SUBJECTS OF THE SECTIONS.
ANALYSIS AND SPECIMENS
OF THE
JOSEPH AND ZULAIKHA,
A HISTORICAL-ROMANTIC POEM, BY THE PERSIAN POET
JAMI.
“I can understand how the beauty of Joseph, which added
fresh lustre to the day, drew forth Zulaikha from behind the
veil of her modesty.”—Hafiz: Alif 8.
LONDON:
PUBLISHED BY WILLIAMS AND NORGATE, HENRIETTA
STREET, COVENT GARDEN;
AND BY JAMES CORNISH, MANCHESTER.
MDXXXLXXIII.
PRELIMINARY NOTICE.
The poem of which a full analysis and very copious
specimens are now, so far as the Translator is aware,
for the first time submitted to the English reader,
is one of the most celebrated in the Persian language,
and is considered by competent judges to be the finest
work which exists in the East.
“German and English”—says Rosenzweig, in the
Preface to his German Translation of the Joseph and
Zulaikha—“as those nations which have dedicated
themselves, especially since the latter half of the last
century, with the greatest predilection to the study
of Oriental literature, have recognized the excellence
of Jami, and particularly of this poem; which,
through the living nature and freshness of its colouring,
and the truth of the feelings therein delineated,
would beyond doubt be alone sufficient to establish
the glory of its author, and to prove that he deserves
to be placed boldly by the side of the most distinguished
and greatest poets. So the valuable journals
of literature, almost in the first volume, expressed the
wish for a translation of Jami’s poetical works. So
in the Flowers of Persian Literature, of the poem in
question it is said,—‘Jami, whose poem on the loves
of Joseph and Zulaikha is one of the finest compositions
in the language, and deserves to be translated
into every European language’:—and ‘Jami has
decorated with all the graces of poetry the romantic
story of the youthful Canaanite’:—so says Thornton
in his present state of Turkey.”—(Extract from
Rosenzweig’s Preface.)
Jami was born in the year of the Hejrah 817, or of
the Christian Era 1414. His father was a native of
Ispahan. He dedicated his whole life to Literature,
and is one of the most prolific writers of Persia. We
have the titles given of thirty-four of his works in
prose, and sixteen in verse. Those in prose are on a
great variety of subjects: Letters—Grammar and
Prosody—A History of Herat—Religious, Theological
and Moral Treatises—and numerous expositions and
commentaries on the Mystical doctrines of the Sufis,
the Mahomedan sect to which he attached himself.
Of his Poetical works, the most celebrated are his
Joseph and Zulaikha—his Laila and Mejnun—his four
Divans, or collection of Odes—and his Baharistan or
Spring-garden, in Eight Gardens after the type of
the Eight Gardens of Paradise.
Jami was the last of the great Poets of Persia, and
if any of them have assumed a loftier position, it is
rather in virtue of their having concentrated all their
powers on special subjects—as Firdusi and Nizami on
Epic Poetry—Sadi on Moral—and Hafiz on Lyric
Poetry—than from any defect of genius. In variety
he has probably surpassed them all, attaining high
excellence in every one which he attempted, and
furnishing gratification to many kinds of taste. But
if the English reader does not perceive in the following
poem all the merit which the translator fancies it
possesses, he is asked to receive it kindly as a contribution
to the general history of literature, and may
find some pleasure in comparing the agreements and
differences of eastern and western ideas and feelings,
and some profit from enlarging his acquaintance with
the great family of man and his knowledge of human
nature.
The reader of the Oriental writers of Erotic poetry
should bear in mind, that whilst they are prone to
veil a probably merely sensuous and earthly love in
mystical and exalted terms and figures, there are, on
the other hand, very many, whose descriptions of the
passion, though couched in natural and ordinary
language, are undoubtedly intended by the poet to
bear a deeper signification, and to shadow forth a
higher and diviner affection. That Jami wrote his
poem in this spirit can scarcely be questioned, both
from the known character of the man, the circumstances
of his life, and the spiritual tone which
pervades the whole work.
The Translator wishes frankly to confess, that
he could not have executed the present litte work
without the assistance of the Persian text, and notes
and German translation of Professor Rosenzweig,
with which, however, his own has been carefully
compared, line by line and word by word; so that he
hopes that it is a fair representation of the original;
so far at least as the difference of the two languages
will allow, and the highly figurative character of the
Persian composition, which the Translator has been
anxious to preserve.
S. R.
Dec. 20th, 1872.
