array

   We rushed o'er Sabla's sands;

 And the red sabre marked our way

   Amidst their yielding bands.

Then, as they writhed in Death's cold grasp,

   We cried, "Our choice is made:

 These hands the sabres' hilt shall clasp,

   Your hearts shall have the blade!"

ON THE TOMB OF SAYID

BY ABD ALMALEC ALHARITHY.

Translated into English Verse by J. D. Carlyle, BD

Blest are the tenants of the tomb!

   With envy I their lot survey;

 For Sayid shares the solemn gloom,

   And mingles with their mouldering clay.

Dear youth! I'm doomed thy loss to mourn,

   When gathering ills around combine;

 And whither now shall Malec turn?

   Where look for any help but thine?

At this dread moment, when the foe

   My life with rage insatiate seeks,

 In vain I strive to ward the blow--

   My buckler falls, my sabre breaks.

Upon thy grassy tomb I knelt,

   And sought from pain a short relief:

 Th' attempt was vain--I only felt

   Intenser pangs and livelier grief.

The bud of woe, no more represt,

   Fed by the tears that drenched it there,

 Shot forth and filled my labouring breast,

   Soon to expand and shed despair.

But though of Sayid I'm bereft,

   From whom the stream of bounty came,

 Sayid a nobler meed has left--

   Th' exhaustless heritage of fame.

Though mute the lips on which I hung,

   Their silence speaks more loud to me

 Than any voice from mortal tongue:

   "What Sayid was, let Malec be!"

TOMB OF MANO

BY HASSAN ALASADY.

Translated into English Verse by J. D. Carlyle, BD

Friends of my heart, who share my sighs!

Go seek the turf where Mano lies,

And woo the dewy clouds of Spring

To sweep it with prolific wing.

Within that cell, beneath that heap,

Friendship and Truth and Honour sleep.

Beneficence, that used to clasp

The world within her ample grasp,

There rests entombed--of thought bereft;

For were one conscious atom left,

New bliss, new kindness to display,

'T would burst the grave, and seek the day.

But though in dust thy relics lie,

Thy virtues, Mano, ne'er shall die:

Though Nile's full stream be seen no more,

That spread his waves from shore to shore,

Still in the verdure of the plain

His vivifying smiles remain.

ON AVARICE

BY HATEM TAI.

Translated into English Verse by J. D. Carlyle, BD

How frail are riches and their joys!

 Morn builds the heap which eve destroys;

 Yet can they leave one sure delight--

 The thought that we've employed them right.

What bliss can wealth afford to me,

 When life's last solemn hour I see?--

 When Mavia's sympathising sighs

 Will but augment my agonies?

Can hoarded gold dispel the gloom

 That death must shed around his tomb?

 Or cheer the ghost which hovers there,

 And fills with shrieks the desert air?

What boots it, Mavia, in the grave,

 Whether I loved to waste or save?

 The hand that millions now can grasp

 In death no more than mine shall clasp.

Were I ambitious to behold

 Increasing stores of treasured gold,

 Each tribe that roves the desert knows

 I might be wealthy, if I chose.

  

But other joys can gold impart;

 Far other wishes warm my heart;--

 Ne'er may I strive to swell the heap

 Till want and woe have ceased to weep.

With brow unaltered I can see

 The hour of wealth or poverty:

 I've drunk from both the cups of Fate,

 Nor this could sink, nor that elate.

With fortune blest, I ne'er was found

 To look with scorn on those around;

 Nor for the loss of paltry ore,

 Shall Hatem seem to Hatem poor.