The sheiks talked together for a long time, and meanwhile the flame of passion which had been kindled in the soul of the two heroes, Cais and Hadifah, became quenched. Hadifah withdrew from the fight, and it was agreed that Cais should pay as the price of Abou-Firacah's blood a quantity of cattle and a string of camels. The sheiks did not wish even then to quit the field of battle until Cais and Hadifah embraced each other and had agreed to all the arrangements. Antar was crimson with rage. "O King Cais," he exclaimed, "what have you done? What! while our swords flash in our hands shall the tribe of Fazarah exact a price for the blood of its dead? And we never be able to obtain retaliation excepting with our spear points! The blood of our dead is shed, and shall we not avenge it?" Hadifah was beside himself on hearing these words. "And you, vile bastard," said Antar to him, "you son of a vile mother, must your honor be purchased at the expense of our disgrace? But for the presence of these noble sheiks I would annihilate you and all your people this very instant."

Then Hadifah's indignation and anger overleaped all bounds. "By the faith of an Arab," he said to the sheiks, "I wish to hear no talk of peace at the moment that the enemy is ready to spear me." "Do not talk in that way, dear son of my mother," said Haml to his brother. "Do not dart away on the path of imprudence; abandon these gloomy resolutions. Remain in peace with the allies of the Absians, for they are shining stars: the burnished sun that guides all Arabs who love glory. It was but the other day that you wronged them by causing the horse Dahir to be wounded, and thus erred from the path of justice. As for your son, he was justly slain, for you had sent him to demand something that was not due you. After all, nothing is so proper as to make peace, for he who would seek and stir up war is a tyrant, and an oppressor. Accept therefore the compensation offered you, or you are likely to call up around us a fire which will burn us in the flames of hell." Haml concluded with verses of the following import: "By the truth of him who has rooted firm the mountains, without foundations, if you decline to accept the compensation offered by the Absians, you are in the wrong. They acknowledge Hadifah as their chief; be a chief in very deed, and be content with the cattle and camels offered you. Dismount from the horse of outrage, and mount it not again, for it will carry you to the sea of grief and calamity. Hadifah, renounce like a generous man, all violence, but particularly the idea of contending with the Absians. Make of them and of their leader a powerful rampart against the enemies that may attack us. Make of them friends that will remain faithful, for they are men of the noblest intentions. Such are the Absians, and if Cais has acted unjustly towards you, it is you who first set him the example some days ago."

When Haml finished these verses, the chiefs of the different tribes thanked him, and Hadifah having consented to accept the compensation offered, all the Arabs renounced violence and war. All who carried arms remained at home. Cais sent to Hadifah two hundred camels, six men-slaves, ten women-slaves, and ten horses. Thus peace was reestablished and every one rested in tranquillity throughout the land.



SELECTIONS FROM ARABIAN POETRY

[Translation by J.D. Carlyle]

INTRODUCTION

The essential qualities of Arabian poetry appear in the "Romance of Antar," and the tales of the "Thousand and One Nights." For such a blending of prose and verse is the favorite form of Arabian literature in its highest and severest form, even in the drama. But the character of the people is most clearly shown in the lyrical poems of the Bedouin country. The pastoral poetry of the peninsula is so local in its allusions that it cannot adequately be translated into English. It is in the lyrics that we find that "touch of nature which makes the whole world kin." The gorgeousness of Hindoo literature, with its lavish description of jewelry and gold, precious stones and marbles, hideous demons, and mighty gods, is not to be looked for in Arabia. There the horizon is clear, and the plain has nothing but human occupants. The common passions of men are the only powers at work; love, war, sorrow, and wine, are the subjects of these little songs, some of which might have been written by "Anacreon" Moore, and others by Catullus. The influence of Greek poetry is indeed manifest in these light and sometimes frivolous effusions. The sweetness and grace which distinguish some are only equalled by the wit of others. For wit is the prevailing characteristic of Arabian poetry, which is attractive for its cleverness, its brightness, the alternate smiles and tears which shine through it, and make the present selections so refreshing and interesting a revelation of the national heart and intellect.

I use the word refreshing, because some of the imagery of these lyrics is new to me, and quite unparalleled in European literature. What can be more novel, and at the same time more charming than the following simile, with which a short elegy concludes:—

"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."

The praise of a humble lot has been sung from Hafiz to Horace, but never illustrated by a prettier conceit than the Arabic poet has recourse to in this stanza:—

"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."

This is undoubtedly a very original way of stating the philosophic axiom of the Augustan poet,

"The lord of boundless revenues, Do not salute as happy."

I have spoken of the wit of these verses, which is certainly one of their distinguishing qualities. It is quite Attic in its flavor and exquisitely delicate in its combined good-humor and freedom from rancor. An epigram, according to the old definition, should be like a bee; it should carry the sweetness of honey, although it bears a sting at the end. Sometimes the end has a point which does not sting, as in the following quatrain of an Arabic poet:—

"When I sent you my melons, you cried out with scorn, They ought to be heavy and wrinkled and yellow; When I offered myself, whom those graces adorn, You flouted, and called me an ugly old fellow."

Martial himself could not have excelled the wit of an epigram addressed to a very little man who wore a very big beard, which thus concludes:—

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

To study a literature like that of the Arabians, even partially and in a translation, is one of those experiences which enlarge and stimulate the mind and expand its range of impressions with a distinctly elevating and liberalizing effect. It has the result of genuine education, in that it increases our capacity for sympathy for other peoples, making us better acquainted with the language in which they reveal that common human heart which they share with us.

E.W.



AN ELEGY[1]

Those dear abodes which once contain'd the fair, Amidst Mitata's wilds I seek in vain, Nor towers, nor tents, nor cottages are there, But scatter'd ruins and a silent plain.

The proud canals that once Rayana grac'd, Their course neglected and their waters gone, Among the level'd sands are dimly trac'd, Like moss-grown letters on a mouldering stone.

Rayana say, how many a tedious year Its hallow'd circle o'er our heads hath roll'd, Since to my vows thy tender maids gave ear, And fondly listened to the tale I told?

How oft, since then, the star of spring, that pours A never-failing stream, hath drenched thy head? How oft, the summer cloud in copious showers Or gentle drops its genial influence shed?

How oft since then, the hovering mist of morn Hath caus'd thy locks with glittering gems to glow? How oft hath eve her dewy treasures borne To fall responsive to the breeze below?

The matted thistles, bending to the gale, Now clothe those meadows once with verdure gay; Amidst the windings of that lonely vale The teeming antelope and ostrich stray.

The large-eyed mother of the herd that flies Man's noisy haunts, here finds a sure retreat, Here watches o'er her young, till age supplies Strength to their limbs and swiftness to their feet.

Save where the swelling stream hath swept those walls And giv'n their deep foundations to the light (As the retouching pencil that recalls A long-lost picture to the raptur'd sight).

Save where the rains have wash'd the gathered sand And bared the scanty fragments to our view, (As the dust sprinkled on a punctur'd hand Bids the faint tints resume their azure hue).

No mossy record of those once lov'd seats Points out the mansion to inquiring eyes; No tottering wall, in echoing sounds, repeats Our mournful questions and our bursting sighs.