JOSEPH AND ZULAIKHA.
INVOCATION.
Expand for me, O God, the blossom of hope,
Shew me a rose from the eternal garden!
Cause my garden to smile from the lip of that rosebud,
And invigorate my brain with the sense of its perfume!
In this abode of affliction, where is no rest,
Make me ready to acknowledge the multitude of Thy
mercies!
Fill my mind full of thoughts to Thy praise,
Make thanksgiving the business of my tongue!
Give me for a spear the power of my reason,
In the battle-field of words give me the victory!
Thou hast made my heart a treasure—house—jewel
upon jewel,
Let my tongue duly weigh the jewels of my heart!
Thou hast placed in my navel the musk-pod of musk,
Let my musk spread its fragrance from Kaf to Kaf! (
all
round the world)—
(Note 1.) Give to my reed a sugar-sweet tongue to write my
poem,
Shed over my book an amber-diffusing perfume!
For the object of my words has not yet been attained,
And nothing but a name has yet been left of its story.
In this the wine-house of pleasant histories
I find not an echo of this sweet melody.
The guests drank their wine, and forthwith departed,
Departed, and left only the empty wine-jars.
Of those who are seasoned or unseasoned in such
banquets,
I see not one whose hand holds a goblet of this wine:
Come then, Jami, throw off thy timidity;
Be it clear, or the dregs only, bring to us what thou
hast!
Celebration of the Divine Greatness.
In the name of Him whose name is the fortress of the
universe,
Whom to praise is the gem on the sword of the tongue,
Whose name satisfies every desire of the palate;
And from the fountain of whose benefits is derived all
its freshness.
From Him proceed the thousand subtleties
Which, fine as a hair, the reason discovers with every
breath;
The High God—the Eternal—the All-knowing—
Who is able to give strength to him that is weak;
Who hath lighted up the sky with the host of heaven,
And ornamented the earth with the multitude of men.
He planned the vault of the revolving sphere,
And fixed it on the walls of the four Elements;
He planted the musk-pod in the navel of the rose;
He clasped its ornaments round the beautiful rosebush;
He wove their delicate vestures for the brides of the
spring;
He gave its stature to the cypress on the rivulet.
He gives its loftiness to every lofty thought;
He abases to humility every self-lauding fancy;
Forgives the sins of the reckless drunkard;
And takes back to his service the repentant hypocrite.
He is the companion of the lonely night-watchers;
The comrade of those who toil through the day;
From the ocean of His kindness the vernal cloud
Sheds its water on the thorn and the jessamine;
From the mine of His bounty the autumnal wind
Spangles with gold the carpet of the meadow;
The palate of the good man He sweetens with the
sugar of His benefits,
His indignation turns the delights of the bitter-tongued
into poison;
From His being flows that burning sun,
By which every atom is penetrated with light.
Were He to hide His face from sun or from moon,
Its ball would drop into the void of non-existence.
On us His favour has bestowed our being,
For He is, and His being gives being to us.
From the vault of heaven to the centre of the earth
Should’st thou travel without stopping on the foot of
conjecture or comprehension;
Should’st thou descend downwards, or should’st thou
hasten upwards,
Thou canst not go beyond the bounds of His wisdom.
His essence, free from “How and How-much,”
Is freer still from “Low and Lofty.”
Incomparable Himself, He determines “all quantities
and degrees,”
And, compared with His sublime greatness, all
grandeur is meanness.
Wisdom in His presence is disturbed in its counsels;
In search of His ways we are without hand or foot.
If in His benignity He advances not His steps to meet
us,
Our distance from Him is every moment greater and
greater.
When rises the loud cry to the exaltation of His glory,
The very Angels in His everlasting Court
Stand abashed at their own ignorance;
And Heaven itself is amazed at its own distraction:
Therefore, better for us that we, an inquisitive handful,
Should polish our mirror from the rust of curiosity,
Sink into forgetfulness of our own existence,
And seat ourselves henceforth on the knees of silence.
Arguments for the being of a God, and exhortation to
labour in His service.
How long, O heart, in this deceptive summer-dwelling,
Wilt thou, like children, build houses of clay?
Thou art a bold bird to quit the fostering hand,
For not in this summer dwelling is thine own nest!
Wherefore has thou become a stranger to that nest?
Wherefore, like a grave owl, hast thou chosen this
desolate waste?
Cleanse thy wings and thy feathers from all admixture
of dust,
And soar upwards to the pinnacles of heaven!
