The Literature of Arabia Part 10

While some more wretched still, must bear The tauntings of a Christian's tongue-- Hear this--and blush ye not to wear The silken robe of peace so long?

Remember what ensanguin'd showers The Syrian plains with crimson dyed, And think how many blooming flowers In Syrian forts their beauties hide.

Arabian youths! In such a cause Can ye the voice of glory slight?

Warriors of Persia! Can ye pause, Or fear to mingle in the fight?

If neither piety nor shame Your b.r.e.a.s.t.s can warm, your souls can move, Let emulation's bursting flame Wake you to vengeance and to love.

_Almodhafer Alabiwerdy_.

[36] The capture of Jerusalem took place in the 492d year of the Hegira, A.D. 1099. Alabiwerdy, who wrote these verses, was a native of Khorasan; he died A.H. 507.

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 refin'd, 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 Thro' pa.s.sion's partial veil, 'Tis not that flattery's glozing tongue Hath basely fram'd an idle song, But truth that breath'd the tale.

Thine eyes unaided ne'er could trace Each opening charm, each varied grace, That round thy person plays; Some must remain conceal'd from thee, For Selim's watchful eye to see, For Selim's tongue to praise.

One polish'd 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[37]

Whoever has recourse to thee Can hope for health no more, He's launched into perdition's sea, A sea without a sh.o.r.e.

Where'er admission thou canst gain, Where'er thy phiz can pierce, At once the Doctor they retain, The mourners and the hea.r.s.e.

_George_.

[37] Written to Abou Alchair Selamu, an Egyptian physician. The author was a physician of Antioch.

ON A LITTLE MAN WITH A VERY LARGE BEARD

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.

A man like thee scarce e'er appear'd-- A beard like thine--where shall we find it?

Surely thou cherishest thy beard In hope to hide thyself behind it.

_Isaai, Ben Khalif_.

LAMIAT ALAJEM[38]

No kind supporting hand I meet, But Fort.i.tude shall stay my feet; No borrow'd splendors round me s.h.i.+ne, But Virtue's l.u.s.tre all is mine; A Fame unsullied still I boast, Obscur'd, conceal'd, but never lost-- The same bright orb that led the day Pours from the West his mellow'd ray.

Zaura, farewell! No more I see Within thy walls, a home for me; Deserted, spurn'd, aside I'm toss'd, As an old sword whose scabbard's lost: Around thy walls I seek in vain Some bosom that will soothe my pain-- No friend is near to breathe relief, Or brother to partake my grief.

For many a melancholy day Thro' desert vales I've wound my way; The faithful beast, whose back I press, In groans laments her lord's distress;

In every quiv'ring of my spear A sympathetic sigh I hear; The camel bending with his load, And struggling thro' the th.o.r.n.y road, 'Midst the fatigues that bear him down, In Ha.s.san's woes forgets his own; Yet cruel friends my wanderings chide, My sufferings slight, my toils deride.

Once wealth, I own, engrossed each thought, There was a moment when I sought The glitt'ring stores Ambition claims To feed the wants his fancy frames; But now 'tis past--the changing day Has s.n.a.t.c.h'd my high-built hopes away, And bade this wish my labors close-- Give me not riches, but repose.

'Tis he--that mien my friend declares, That stature, like the lance he bears; I see that breast which ne'er contain'd A thought by fear or folly stain'd, Whose powers can every change obey, In business grave, in trifles gay, And, form'd each varying taste to please, Can mingle dignity with ease.

What, tho' with magic influence, sleep, O'er every closing eyelid creep: Tho' drunk with its oblivious wine Our comrades on their bales recline, My Selim's trance I sure can break-- Selim, 'tis I, 'tis I who speak.

Dangers on every side impend, And sleep'st thou, careless of thy friend?

Thou sleep'st while every star on high, Beholds me with a wakeful eye-- Thou changest, ere the changeful night Hath streak'd her fleeting robe with white.

'Tis love that hurries me along-- I'm deaf to fear's repressive song-- The rocks of Idham I'll ascend, Tho' adverse darts each path defend, And hostile sabres glitter there, To guard the tresses of the fair.