Yet, midst those ruin'd heaps, that naked plain, Can faithful memory former scenes restore, Recall the busy throng, the jocund train, And picture all that charm'd us there before.

Ne'e shall my heart the fatal morn forget That bore the fair ones from these seats so dear— I see, I see the crowding litters yet, And yet the tent-poles rattle in my ear.

I see the maids with timid steps descend, The streamers wave in all their painted pride, The floating curtains every fold extend, And vainly strive the charms within to hide.

What graceful forms those envious folds enclose! What melting glances thro' those curtains play! Sure Weira's antelopes, or Tudah's roes Thro' yonder veils their sportive young survey!

The band mov'd on—to trace their steps I strove, I saw them urge the camel's hastening flight, Till the white vapor, like a rising grove, Snatch'd them forever from my aching sight.

Nor since that morn have I Nawara seen, The bands are burst which held us once so fast, Memory but tells me that such things have been, And sad Reflection adds, that they are past.

Lebid Ben Rabiat Alamary.

[1] The author of this poem was a native of Yemen. He was contemporary with Mohammed and was already celebrated as a poet when the prophet began to promulgate his doctrines. Lebid embraced Islamism and was one of the most aggressive helpers in its establishment. He fixed his abode in the city of Cufa, where he died at a very advanced age. This elegy, as is evident, was written previous to Lebid's conversion to Islamism. Its subject is one that must be ever interesting to the feeling mind—the return of a person after a long absence to the place of his birth—in fact it is the Arabian "Deserted Village."

THE TOMB OF MANO

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 Honor sleep, Beneficence, that used to clasp The world within her ample grasp.

There rests entomb'd—of thought bereft— For were one conscious atom left New bliss, new kindness to display, 'Twould burst the grave, and seek the day.

But tho' in dust thy relics lie, Thy virtues, Mano, ne'er shall die; Tho' 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.

Hassan Alasady.

TOMB OF SAYID[2]

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 doom'd 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 drench'd it there, Shot forth and fill'd my laboring breast Soon to expand and shed despair.

But tho' of Sayid I'm bereft, From whom the stream of bounty came, Sayid a nobler meed has left— Th' exhaustless heritage of fame.

Tho' 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."

Abd Almalec Alharithy.

[2] Abd Almalec was a native of Arabia Felix. The exact period when he flourished is unknown, but as this production is taken from the Hamasa it is most probable that he was anterior to Mohammedanism.

THE DEATH OF HIS MISTRESS[3]

Dost thou wonder that I flew Charm'd to meet my Leila's view? Dost thou wonder that I hung Raptur'd on my Leila's tongue? If her ghost's funereal screech Thro' the earth my grave should reach, On that voice I lov'd so well My transported ghost would dwell:— If in death I can descry Where my Leila's relics lie, Saher's dust will flee away, There to join his Leila's clay.

Abu Saher Alhedily.

[3] The sentiment contained in this production determines its antiquity. It was the opinion of the Pagan Arabs that upon the death of any person a bird, by them called Manah, issued from his brain, which haunted the sepulchre of the deceased, uttering a lamentable scream.

ON AVARICE[4]

How frail are riches and their joys? Morn builds the heap which eve destroys; Yet can they have 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 sympathizing 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 lov'd 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 ceas'd to weep.

With brow unalter'd 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.

Hatem Tai.

[4] Hatem Tai was an Arabian chief, who lived a short time prior to the promulgation of Mohammedanism. He has been so much celebrated through the East for his generosity that even to this day the greatest encomium which can be given to a generous man is to say that he is as liberal as Hatem. Hatem was also a poet; but his talents were principally exerted in recommending his favorite virtue.

THE BATTLE OF SABLA[5]

Sabla, them saw'st th' exulting foe In fancied triumphs crown'd; 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, Tho' now the prospect lowers, And conquest, peace, and liberty Shall gild our future hours."

The foe advanc'd:—in firm array We rush'd o'er Sabla's sands, And the red sabre mark'd our way Amidst their yielding bands.

Then, as they writh'd in death's cold grasp, We cried, "Our choice is made, These hands the sabre's hilt shall clasp, Your hearts shall have the blade."

Jaafer Ben Alba.

[5] This poem and the one following it are both taken from the Hamasa and afford curious instances of the animosity which prevailed amongst the several Arabian clans, and of the rancor with which they pursued each other, when once at variance.

VERSES TO MY ENEMIES

Why thus to passion give the rein? Why seek your kindred tribe to wrong? Why strive to drag to light again The fatal feud entomb'd so long?

Think not, if fury ye display, But equal fury we can deal; Hope not, if wrong'd, 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 not ask from foes, Nor favor hope from you to prove, We lov'd you not, great Allah knows, Nor blam'd 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 heav'n— Hating and hated by each other.

Alfadhel Ibn Alabas.

ON HIS FRIENDS[6]

With conscious pride I view the band Of faithful friends that round me stand, With pride exult that I alone Can join these scatter'd 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, Unlock'd 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.

Meskin Aldaramy.

[6] These lines are also from the Hamasa.

ON TEMPER[7]

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, tho' thy spirit's my pride, I'd wish for some sweetness to temper the bowl; If life be ne'er suffer'd to rest or subside, It may not be flat, but I fear 'twill be foul.

Nabegat Beni Jaid.

[7] There have been several Arabian poets of the name of Nabegat. The author of these verses was descended from the family of Jaid. As he died in the fortieth year of the Hegira, aged one hundred and twenty, he must have been fourscore at the promulgation of Islamism; he, however, declared himself an early convert to the new faith.

THE SONG OF MAISUNA[8]

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 thro' its fluttering wall, 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 unspoilt by art, Son of my kindred, poor but free, Will ever to Maisuna's heart Be dearer, pamper'd fool, than thee.

[8] Maisuma 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 Caliph Mowiah. But this exalted situation by no means suited the disposition of Maisuna, and amidst all the pomp and splendor of Damascus, she languished for the simple pleasures of her native desert.

TO MY FATHER[9]

Must then my failings from the shaft Of anger ne'er escape? And dost thou storm because I've quaff'd The water of the grape?

That I can thus from wine be driv'n Thou surely ne'er canst think— Another reason thou hast giv'n 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.

Yezid.

[9] Yezid succeeded Mowiah in the Caliphate A.H. 60; and in most respects showed himself to be of a very different disposition from his predecessor. He was naturally cruel, avaricious, and debauched; but instead of concealing his vices from the eyes of his subjects, he seemed to make a parade of those actions which he knew no good Mussulman could look upon without horror; he drank wine in public, he caressed his dogs, and was waited upon by his eunuchs in sight of the whole court.

ON FATALISM[10]

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.

Imam Shafay Mohammed Ben Idris.

[10] Shafay, the founder of one of the four orthodox sects into which the Mohammedans are divided, was a disciple of Malek Ben Ans, and master to Ahmed Ebn Hanbal; each of whom, like himself, founded a sect which is still denominated from the name of its author. The fourth sect is that of Abou Hanifah. This differs in tenets considerably from the three others, for whilst the Malekites, the Shafaites, and the Hanbalites are invariably bigoted to tradition in their interpretations of the Koran, the Hanifites consider themselves as at liberty in any difficulty to make use of their own reason.

