I had a companion with whom I had for many years travelled, and with whom I had partaken of bread and salt, and the rights of friendship were established between us without reserve. Afterwards, on account of some trifling advantage, he suffered me to be displeased, and our friendship was broken off. Yet, notwithstanding all this, there was a feeling of attachment existing on both sides; in accordance with which I heard that he one day repeated, in an assembly, these two couplets, taken from my works:
STANZA.
“When my soul’s idol to me comes with laughter arch yet kind, She sprinkles salt upon my wound, and opes afresh the sore; O would that I could fondly grasp her tresses unconfined! As the skirt of the munificent is caught at by the poor.”
A party of friends applauded the sentiment, not so much on account of the beauty of the verses as by reason of their own kind feeling. He, too, went beyond all of them in his eulogies, and expressed his regret for the extinction of our former intimacy, and confessed his fault. I saw that he, too, was eager for a renewal of our friendship. I sent him these verses, and effected our reconciliation.
STANZA.
“When my soul’s idol to me comes with laughter arch yet kind, She sprinkles salt upon my wound, and opes afresh the sore; O would that I could fondly grasp her tresses unconfined! As the skirt of the munificent is caught at by the poor.”
A party of friends applauded the sentiment, not so much on account of the beauty of the verses as by reason of their own kind feeling. He, too, went beyond all of them in his eulogies, and expressed his regret for the extinction of our former intimacy, and confessed his fault. I saw that he, too, was eager for a renewal of our friendship. I sent him these verses, and effected our reconciliation.
STANZA.
Were we not plighted to fidelity? Yet thou wert harsh and didst thyself estrange. When I left all and fixed my thoughts on thee, I knew not that so soon thou wouldest change! Yet still, would’st thou make peace, return to me, And then thou wilt more loved, more honoured, be.
Story VII.
A man had a beautiful wife, who died, and his wife’s mother, a decrepit old woman, on account of the marriage-settlement, took up her abode, and fixed herself in his house. The man was vexed to death by her propinquity, yet he did not see how to get rid of her by reason of the settlement. Some of his friends came to inquire after him, and one of them said, “How dost thou bear the loss of thy beloved one?” He replied, “The not seeing my wife is not so intolerable to me as the seeing her mother.”
Were we not plighted to fidelity? Yet thou wert harsh and didst thyself estrange. When I left all and fixed my thoughts on thee, I knew not that so soon thou wouldest change! Yet still, would’st thou make peace, return to me, And then thou wilt more loved, more honoured, be.
Story VII.
A man had a beautiful wife, who died, and his wife’s mother, a decrepit old woman, on account of the marriage-settlement, took up her abode, and fixed herself in his house. The man was vexed to death by her propinquity, yet he did not see how to get rid of her by reason of the settlement. Some of his friends came to inquire after him, and one of them said, “How dost thou bear the loss of thy beloved one?” He replied, “The not seeing my wife is not so intolerable to me as the seeing her mother.”
DISTICHS.
The tree has lost its roses, but retains Its thorn. The treasure’s gone, the snake remains.
’Tis better on the lance-point fixed to see One’s eye, than to behold an enemy.
’Tis well a thousand friendships to erase Could we thereby avoid our foeman’s face.
The tree has lost its roses, but retains Its thorn. The treasure’s gone, the snake remains.
’Tis better on the lance-point fixed to see One’s eye, than to behold an enemy.
’Tis well a thousand friendships to erase Could we thereby avoid our foeman’s face.
I remember that in my youth I was passing along a street when I beheld a moon-faced beauty. The season was that of the month July, when the fierce heat dried up the moisture of the mouth, and the scorching wind consumed the marrow of the bones. Through the weakness of human nature I was unable to support the power of the sun, and involuntarily took shelter under the shade of a wall, waiting to see if any one would relieve me from the pain I suffered, owing to the ardour of the sun's rays, and cool my flame with water. All of a sudden, from the dark portico of a house, I beheld a bright form appear, of such beauty that the tongue of eloquence would fail in narrating her charms. She came forth as morn succeeding a dark night, or as the waters of life issuing from the gloom. She held in her hand a cup of snow-water, in which she had mixed sugar and the juice of the grape. I know not whether she had perfumed it with her own roses, or distilled into it some drops from the bloom of her countenance. In short, I took the cup from her fair hand, and drained its contents, and received new life. “The thirst of my heart cannot be slaked with a drop of water, nor if I should drink rivers would it be lessened.”
STANZA.