Come, Selim, let us pierce the grove, While night befriends, to seek my love.

The clouds of fragrance as they rise Shall mark the place where Abla lies.

Around her tent my jealous foes, Like lions, spread their watchful rows; Amidst their bands, her bow'r appears Embosom'd in a wood of spears-- A wood still nourish'd by the dews, Which smiles, and softest looks diffuse.

Thrice happy youths! who midst yon shades Sweet converse hold with Idham's maids, What bliss, to view them gild the hours, And brighten wit and fancy's powers, While every foible they disclose New transport gives, new graces shows.

'Tis theirs to raise with conscious art The flames of love in every heart; 'Tis yours to raise with festive glee The flames of hospitality: Smit by their glances lovers lie, And helpless sink and hopeless die; While slain by you the stately steed To crown the feast, is doom'd to bleed, To crown the feast, where copious flows The sparkling juice that soothes your woes, That lulls each care and heals each wound, As the enlivening bowl goes round.

Amidst those vales my eager feet Shall trace my Abla's dear retreat, A gale of health may hover there, To breathe some solace to my care.

I fear not love--I bless the dart Sent in a glance to pierce the heart: With willing breast the sword I hail That wounds me thro' an half-clos'd veil: Tho' lions howling round the shade, My footsteps haunt, my walks invade, No fears shall drive me from the grove, If Abla listen to my love.

Ah, Selim! shall the spells of ease Thy friends.h.i.+p chain, thine ardor freeze!

Wilt thou enchanted thus, decline Each gen'rous thought, each bold design?

Then far from men some cell prepare; Or build a mansion in the air-- But yield to us, ambition's tide, Who fearless on its waves can ride; Enough for thee if thou receive The scattered spray the billows leave.

Contempt and want the wretch await Who slumbers in an abject state-- 'Midst rus.h.i.+ng crowds, by toil and pain The meed of Honor we must gain; At Honor's call, the camel hastes Thro' trackless wilds and dreary wastes, Till in the glorious race she find The fleetest coursers left behind: By toils like these alone, he cries, Th' adventurous youths to greatness rise; If bloated indolence were fame, And pompous ease our n.o.blest aim, The orb that regulates the day Would ne'er from Aries' mansion stray.

I've bent at Fortune's shrine too long-- Too oft she heard my suppliant tongue-- Too oft has mock'd my idle prayers, While fools and knaves engross'd her cares, Awake for them, asleep to me, Heedless of worth she scorn'd each plea.

Ah! had her eyes, more just survey'd The diff'rent claims which each display'd, Those eyes from partial fondness free Had slept to them, and wak'd for me.

But, 'midst my sorrows and my toils, Hope ever sooth'd my breast with smiles; Her hand remov'd each gathering ill, And oped life's closing prospects still.

Yet spite of all her friendly art The specious scene ne'er gain'd my heart; I lov'd it not altho' the day Met my approach, and cheer'd my way; I loath it now the hours retreat, And fly me with reverted feet.

My soul from every tarnish free May boldly vaunt her purity, But ah, how keen, however bright, The sabre glitter to the sight, Its splendor's lost, its polish vain, Till some bold hand the steel sustain.

Why have my days been stretch'd by fate, To see the vile and vicious great-- While I, who led the race so long, Am last and meanest of the throng?

Ah, why has death so long delay'd To wrap me in his friendly shade, Left me to wander thus alone, When all my heart held dear is gone!

But let me check these fretful sighs-- Well may the base above me rise, When yonder planets as they run Mount in the sky above the sun.

Resigned I bow to Fate's decree, Nor hope his laws will change for me; Each s.h.i.+fting scene, each varying hour, But proves the ruthless tyrants' power.

But tho' with ills unnumber'd curst, We owe to faithless man the worst; For man can smile with specious art, And plant a dagger in the heart.

He only's fitted for the strife Which fills the boist'rous paths of life, Who, as he treads the crowded scenes, Upon no kindred bosom leans.