TO THE CALIPH HARUN-AL-RASHID[11]

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.

Ibrahim Ben Adham.

[11] The author of this poem was a hermit of Syria, equally celebrated for his talents and piety. He was son to a prince of Khorasan, and born about the ninety-seventh year of the Hegira. This poem was addressed to the Caliph upon his undertaking a pilgrimage to Mecca.

LINES TO HARUN AND YAHIA[12]

Th' affrighted sun ere while he fled, And hid his radiant face in night; A cheerless gloom the world overspread— But Harun came, and all was bright.

Again the sun shoots forth his rays, Nature is deck'd in beauty's robe— For mighty Harun's sceptre sways, And Yahia's arm sustains the globe.

Isaac Almousely.

[12] Isaac Almousely is considered by the Orientals as the most celebrated musician that ever flourished in the world. He was born in Persia, but having resided almost entirely at Mousel, he is generally supposed to have been a native of that place.

THE RUIN OF BARMECIDES[13]

No, Barmec! Time hath never shown So sad a change of wayward fate; Nor sorrowing mortals ever known A grief so true, a loss so great.

Spouse of the world! Thy soothing breast Did balm to every woe afford; And now no more by thee caress'd, The widow'd world bewails her Lord.

[13] The family of Barmec was one of the most illustrious in the East. They were descended from the ancient kings of Persia, and possessed immense property in various countries; they derived still more consequence from the favor which they enjoyed at the court of Bagdad, where, for many years, they filled the highest offices of the state with universal approbation.

TO TAHER BEN HOSIEN[14]

A pair of right hands and a single dim eye Must form not a man, but a monster, they cry:— Change a hand to an eye, good Taher, if you can, And a monster perhaps may be chang'd to man.

[14] Taher Ben Hosien was ambidexter and one-eyed and, strange to say, the most celebrated general of his time.

THE ADIEU[15]

The boatmen shout, "Tis time to part, No longer we can stay"— 'Twas then Maimnna 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-form'd 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!"

Abou Mohammed.

[15] This was sung before the Caliph Wathek, by Abou Mohammed, a musician of Bagdad, as a specimen of his musical talents; and such were its effects upon the Caliph, that he immediately testified his approbation of the performance by throwing his own robe over the shoulders of Abou Mohammed, and ordering him a present of an hundred thousand dirhems.

TO MY MISTRESS[16]

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 down the mountain rolls, And stagnates in the swamp below.

Abou Teman Habib.

[16] Abou Teman is considered the most excellent of all the Arabian poets. He was born near Damascus A.H. 190, and educated in Egypt; but the principal part of his life was spent at Bagdad, under the patronage of the Abasside Caliphs.

TO A FEMALE CUP-BEARER[17]

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.

Abd Alsalam Ben Ragban.

[17] Abd Alsalam was a poet more remarkable for abilities than morality. We may form an idea of the nature of his compositions from the nickname he acquired amongst his contemporaries of Cock of the Evil Genii. He died in the 236th year of the Hegira, aged near eighty.

MASHDUD ON THE MONKS OF KHABBET[18]

Tenants of yon hallow'd fane! Let me your devotions share, There increasing 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.

Tho' your pallid faces prove How you nightly vigils keep, 'Tis but that you ever love Flowing goblets more than sleep.

Tho' your eye-balls dim and sunk Stream in penitential guise, 'Tis but that the wine you've drunk Bubbles over from your eyes.

[18] The three following songs were written by Mashdud, Rakeek, and Rais, three of the most celebrated improvisators in Bagdad, at an entertainment given by Abou Isy.

RAKEEK TO HIS FEMALE COMPANIONS

Tho' the peevish tongues upbraid, Tho' the brows of wisdom scowl, Fair ones here on roses laid, Careless will we quaff the bowl.

Let the cup, with nectar crown'd, Thro' 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 hallow'd fane!

DIALOGUE BY RAIS

Rais:

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:

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.

Destin'd 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[19]

When I beheld thy blue eyes shine Thro' the bright drop that pity drew, I saw beneath those tears of thine A blue-ey'd violet bath'd in dew.

The violet ever scents the gale, Its hues adorn the fairest wreath, But sweetest thro' a dewy veil Its colors glow, its odors 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 thro' pity's flood they gleam, Who but must love their soften'd beam?

Ebn Alrumi.

[19] Ebn Alrumi is reckoned by the Arabian writers as one of the most excellent of all their poets. He was by birth a Syrian, and passed the greatest part of his time at Emessa, where he died A.H. 283.

ON A VALETUDINARIAN

So careful is Isa, and anxious to last, So afraid of himself is he grown, He swears thro' two nostrils the breath goes too fast, And he's trying to breathe thro' but one.

Ebn Alrumi.

ON A MISER

"Hang her, a thoughtless, wasteful fool, She scatters corn where'er she goes"— Quoth Hassan, angry at his mule, That dropt a dinner to the crows.

Ebn Alrumi.

TO CASSIM OBIO ALLAH[20]

Poor Cassim! thou art doom'd to mourn By destiny's decree; Whatever happens it must turn To misery for thee.

Two sons hadst thou, the one thy pride, The other was thy pest; Ah, why did cruel death decide To snatch away the best?

No wonder thou shouldst droop with woe, Of such a child bereft; But now thy tears must doubly flow, For, ah! the other's left.

Aly Ben Ahmed Ben Mansour.

[20] Aly Ben Ahmed distinguished himself in prose as well as poetry, and an historical work of considerable reputation, of which he was the author, is still extant. But he principally excelled in satire, and so fond was he of indulging this dangerous talent that no one escaped his lash; if he could only bring out a sarcasm, it was matter of indifference to him whether an enemy or a brother smarted under its severity. He died at Bagdad A.H. 302.

A FRIEND'S BIRTHDAY[21]

When born, in tears we saw thee drown'd, While thine assembled friends around, With smiles their joy confest; So live, that at thy parting hour, They may the flood of sorrow pour, And thou in smiles be drest!

[21] The thought contained in these lines, appears so natural and so obvious, that one wonders it did not occur to all who have attempted to write upon a birthday or a death.

TO A CAT

Poor Puss is gone! 'Tis fate's decree— Yet I must still her loss deplore, For dearer than a child was she, And ne'er shall I behold her more.

With many a sad presaging tear This morn I saw her steal away, While she went on without a fear Except that she should miss her prey.

I saw her to the dove-house climb, With cautious feet and slow she stept Resolv'd to balance loss of time By eating faster than she crept.

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 noble 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 BLUSHING[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 eyeballs 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 spacious vault of heaven thy grave.

Abou Hassan Alanbary.

[25] Ebn Bakiah was vizir to Azzad Addaulet or Bachteir, Emir Alomra of Bagdad, under the Caliphs Moti Lillah and Tay Lillah; but Azzad Addaulet being deprived of his office, and driven from Bagdad by Adhed Addaulet, Sultan of Persia, Ebn Bakiah was seized and crucified at the gates of the city, by order of the conqueror.

CAPRICES OF FORTUNE[26]

Why should I blush that Fortune's frown Dooms me life's humble paths to tread? To live unheeded, and unknown? To sink forgotten to the dead?