Most blest that happy one whose gaze intense Rests on such face at each successive morn; The drunk with wine at midnight may his sense Regain; but not till the last day shall dawn Will love’s intoxication reach its bourne.
Story IX.
Once, in the caravan of Hijaz, a darwesh accompanied us. One of the Arab chiefs had bestowed on him a hundred dinars, for the support of his family. All of a sudden the robbers of the tribe Khafachah attacked the caravan, and spoiled it of everything. The merchants began to weep and lament, and pour forth unavailing complaints.
COUPLET
Thou mayest complain, or cry, Alack! The thieves the gold will not give back.
But that darwesh, in his tattered garb, retained his composure, and his manner underwent no change. I said, “Perhaps they have not taken thy money?” He replied, “Yes! they have taken it. However, I had not such an attachment for that money that I should break my heart at losing it.”
Most blest that happy one whose gaze intense Rests on such face at each successive morn; The drunk with wine at midnight may his sense Regain; but not till the last day shall dawn Will love’s intoxication reach its bourne.
Story IX.
Once, in the caravan of Hijaz, a darwesh accompanied us. One of the Arab chiefs had bestowed on him a hundred dinars, for the support of his family. All of a sudden the robbers of the tribe Khafachah attacked the caravan, and spoiled it of everything. The merchants began to weep and lament, and pour forth unavailing complaints.
COUPLET
Thou mayest complain, or cry, Alack! The thieves the gold will not give back.
But that darwesh, in his tattered garb, retained his composure, and his manner underwent no change. I said, “Perhaps they have not taken thy money?” He replied, “Yes! they have taken it. However, I had not such an attachment for that money that I should break my heart at losing it.”
COUPLET.
Thy heart from loving thing or person guard; For to recall affection is most hard.
I said, “What thou hast uttered is à-propos of my condition; for in my youth I had formed a friendship with a young man, and entertained a sincere attachment for him to that degree that his beauty was the point of adoration of my eyes, and my intimacy with him as it were the interest on the capital of life.
STANZA.
It may be angels do not; man I trow Ne’er did his beauty equal on this earth. By friendship’s self friends are forbidden now, For after him his like shall ne’er find birth.
Suddenly the foot of his existence went down into the clay of death, and the smoke of separation arose from his family. I watched for days at the head of his grave, and this is one of the many things which I uttered touching his loss:—
Thy heart from loving thing or person guard; For to recall affection is most hard.
I said, “What thou hast uttered is à-propos of my condition; for in my youth I had formed a friendship with a young man, and entertained a sincere attachment for him to that degree that his beauty was the point of adoration of my eyes, and my intimacy with him as it were the interest on the capital of life.
STANZA.
It may be angels do not; man I trow Ne’er did his beauty equal on this earth. By friendship’s self friends are forbidden now, For after him his like shall ne’er find birth.
Suddenly the foot of his existence went down into the clay of death, and the smoke of separation arose from his family. I watched for days at the head of his grave, and this is one of the many things which I uttered touching his loss:—
STANZA.
Death, like a thorn, transfixed thy foot. Ah! then, Would that fate's cruel sword me too had slain; Then I'd ne'er missed thee from thy fellow-men. Thou on whose dust my head is laid—in vain! Dust be on it! [thou ne'er shalt breathe again].
STANZA.
He who, before he slept or took repose, Did roses and the jasmine round him fling; Revolving time has shed his beauty's rose, While from his ashes now the thorns upspring.
After separation from him, I made a determination and a steadfast vow that, for the remainder of my life, I would fold up the carpet of desire and abstain from social intercourse.
STANZA.
Pleasant were the gains of ocean, were there of the waves no fear; Pleasant with the rose to dwell, were the thorn not lurking there; Peacock-like I walked exulting in love's garden yesternight; Snake-like now I writhe in anguish—she no more will glad my sight.
Death, like a thorn, transfixed thy foot. Ah! then, Would that fate's cruel sword me too had slain; Then I'd ne'er missed thee from thy fellow-men. Thou on whose dust my head is laid—in vain! Dust be on it! [thou ne'er shalt breathe again].
STANZA.
He who, before he slept or took repose, Did roses and the jasmine round him fling; Revolving time has shed his beauty's rose, While from his ashes now the thorns upspring.
After separation from him, I made a determination and a steadfast vow that, for the remainder of my life, I would fold up the carpet of desire and abstain from social intercourse.
STANZA.
Pleasant were the gains of ocean, were there of the waves no fear; Pleasant with the rose to dwell, were the thorn not lurking there; Peacock-like I walked exulting in love's garden yesternight; Snake-like now I writhe in anguish—she no more will glad my sight.
