The Literature of Arabia Part 7

Her subtle foes were on the watch, And mark'd her course, with fury fraught, And while she hoped the birds to catch, An arrow's point the huntress caught.

In fancy she had got them all, And drunk their blood and suck'd their breath; Alas! she only got a fall, And only drank the draught of death.

Why, why was pigeons' flesh so nice, That thoughtless cats should love it thus?

Hadst thou but liv'd on rats and mice, Thou hadst been living still, poor Puss.

Curst be the taste, howe'er refined, That prompts us for such joys to wish, And curst the dainty where we find Destruction lurking in the dish.

_Ibn Alalaf Alnaharwany_.

AN EPIGRAM UPON EBN NAPHTA-WAH[22]

By the former with ruin and death we are curst, In the latter we grieve for the ills of the first; And as for the whole, where together they meet, It's a drunkard, a liar, a thief, and a cheat.

_Mohammed Ben Zeid Almotakalam_.

[22] Mohammed Ben Arfa, here called Naphta-Wah, was descended from a n.o.ble family in Khorasan. He applied himself to study with indefatigable perseverance, and was a very voluminous author in several branches of literature, but he is chiefly distinguished as a grammarian. He died in the year of the Hegira 323.

FIRE[23]

_A Riddle_.

The loftiest cedars I can eat, Yet neither paunch nor mouth have I, I storm whene'er you give me meat, Whene'er you give me drink, I die.

[23] This composition seems a fit supplement to the preceding one; notwithstanding its absurdity, however. It is inserted merely to show that this mode of trifling was not unknown to the Orientals.

It is taken from the Mostatraf, where a great number of similar productions on various subjects are preserved.

TO A LADY BLUs.h.i.+NG[24]

Leila, whene'er I gaze on thee My altered cheek turns pale, While upon thine, sweet maid, I see A deep'ning blush prevail.

Leila, shall I the cause impart Why such a change takes place?

The crimson stream deserts my heart, To mantle on thy face.

_The Caliph Radhi Billah_.

[24] Radhi Billah, son to Moctader, was the twentieth Caliph of the house of Abbas, and the last of these princes who possessed any substantial power.

ON THE VICISSITUDES OF LIFE

Mortal joys, however pure, Soon their turbid source betray; Mortal bliss, however sure, Soon must totter and decay.

Ye who now, with footsteps keen, Range through hope's delusive field, Tell us what the smiling scene To your ardent grasp can yield?

Other youths have oft before Deem'd their joys would never fade, Till themselves were seen no more Swept into oblivion's shade.

Who, with health and pleasure gay, E'er his fragile state could know, Were not age and pain to say Man is but the child of woe?

_The Caliph Radhi Billah_.

TO A DOVE

The Dove to ease an aching breast, In piteous murmurs vents her cares; Like me she sorrows, for opprest, Like me, a load of grief she bears.

Her plaints are heard in every wood, While I would fain conceal my woes; But vain's my wish, the briny flood, The more I strive, the faster flows.

Sure, gentle Bird, my drooping heart Divides the pangs of love with thine, And plaintive murm'rings are thy part, And silent grief and tears are mine.

_Serage Alwarak_.

ON A THUNDER STORM

Bright smil'd the morn, till o'er its head The clouds in thicken'd foldings spread A robe of sable hue; Then, gathering round day's golden king, They stretch'd their wide o'ershadowing wing, And hid him from our view.

The rain his absent beams deplor'd, And, soften'd into weeping, pour'd Its tears in many a flood; The lightning laughed with horrid glare; The thunder growl'd, in rage; the air In silent sorrow stood.

_Ibrahim Ben Khiret Abou Isaac_.

TO MY FAVORITE MISTRESS

I saw their jealous eyeb.a.l.l.s roll, I saw them mark each glance of mine, I saw thy terrors, and my soul Shar'd ev'ry pang that tortur'd thine.

In vain to wean my constant heart, Or quench my glowing flame, they strove; Each deep-laid scheme, each envious art, But wak'd my fears for her I love.

'Twas this compelled the stern decree, That forc'd thee to those distant towers, And left me nought but love for thee, To cheer my solitary hours.

Yet let not Abla sink deprest, Nor separation's pangs deplore; We meet not--'tis to meet more blest; We parted--'tis to part no more.

_Saif Addaulet, Sultan of Aleppe_.

CRUCIFIXION OF EBN BAKIAH[25]

Whatever thy fate, in life and death, Thou'rt doom'd above us still to rise, Whilst at a distance far beneath We view thee with admiring eyes.

The gazing crowds still round thee throng, Still to thy well-known voice repair, As when erewhile thy hallow'd tongue Pour'd in the Mosque the solemn prayer.

Still, generous Vizir, we survey Thine arms extended o'er our head, As lately, in the festive day, When they were stretch'd thy gifts to shed.

Earth's narrow boundaries strove in vain To limit thy aspiring mind, And now we see thy dust disdain Within her breast to be confin'd.

The earth's too small for one so great, Another mansion thou shalt have-- The clouds shall be thy winding sheet, The s.p.a.cious vault of heaven thy grave.