'Tis not the good, the wise, the brave, That surest shine, or highest rise; The feather sports upon the wave, The pearl in ocean's cavern lies.

Each lesser star that studs the sphere Sparkles with undiminish'd light: Dark and eclips'd alone appear The lord of day, the queen of night.

Shems Almaali Cabus.

[26] History can show few princes so amiable and few so unfortunate as Shems Almaali Cabus. He is described as possessed of almost every virtue and every accomplishment: his piety, justice, generosity, and humanity, are universally celebrated; nor was he less conspicuous for intellectual powers; his genius was at once penetrating, solid, and brilliant, and he distinguished himself equally as an orator, a philosopher, and a poet.

ON LIFE

Like sheep, we're doom'd to travel o'er The fated track to all assign'd, These follow those that went before, And leave the world to those behind.

As the flock seeks the pasturing shade, Man presses to the future day, While death, amidst the tufted glade, Like the dun robber,[A] waits his prey.

[A] The wolf.

EXTEMPORE VERSES[27]

Lowering as Barkaidy's face The wintry night came in, Cold as the music of his bass, And lengthen'd as his chin.

Sleep from my aching eyes had fled, And kept as far apart, As sense from Ebn Fahdi's head, Or virtue from his heart.

The dubious paths my footsteps balk'd, I slipp'd along the sod, As if on Jaber's faith I'd walk'd, Or on his truth had trod.

At length the rising King of day Burst on the gloomy wood, Like Carawash's eye, whose ray Dispenses every good.

Ebn Alramacram.

[27] The occasion of the following composition is thus related by Abulfeda. Carawash, Sultan of Mousel, being one wintry evening engaged in a party of pleasure along with Barkaidy, Ebn Fahdi, Abou Jaber, and the improvisatore poet, Ebn Alramacram, resolved to divert himself at the expense of his companions. He therefore ordered the poet to give a specimen of his talents, which at the same time should convey a satire upon the three courtiers, and a compliment to himself. Ebn Alramacram took his subject from the stormy appearance of the night, and immediately produced these verses.

ON THE DEATH OF A SON[28]

Tyrant of man! Imperious Fate! I bow before thy dread decree, Nor hope in this uncertain state To find a seat secure from thee.

Life is a dark, tumultuous stream, With many a care and sorrow foul, Yet thoughtless mortals vainly deem That it can yield a limpid bowl.

Think not that stream will backward flow, Or cease its destin'd course to keep; As soon the blazing spark shall glow Beneath the surface of the deep.

Believe not Fate at thy command Will grant a meed she never gave; As soon the airy tower shall stand, That's built upon a passing wave.

Life is a sleep of threescore years, Death bids us wake and hail the light, And man, with all his hopes and fears, Is but a phantom of the night.

Aly Ben Mohammed Altahmany.

[28] Aly Ben Mohammed was a native of that part of Arabia called Hejaz; and was celebrated not only as a poet, but as a politician.

TO LEILA

Leila, with too successful art, Has spread for me love's cruel snare; And now, when she has caught my heart, She laughs, and leaves it to despair.

Thus the poor sparrow pants for breath, Held captive by a playful boy, And while it drinks the draught of death, The thoughtless child looks on with joy.

Ah! were its flutt'ring pinions free, Soon would it bid its chains adieu, Or did the child its suff'rings see, He'd pity and relieve them too.

ON MODERATION IN OUR PLEASURES[29]

How oft does passion's grasp destroy The pleasure that it strives to gain? How soon the thoughtless course of joy Is doom'd to terminate in pain?

When prudence would thy steps delay, She but restrains to make thee blest; Whate'er from joy she lops away, But heightens and secures the rest.

Wouldst thou a trembling flame expand, That hastens in the lamp to die? With careful touch, with sparing hand, The feeding stream of life supply.

But if thy flask profusely sheds A rushing torrent o'er the blaze, Swift round the sinking flame it spreads, And kills the fire it fain would raise.

Abou Alcassim Ebn Tabataba.

[29] Tabataba deduced his pedigree from Ali Ben Abou Taleb, and Fatima, the daughter of Mohammed. He was born at Ispahan, but passed the principal part of his life in Egypt, where he was appointed chief of the sheriffs, i.e. the descendants of the Prophet, a dignity held in the highest veneration by every Mussulman. He died in the year of the Hegira 418, with the reputation of being one of the most excellent poets of his time.

THE VALE OF BOZAA[30]

The intertwining boughs for thee Have wove, sweet dell, a verdant vest, And thou in turn shalt give to me A verdant couch upon thy breast.

To shield me from day's fervid glare Thine oaks their fostering arms extend, As anxious o'er her infant care I've seen a watchful mother bend.

A brighter cup, a sweeter draught, I gather from that rill of thine, Than maddening drunkards ever quaff'd, Than all the treasures of the vine.

So smooth the pebbles on its shore, That not a maid can thither stray, But counts her strings of jewels o'er, And thinks the pearls have slipp'd away.

Ahmed Ben Yousef Almenazy.

[30] Ben Yousef for many years acted as vizir to Abou Nasser, Sultan of Diarbeker. His political talents are much praised, and he is particularly celebrated for the address he displayed while upon an embassy to the Greek Emperor at Constantinople. Yousef's poetry must be looked upon merely as a jeu d'esprit suggested by the beauties of the vale of Bozaa, as he passed through it.

TO ADVERSITY[31]

Hail, chastening friend Adversity! 'Tis thine The mental ore to temper and refine, To cast in virtue's mould the yielding heart, And honor's polish to the mind impart. Without thy wakening touch, thy plastic aid, I'd lain the shapeless mass that nature made; But form'd, great artist, by thy magic hand, I gleam a sword to conquer and command.

Abou Menbaa Carawash.

[31] The life of this prince was checkered with various adventures; he was perpetually engaged in contests either with the neighboring sovereigns, or the princes of his own family. After many struggles he was obliged to submit to his brother, Abou Camel, who immediately ordered him to be seized, and conveyed to a place of security.

ON THE INCOMPATIBILITY OF PRIDE AND TRUE GLORY[32]

Think not, Abdallah, pride and fame Can ever travel hand in hand; With breast oppos'd, and adverse aim, On the same narrow path they stand.

Thus youth and age together meet, And life's divided moments share; This can't advance till that retreat, What's here increas'd, is lessen'd there.

And thus the falling shades of night Still struggle with the lucid ray, And e'er they stretch their gloomy flight Must win the lengthen'd space from day.

Abou Alola.

[32] Abou Alola is esteemed as one of the most excellent of the Arabian poets. He was born blind, but this did not deter him from the pursuit of literature. Abou Alola died at Maara in the year 449, aged eighty-six.

THE DEATH OF NEDHAM ALMOLK

Thy virtues fam'd thro' every land, Thy spotless life, in age and youth, Prove thee a pearl, by nature's hand, Form'd out of purity and truth.

Too long its beams of Orient light Upon a thankless world were shed; Allah has now reveng'd the slight, And call'd it to its native bed.

Shebal Addaulet.