They told to one of the Arabian kings the story of Laila and Majnun, and of the insanity which happened to him, so that, although possessed of high qualities and perfect eloquence, he betook himself to the desert and abandoned the reins of choice. After commanding them to bring him into his presence, the king began to rebuke him, saying, “What defect hast thou seen in the nobleness of man's nature that thou hast taken up the habits of an animal, and bidden adieu to the happiness of human society?” Majnun wept and said,
VERSE.
“Oft have my friends reproached me for my love: The day will come they'll see her and approve.
STANZA.
VERSE.
“Oft have my friends reproached me for my love: The day will come they'll see her and approve.
STANZA.
Would that those who seek to blame me Could thy face, O fairest! see; Theirs would then the loss and shame be: While amazed, intent on thee, They would wound their hands while they Careless with the orange play: That the truth of the reality might testify to the appearance I claim for her!” The king was inspired with a desire to behold her beauty, in order to know what sort of person it was who was the cause of such mischief. He commanded, and they sought for her, and, searching through the Arab families, found her, and brought her before the king, in the court of the royal pavilion. The king surveyed her countenance, and beheld a person of a dark complexion and weak form. She appeared to him so contemptible that he thought the meanest of the servants of his haram superior to her in beauty and grace. Majnun acutely discerned his thoughts and said, “O king! it is requisite to survey the beauty of Laila from the window of the eye of Majnun, in order that the mystery of the spectacle may be revealed to you.”
DISTICHS.
Unmoved with pity thou me hear'st complain; I need a comrade who can share my pain: The livelong day I'd then my woes recite; Wood with wood joined will ever burn more bright.
VERSE.
“What passed within my hearing of the grove, O forest leaves! did ye but learn, Ye’d mourn with me. My friends! tell him whom love Has spared, I would he did bid burn With lover’s flames; he’d then my grief discern.”
VERSE.
Scars may be laughed at by the sound. But to a fellow-sufferer reveal Thy anguish. Of the hornet’s wound What reck they who did never feel Its sting? Till fortune shall bring round Thy woes to thee, they will but seem The weak illusions of a dream. Do not my sufferings confound With those of others. Canst thou deem One holding salt can tell the pain of him Who has salt rubbed upon his wounded limb?
Unmoved with pity thou me hear'st complain; I need a comrade who can share my pain: The livelong day I'd then my woes recite; Wood with wood joined will ever burn more bright.
VERSE.
“What passed within my hearing of the grove, O forest leaves! did ye but learn, Ye’d mourn with me. My friends! tell him whom love Has spared, I would he did bid burn With lover’s flames; he’d then my grief discern.”
VERSE.
Scars may be laughed at by the sound. But to a fellow-sufferer reveal Thy anguish. Of the hornet’s wound What reck they who did never feel Its sting? Till fortune shall bring round Thy woes to thee, they will but seem The weak illusions of a dream. Do not my sufferings confound With those of others. Canst thou deem One holding salt can tell the pain of him Who has salt rubbed upon his wounded limb?
Story XI.
(in verse.)
A gallant youth there was and fair Pledged to a maid beyond compare; They on the sea, as poets tell, Together in a whirlpool fell.
The boatman came the youth to save— To snatch him from his watery grave: But, ’mid those billows of despair, He cried, “My love! my love is there! Save her, oh save!” he said, and died; But with his parting breath he cried, “Not from that wretch love’s story hear Who love forgets when peril’s near.” Together thus these lovers died. Be told by him who love has tried; For Sadi knows each whim and freak Of love,—as well its ways can speak As Baghdad’s dwellers Arabic. Hast thou a mistress? her then prize, And on all others close thine eyes. Could Majnun and his Laila back return, They might love’s story from this volume learn.
(in verse.)
A gallant youth there was and fair Pledged to a maid beyond compare; They on the sea, as poets tell, Together in a whirlpool fell.
The boatman came the youth to save— To snatch him from his watery grave: But, ’mid those billows of despair, He cried, “My love! my love is there! Save her, oh save!” he said, and died; But with his parting breath he cried, “Not from that wretch love’s story hear Who love forgets when peril’s near.” Together thus these lovers died. Be told by him who love has tried; For Sadi knows each whim and freak Of love,—as well its ways can speak As Baghdad’s dwellers Arabic. Hast thou a mistress? her then prize, And on all others close thine eyes. Could Majnun and his Laila back return, They might love’s story from this volume learn.