LINES TO A LOVER

When you told us our glances soft, timid and mild, Could occasion such wounds in the heart, Can ye wonder that yours, so ungovern'd and wild, Some wounds to our cheeks should impart?

The wounds on our cheeks are but transient, I own, With a blush they appear and decay; But those on the heart, fickle youths, ye have shown To be even more transient than they.

Waladata.

VERSES TO MY DAUGHTERS[33]

With jocund heart and cheerful brow I used to hail the festal morn— How must Mohammed greet it now?— A prisoner helpless and forlorn.

While these dear maids in beauty's bloom, With want opprest, with rags o'erspread, By sordid labors at the loom Must earn a poor, precarious bread.

Those feet that never touched the ground, Till musk or camphor strew'd the way, Now bare and swoll'n with many a wound. Must struggle thro' the miry clay.

Those radiant cheeks are veil'd in woe, A shower descends from every eye, And not a starting tear can flow, That wakes not an attending sigh.

Fortune, that whilom own'd my sway, And bow'd obsequious to my nod, Now sees me destin'd to obey, And bend beneath oppression's rod.

Ye mortals with success elate, Who bask in hope's delusive beam, Attentive view Mohammed's fate, And own that bliss is but a dream.

Mohammed Bed Abad.

[33] Seville was one of those small sovereignties into which Spain had been divided after the extinction of the house of Ommiah. It did not long retain its independence, and the only prince who ever presided over it as a separate kingdom seems to have been Mohammed Ben Abad, the author of these verses. For thirty-three years he reigned over Seville and the neighboring districts with considerable reputation, but being attacked by Joseph, son to the Emperor of Morocco, at the head of a numerous army of Africans, was defeated, taken prisoner, and thrown into a dungeon, where he died in the year 488.

SERENADE TO MY SLEEPING MISTRESS[34]

Sure Harut's[B] potent spells were breath'd Upon that magic sword, thine eye; For if it wounds us thus while sheath'd, When drawn, 'tis vain its edge to fly.

How canst thou doom me, cruel fair, Plung'd in the hell[C] of scorn to groan? No idol e'er this heart could share, This heart has worshipp'd thee alone.

Aly Ben Abd.

[34] This author was by birth an African; but having passed over to Spain, he was much patronized by Mohammed, Sultan of Seville. After the fall of his master, Ben Abd returned to Africa, and died at Tangier, A.H. 488.

[B] A wicked angel who is permitted to tempt mankind by teaching them magic; see the legend respecting him in the Koran.

[C] 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."

THE INCONSISTENT[35]

When I sent you my melons, you cried out with scorn, They ought to be heavy and wrinkled and yellow; When I offer'd myself, whom those graces adorn, You flouted, and call'd me an ugly old fellow.

[35] Written to a lady upon her refusal of a present of melons, and her rejection of the addresses of an admirer.

THE CAPTURE OF JERUSALEM[36]

From our distended eyeballs flow A mingled stream of tears and blood; No care we feel, nor wish to know, But who shall pour the largest flood.

But what defense can tears afford? What aid supply in this dread hour? When kindled by the sparkling sword War's raging flames the land devour.

No more let sleep's seductive charms Upon your torpid souls be shed: A crash like this, such dire alarms, Might burst the slumbers of the dead.

Think where your dear companions lie— Survey their fate, and hear their woes— How some thro' trackless deserts fly, Some in the vulture's maw repose;

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 breasts 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' passion'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 shore.

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

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 Fortitude shall stay my feet; No borrow'd splendors round me shine, But Virtue's lustre 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 thorny road, 'Midst the fatigues that bear him down, In Hassan'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 snatch'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 friendship 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 rushing 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 noblest 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 shifting 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. Too long my foolish heart had deem'd Mankind as virtuous as they seem'd; The spell is broke, their faults are bare, And now I see them as they are; Truth from each tainted breast has flown, And falsehood marks them all her own. Incredulous I listen now To every tongue, and every vow, For still there yawns a gulf between Those honeyed words, and what they mean; With honest pride elate, I see The sons of falsehood shrink from me, As from the right line's even way The biass'd curves deflecting stray— But what avails it to complain? With souls like theirs reproof is vain; If honor e'er such bosoms share The sabre's point must fix it there. But why exhaust life's rapid bowl, And suck the dregs with sorrow foul, When long ere this my youth has drain'd Whatever zest the cup contain'd? Why should we mount upon the wave, And ocean's yawning horrors brave, When we may swallow from the flask Whatever the wants of mortals ask?

Contentment's realms no fears invade, No cares annoy, no sorrows shade, There plac'd secure, in peace we rest, Nor aught demand to make us blest. While pleasure's gay fantastic bower, The splendid pageant of an hour, Like yonder meteor in the skies, Flits with a breath no more to rise.

As thro' life's various walks we're led, May prudence hover o'er our head! May she our words, our actions guide, Our faults correct, our secrets hide!

May she, where'er our footsteps stray, Direct our paths, and clear the way!

Till, every scene of tumult past, She bring us to repose at last, Teach us to love that peaceful shore, And roam thro' folly's wilds no more!

Mauid Eddin Alhassan Abou Ismael Altograi.

[38] Abou Ismael was a native of Ispahan. He devoted himself to the service of the Seljuk Sultans of Persia, and enjoyed the confidence of Malec Shah, and his son and grandson, Mohammed and Massoud, by the last of whom he was raised to the dignity of vizir. Massoud, however, was not long in a condition to afford Abou Ismael any protection, for, being attacked by his brother Mahmoud, he was defeated, and driven from Mousel, and upon the fall of his master the vizir was seized and thrown into prison, and at length in the year 515 sentenced to be put to death.

TO YOUTH

Yes, youth, thou'rt fled, and I am left, Like yonder desolated bower, By winter's ruthless hand bereft Of every leaf and every flower.

With heaving heart and streaming eyes I woo'd thee to prolong thy stay, But vain were all my tears and sighs, Thou only fled'st more fast away.

Yet tho' thou fled'st away so fast, I can recall thee if I will; For I can talk of what is past, And while I talk, enjoy thee still.

Ebn Alrabia.

ON LOVE[39]

I never knew a sprightly fair That was not dear to me, And freely I my heart could share, With every one I see.

It is not this or that alone On whom my choice would fall, I do not more incline to one Than I incline to all.

The circle's bounding line are they, Its centre is my heart, My ready love the equal ray That flows to every part.

Abou Aly.

[39] Abou Aly flourished in Egypt about the year 530, and was equally celebrated as a mathematician and as a poet.

A REMONSTRANCE WITH A DRUNKARD[40]

As drench'd in wine, the other night, Zeid from the banquet sallied, Thus I reprov'd his drunken plight, Thus he my prudence rallied;

"In bev'rage so impure and vile, How canst thou thus delight?"— "My cups," he answer'd with a smile, "Are generous and bright."

"Beware those dang'rous draughts," I cried, "With love the goblet flows"— "And curst is he," the youth replied, "Who hatred only knows."

"Those cups too soon with sickness fraught Thy stomach shall deplore"— "Then soon," he cried, "the noxious draught And all its ills are o'er."

"Rash youth, thy guilty joys resign." "I will," at length he said, "I vow I'll bid adieu to wine As soon as I am dead."

Yahia Ben Salamet.

[40] This author was a native of Syria, and died at Miafarakir in the year of the Hegira 553.

VERSES[41]

Tho' such unbounded love you swear, 'Tis only art I see; Can I believe that one so fair Should ever dote on me?

Say that you hate, and freely show That age displeases youth; And I may love you when I know That you can tell the truth.

Caliph Almonklafi Laimrillah.

[41] Almonklafi was the thirty-first Caliph of the house of Abbas, and the only one who possessed any real authority since the reign of Radhi. These lines were addressed to a lady who pretended a passion for him in his old age.

ON PROCRASTINATION[42]

Youth is a drunken noisy hour, With every folly fraught; But man, by age's chast'ning power, Is sober'd into thought.

Then we resolve our faults to shun, And shape our course anew; But ere the wise reform's begun Life closes on our view.

The travellers thus who wildly roam, Or heedlessly delay, Are left, when they should reach their home, Benighted on the way.

Hebat Allah Ibn Altalmith.

[42] Ibn Altalmith died in the 560th year of the Hegira, at the advanced age of one hundred.

THE EARLY DEATH OF ABOU ALHASSAN ALY[43]

Soon hast thou run the race of life, Nor could our tears thy speed control— Still in the courser's gen'rous strife The best will soonest reach the goal.

As Death upon his hand turns o'er The different gems the world displays, He seizes first to swell his store The brightest jewel he surveys.

Thy name, by every breath convey'd, Stretch'd o'er the globe its boundless flight; Alas! in eve the lengthening shade But lengthens to be lost in night!

If gracious Allah bade thee close Thy youthful eyes so soon on day, 'Tis that he readiest welcomes those Who love him best and best obey.

Alnassar Ledin Allah.

[43] Alnassar Ledin Allah was the thirty-fourth Abasside Caliph, and the last excepting three who enjoyed this splendid title, which was finally abolished by the Tartars in the year 656.

THE INTERVIEW

A Song

Darkness clos'd around, loud the tempest drove, When thro' yonder glen I saw my lover rove, Dearest youth! Soon he reach'd our cot—weary, wet, and cold, But warmth, wine, and I, to cheer his spirits strove, Dearest youth! How my love, cried I, durst thou hither stray Thro' the gloom, nor fear the ghosts that haunt the grove? Dearest youth! In this heart, said he, fear no seat can find, When each thought is fill'd alone with thee and love, Dearest maid!



ARABIAN NIGHTS

[Selected tales edited by Andrew Lang]

THE SEVEN VOYAGES OF SINDBAD

In the times of the Caliph Harun-al-Rashid there lived in Bagdad a poor porter named Hindbad, who, on a very hot day, was sent to carry a heavy load from one end of the city to the other. Before he had accomplished half the distance he was so tired that, finding himself in a quiet street where the pavement was sprinkled with rose-water, and a cool breeze was blowing, he set his burden upon the ground, and sat down to rest in the shade of a grand house. Very soon he decided that he could not have chosen a pleasanter place; a delicious perfume of aloes-wood and pastilles came from the open windows and mingled with the scent of the rose-water which steamed up from the hot pavement. Within the palace he heard some music, as of many instruments cunningly played, and the melodious warble of nightingales and other birds, and by this, and the appetizing smell of many dainty dishes of which he presently became aware, he judged that feasting and merry-making were going on. He wondered who lived in this magnificent house which he had never seen before, the street in which it stood being one which he seldom had occasion to pass. To satisfy his curiosity he went up to some splendidly dressed servants who stood at the door, and asked one of them the name of the master of the mansion.

"What," replied he, "do you live in Bagdad, and not know that here lives the noble Sindbad the Sailor, that famous traveller who sailed over every sea upon which the sun shines?"

The porter, who had often heard people speak of the immense wealth of Sindbad, could not help feeling envious of one whose lot seemed to be as happy as his own was miserable. Casting his eyes up to the sky he exclaimed aloud:—

"Consider, Mighty Creator of all things, the difference between Sindbad's life and mine. Every day I suffer a thousand hardships and misfortunes, and have hard work to get even enough bad barley bread to keep myself and my family alive, while the lucky Sindbad spends money right and left and lives upon the fat of the land! What has he done that you should give him this pleasant life—what have I done to deserve so hard a fate?"

So saying he stamped upon the ground like one beside himself with misery and despair. Just at this moment a servant came out of the palace, and taking him by the arm said, "Come with me, the noble Sindbad, my master, wishes to speak to you."

Hindbad was not a little surprised at this summons, and feared that his unguarded words might have drawn upon him the displeasure of Sindbad, so he tried to excuse himself upon the pretext that he could not leave the burden which had been intrusted to him in the street. However the lackey promised him that it should be taken care of, and urged him to obey the call so pressingly that at last the porter was obliged to yield.

He followed the servant into a vast room, where a great company was seated round a table covered with all sorts of delicacies. In the place of honor sat a tall, grave man, whose long white beard gave him a venerable air. Behind his chair stood a crowd of attendants eager to minister to his wants. This was the famous Sindbad himself. The porter, more than ever alarmed at the sight of so much magnificence, tremblingly saluted the noble company. Sindbad, making a sign to him to approach, caused him to be seated at his right hand, and himself heaped choice morsels upon his plate, and poured out for him a draught of excellent wine, and presently, when the banquet drew to a close, spoke to him familiarly, asking his name and occupation.

"My lord," replied the porter, "I am called Hindbad."

"I am glad to see you here," continued Sindbad. "And I will answer for the rest of the company that they are equally pleased, but I wish you to tell me what it was that you said just now in the street." For Sindbad, passing by the open window before the feast began, had heard his complaint and therefore had sent for him.

At this question Hindbad was covered with confusion, and hanging down his head, replied, "My lord, I confess that, overcome by weariness and ill-humor, I uttered indiscreet words, which I pray you to pardon me."

"Oh!" replied Sindbad, "do not imagine that I am so unjust as to blame you. On the contrary, I understand your situation and can pity you. Only you appear to be mistaken about me, and I wish to set you right. You doubtless imagine that I have acquired all the wealth and luxury that you see me enjoy without difficulty or danger, but this is far indeed from being the case. I have only reached this happy state after having for years suffered every possible kind of toil and danger.

"Yes, my noble friends," he continued, addressing the company, "I assure you that my adventures have been strange enough to deter even the most avaricious men from seeking wealth by traversing the seas. Since you have, perhaps, heard but confused accounts of my Seven Voyages, and the dangers and wonders that I have met with by sea and land, I will now give you a full and true account of them, which I think you will be well pleased to hear."

As Sindbad was relating his adventures chiefly on account of the porter, he ordered, before beginning his tale, that the burden which had been left in the street should be carried by some of his own servants to the place for which Hindbad had set out at first, while he remained to listen to the story.



FIRST VOYAGE

I had inherited considerable wealth from my parents, and being young and foolish I at first squandered it recklessly upon every kind of pleasure, but presently, finding that riches speedily take to themselves wings if managed as badly as I was managing mine, and remembering also that to be old and poor is misery indeed, I began to bethink me of how I could make the best of what still remained to me. I sold all my household goods by public auction, and joined a company of merchants who traded by sea, embarking with them at Balsora in a ship which we had fitted out between us.

We set sail and took our course towards the East Indies by the Persian Gulf, having the coast of Persia upon our left hand and upon our right the shores of Arabia Felix. I was at first much troubled by the uneasy motion of the vessel, but speedily recovered my health, and since that hour have been no more plagued by sea-sickness.

From time to time we landed at various islands, where we sold or exchanged our merchandise, and one day, when the wind dropped suddenly, we found ourselves becalmed close to a small island like a green meadow, which only rose slightly above the surface of the water. Our sails were furled, and the captain gave permission to all who wished to land for a while and amuse themselves. I was among the number, but when after strolling about for some time we lighted a fire and sat down to enjoy the repast which we had brought with us, we were startled by a sudden and violent trembling of the island, while at the same moment those left upon the ship set up an outcry bidding us come on board for our lives, since what we had taken for an island was nothing but the back of a sleeping whale. Those who were nearest to the boat threw themselves into it, others sprang into the sea, but before I could save myself the whale plunged suddenly into the depths of the ocean, leaving me clinging to a piece of the wood which we had brought to make our fire. Meanwhile a breeze had sprung up, and in the confusion that ensued on board our vessel in hoisting the sails and taking up those who were in the boat and clinging to its sides, no one missed me and I was left at the mercy of the waves. All that day I floated up and down, now beaten this way, now that, and when night fell I despaired for my life; but, weary and spent as I was, I clung to my frail support, and great was my joy when the morning light showed me that I had drifted against an island.

The cliffs were high and steep, but luckily for me some tree-roots protruded in places, and by their aid I climbed up at last, and stretched myself upon the turf at the top, where I lay, more dead than alive, till the sun was high in the heavens. By that time I was very hungry, but after some searching I came upon some eatable herbs, and a spring of clear water, and much refreshed I set out to explore the island. Presently I reached a great plain where a grazing horse was tethered, and as I stood looking at it I heard voices talking apparently underground, and in a moment a man appeared who asked me how I came upon the island. I told him my adventures, and heard in return that he was one of the grooms of Mihrage, the King of the island, and that each year they came to feed their master's horses in this plain. He took me to a cave where his companions were assembled, and when I had eaten of the food they set before me, they bade me think myself fortunate to have come upon them when I did, since they were going back to their master on the morrow, and without their aid I could certainly never have found my way to the inhabited part of the island.

Early the next morning we accordingly set out, and when we reached the capital I was graciously received by the King, to whom I related my adventures, upon which he ordered that I should be well cared for and provided with such things as I needed. Being a merchant I sought out men of my own profession, and particularly those who came from foreign countries, as I hoped in this way to hear news from Bagdad, and find out some means of returning thither, for the capital was situated upon the sea-shore, and visited by vessels from all parts of the world. In the meantime I heard many curious things, and answered many questions concerning my own country, for I talked willingly with all who came to me. Also to while away the time of waiting I explored a little island named Cassel, which belonged to King Mihrage, and which was supposed to be inhabited by a spirit named Deggial. Indeed, the sailors assured me that often at night the playing of timbals could be heard upon it. However, I saw nothing strange upon my voyage, saving some fish that were full two hundred cubits long, but were fortunately more in dread of us than even we were of them, and fled from us if we did but strike upon a board to frighten them. Other fishes there were only a cubit long which had heads like owls.

One day after my return, as I went down to the quay, I saw a ship which had just cast anchor, and was discharging her cargo, while the merchants to whom it belonged were busily directing the removal of it to their warehouses. Drawing nearer I presently noticed that my own name was marked upon some of the packages, and after having carefully examined them, I felt sure that they were indeed those which I had put on board our ship at Balsora. I then recognized the captain of the vessel, but as I was certain that he believed me to be dead, I went up to him and asked who owned the packages that I was looking at.

"There was on board my ship," he replied, "a merchant of Bagdad named Sindbad. One day he and several of my other passengers landed upon what we supposed to be an island, but which was really an enormous whale floating asleep upon the waves. No sooner did it feel upon its back the heat of the fire which had been kindled, than it plunged into the depths of the sea. Several of the people who were upon it perished in the waters, and among others this unlucky Sindbad. This merchandise is his, but I have resolved to dispose of it for the benefit of his family if I should ever chance to meet with them."

"Captain," said I, "I am that Sinbad whom you believe to be dead, and these are my possessions!"

When the captain heard these words he cried out in amazement, "Lackaday! and what is the world coming to? In these days there is not an honest man to be met with. Did I not with my own eyes see Sindbad drown, and now you have the audacity to tell me that you are he! I should have taken you to be a just man, and yet for the sake of obtaining that which does not belong to you, you are ready to invent this horrible falsehood."

"Have patience, and do me the favor to hear my story," said I.

"Speak then," replied the captain, "I am all attention."

So I told him of my escape and of my fortunate meeting with the king's grooms, and how kindly I had been received at the palace. Very soon I began to see that I had made some impression upon him, and after the arrival of some of the other merchants, who showed great joy at once more seeing me alive, he declared that he also recognized me.

Throwing himself upon my neck he exclaimed, "Heaven be praised that you have escaped from so great a danger. As to your goods, I pray you take them, and dispose of them as you please." I thanked him, and praised his honesty, begging him to accept several bales of merchandise in token of my gratitude, but he would take nothing. Of the choicest of my goods I prepared a present for King Mihrage, who was at first amazed, having known that I had lost my all. However, when I had explained to him how my bales had been miraculously restored to me, he graciously accepted my gifts, and in return gave me many valuable things. I then took leave of him, and exchanging my merchandise for sandal and aloes-wood, camphor, nutmegs, cloves, pepper, and ginger, I embarked upon the same vessel and traded so successfully upon our homeward voyage that I arrived in Balsora with about one hundred thousand sequins. My family received me with as much joy as I felt upon seeing them once more. I bought land and slaves, and built a great house in which I resolved to live happily, and in the enjoyment of all the pleasures of life to forget my past sufferings.

Here Sindbad paused, and commanded the musicians to play again, while the feasting continued until evening. When the time came for the porter to depart, Sindbad gave him a purse containing one hundred sequins, saying, "Take this, Hindbad, and go home, but to-morrow come again and you shall hear more of my adventures."

The porter retired quite overcome by so much generosity, and you may imagine that he was well received at home, where his wife and children thanked their lucky stars that he had found such a benefactor.

The next day Hindbad, dressed in his best, returned to the voyager's house, and was received with open arms. As soon as all the guests had arrived the banquet began as before, and when they had feasted long and merrily, Sindbad addressed them thus:—

"My friends, I beg that you will give me your attention while I relate the adventures of my second voyage, which you will find even more astonishing than the first."



SECOND VOYAGE

I had resolved, as you know, on my return from my first voyage, to spend the rest of my days quietly in Bagdad, but very soon I grew tired of such an idle life and longed once more to find myself upon the sea.

I procured, therefore, such goods as were suitable for the places I intended to visit, and embarked for the second time in a good ship with other merchants whom I knew to be honorable men. We went from island to island, often making excellent bargains, until one day we landed at a spot which, though covered with fruit-trees and abounding in springs of excellent water, appeared to possess neither houses nor people. While my companions wandered here and there gathering flowers and fruit I sat down in a shady place, and, having heartily enjoyed the provisions and the wine I had brought with me, I fell asleep, lulled by the murmur of a clear brook which flowed close by.

How long I slept I know not, but when I opened my eyes and started to my feet I perceived with horror that I was alone and that the ship was gone. I rushed to and fro like one distracted, uttering cries of despair, and when from the shore I saw the vessel under full sail just disappearing upon the horizon, I wished bitterly enough that I had been content to stay at home in safety. But since wishes could do me no good, I presently took courage and looked about me for a means of escape. When I had climbed a tall tree I first of all directed my anxious glances towards the sea; but, finding nothing hopeful there, I turned landward, and my curiosity was excited by a huge dazzling white object, so far off that I could not make out what it might be.

Descending from the tree I hastily collected what remained of my provisions and set off as fast as I could go towards it. As I drew near it seemed to me to be a white ball of immense size and height, and when I could touch it, I found it marvellously smooth and soft. As it was impossible to climb it—for it presented no foothold—I walked round about it seeking some opening, but there was none. I counted, however, that it was at least fifty paces round. By this time the sun was near setting, but quite suddenly it fell dark, something like a huge black cloud came swiftly over me, and I saw with amazement that it was a bird of extraordinary size which was hovering near. Then I remembered that I had often heard the sailors speak of a wonderful bird called a roc, and it occurred to me that the white object which had so puzzled me must be its egg.

Sure enough the bird settled slowly down upon it, covering it with its wings to keep it warm, and I cowered close beside the egg in such a position that one of the bird's feet, which was as large as the trunk of a tree, was just in front of me. Taking off my turban I bound myself securely to it with the linen in the hope that the roc, when it took flight next morning, would bear me away with it from the desolate island. And this was precisely what did happen. As soon as the dawn appeared the bird rose into the air carrying me up and up till I could no longer see the earth, and then suddenly it descended so swiftly that I almost lost consciousness. When I became aware that the roc had settled and that I was once again upon solid ground, I hastily unbound my turban from its foot and freed myself, and that not a moment too soon; for the bird, pouncing upon a huge snake, killed it with a few blows from its powerful beak, and seizing it rose up into the air once more and soon disappeared from my view. When I had looked about me I began to doubt if I had gained anything by quitting the desolate island.

The valley in which I found myself was deep and narrow, and surrounded by mountains which towered into the clouds, and were so steep and rocky that there was no way of climbing up their sides. As I wandered about, seeking anxiously for some means of escaping from this trap, I observed that the ground was strewed with diamonds, some of them of an astonishing size. This sight gave me great pleasure, but my delight was speedily dampened when I saw also numbers of horrible snakes so long and so large that the smallest of them could have swallowed an elephant with ease. Fortunately for me they seemed to hide in caverns of the rocks by day, and only came out by night, probably because of their enemy the roc.

All day long I wandered up and down the valley, and when it grew dusk I crept into a little cave, and having blocked up the entrance to it with a stone, I ate part of my little store of food and lay down to sleep, but all through the night the serpents crawled to and fro, hissing horribly, so that I could scarcely close my eyes for terror. I was thankful when the morning light appeared, and when I judged by the silence that the serpents had retreated to their dens I came tremblingly out of my cave and wandered up and down the valley once more, kicking the diamonds contemptuously out of my path, for I felt that they were indeed vain things to a man in my situation. At last, overcome with weariness, I sat down upon a rock, but I had hardly closed my eyes when I was startled by something which fell to the ground with a thud close beside me.

It was a huge piece of fresh meat, and as I stared at it several more pieces rolled over the cliffs in different places. I had always thought that the stories the sailors told of the famous valley of diamonds, and of the cunning way which some merchants had devised for getting at the precious stones, were mere travellers' tales invented to give pleasure to the hearers, but now I perceived that they were surely true. These merchants came to the valley at the time when the eagles, which keep their eyries in the rocks, had hatched their young. The merchants then threw great lumps of meat into the valley. These, falling with so much force upon the diamonds, were sure to take up some of the precious stones with them, when the eagles pounced upon the meat and carried it off to their nests to feed their hungry broods. Then the merchants, scaring away the parent birds with shouts and outcries, would secure their treasures. Until this moment I had looked upon the valley as my grave, for I had seen no possibility of getting out of it alive, but now I took courage and began to devise a means of escape. I began by picking up all the largest diamonds I could find and storing them carefully in the leathern wallet which had held my provisions; this I tied securely to my belt. I then chose the piece of meat which seemed most suited to my purpose, and with the aid of my turban bound it firmly to my back; this done I laid down upon my face and awaited the coming of the eagles. I soon heard the flapping of their mighty wings above me, and had the satisfaction of feeling one of them seize upon my piece of meat, and me with it, and rise slowly towards his nest, into which he presently dropped me. Luckily for me the merchants were on the watch, and setting up their usual outcries, they rushed to the nest, scaring away the eagle. Their amazement was great when they discovered me, and also their disappointment, and with one accord they fell to abusing me for having robbed them of their usual profit. Addressing myself to the one who seemed most aggrieved, I said:—

"I am sure, if you knew all that I have suffered, you would show more kindness towards me, and as for diamonds, I have enough here of the very best for you and me and all your company." So saying I showed them to him. The others all crowded around me, wondering at my adventures and admiring the device by which I had escaped from the valley, and when they had led me to their camp and examined my diamonds, they assured me that in all the years that they had carried on their trade they had seen no stones to be compared with them for size and beauty.

I found that each merchant chose a particular nest, and took his chance of what he might find in it. So I begged the one who owned the nest to which I had been carried to take as much as he would of my treasure, but he contented himself with one stone, and that by no means the largest, assuring me that with such a gem his fortune was made, and he need toil no more. I stayed with the merchants several days, and then as they were journeying homewards I gladly accompanied them. Our way lay across high mountains infested with frightful serpents, but we had the good luck to escape them and came at last to the seashore. Thence we sailed to the isle of Roha, where the camphor-trees grow to such a size that a hundred men could shelter under one of them with ease. The sap flows from an incision made high up in the tree into a vessel hung there to receive it, and soon hardens into the substance called camphor, but the tree itself withers up and dies when it has been so treated.

In this same island we saw the rhinoceros, an animal which is smaller than the elephant and larger than the buffalo. It has one horn about a cubit long which is solid, but has a furrow from the base to the tip. Upon it is traced in white lines the figure of a man. The rhinoceros fights with the elephant, and transfixing him with his horn carries him off upon his head, but becoming blinded with the blood of his enemy, he falls helpless to the ground, and then comes the roc, and clutches them both up in his talons and takes them to feed his young. This doubtless astonishes you, but if you do not believe my tale go to Roha and see for yourself. For fear of wearying you I pass over in silence many other wonderful things which we saw in this island. Before we left I exchanged one of my diamonds for much goodly merchandise by which I profited greatly on our homeward way. At last we reached Balsora, whence I hastened to Bagdad, where my first action was to bestow large sums of money upon the poor, after which I settled down to enjoy tranquilly the riches I had gained with so much toil and pain.