Behold in the dance those blue-fringed turbans,
Those garments of light streaming out to the world!
They whirl round and round by night and by day,
They intend to arrive victorious at the goal of their
aspirations!
But each one, like the ball which receives its motion
from the bat,
Is impelled to the dance by his own desires.
One turns his face from the sun-set to the sun-rise;
One launches his vessel in the tides of the ocean;
One plunges ardently into the tumult of the day mart;
One kindles his lights in the nightly throng;
One traces out the letters of felicity,
One breaks in twain the threads of prosperity;
So they eagerly run forwards to shorten their journey,
And from their onward movement can never rest;
Yet they are never worn down by the toils of travel,
Nor is there pain to their loins, or soreness to their feet.
But what knows any one on what he bestows so much
labour?
Who knows to whom they turn their faces?
At every moment they shew some fresh painting;
Yet in the Society of Painters (a religious sect) they are
nothing worth.
How long wilt thou give the reins into the hand of
Doubt?
How long say to everything—“This is my Lord?”
Like the Friend knock at the door of the True King,
And cry—“I like not that which sets.”—
(Note 2.)Dismiss every vain fancy, and abandon every doubt;
Blend into one every spirit and form and place;
See One—know One—speak of One—
Desire One—chant of One—and seek One.
For every atom there is a pathway and approach to
God;
To every one is pledged the certainty of his existence;
On the heart of every thoughtful man is painted His
image,
And for every painting there must be a painter.
If a thousand characters appear upon the board,
Not a stroke will be right without the pen of a writer;
Amidst the ruins thou canst not find a brick
Which has not come forth from a shaping mould.
On every brick the pen of the finger hath written,
That the hand of wisdom traced the letters.
When thou readest these letters on the brick,
Thou canst not but think of the existence of the brickmaker;
When thou beholdest displayed before thee the architecture
of the universe,
How is it that thy mind is not busied about the
architect?
When thou see’st the work, turn thy face towards the
workman;
Gather a judgment of the workman from the work!
In the last hour, which no man can escape,
The reckoning for thy work will be with the Overlooker
only:
To Him only lift up the eye of thy desires,
And ask Him with His blessedness to seal thy labour!
Praise of God.
O Lord, once we had no existence,
And were free from the fear of annihilation.
Thou first didst call us into existence from non-existence;
Thou hast bound our feet in the fetters of water and
clay;
Thou hast set us free from the infirmity of powerlessness,
And hast led us onward from ignorance to knowledge;
Thou hast shed upon us the light of Thy Book;
Thou hast decreed what is to be done, and not done;
But we are ever mingling the evil with the good,
One while doing too much, one while too little.
We often have lost the way of Thy commandments,
Have often trodden the paths of disobedience;
Yet Thou hast not withdrawn the promise of Thy grace,
Thou hast not hidden from us the light of Thy guidance.
But from that light, if through Thy kindness it be not
hidden,
What profit can we gain, if we work not on our own
parts?
It is our own idleness which we have to lament;
Bestow on our work Thy gracious aid, that we work
not in vain!
If the wise man drowns himself, like the fool,
What difference remains between ignorance and knowledge?
From the chords of sensuality comes no responsive
symphony!
Narrow not to our feet the way of good deeds!
In this straitened pathway of groans in which we
travel,
Open to us in Thy mercy an outlet of safety;
By that road call us to Thine Own Court,
And be our fellow-traveller to the portals of salvation!
The Poet’s Prayer.
I am the bird whose snare hath been Thy grain,
Whose enchantment in the desert hath been Thy tale!
Thou it is who hast prepared for me the materials of
my labour,
It is Thy kindness which opened to me the door of mercy!
It is Thy liberality which hath kindly accepted my
service,
And Whose grace hath exalted me from the prostration
of devotion.
Through Thee I have rubbed my forehead in the dust
of Thy ways,
With Thy collyrium Thou hast sharpened mine eyes to
discern Thy paths.
Thou hast given to my tongue the power of praise,
Thou hast touched my heart with the memory of Thy
goodness.
Thou hast tipped my tongue with richness and sweetness,
Thou hast put into my mouth a delicate morsel,
The bite of which inflicts no injury on the tooth,
And from the eating of which the throat receives no
suffering.
Give me for thankfulness a sugared speech,
Let no bitterness mar the suavity of my acts;
Suffer not my tongue to run into evil speaking,
Let not my tongue become an injury to myself:
Should a sinful letter trickle from my pen,
Before the How and the Why is before me,
Over that sinful letter draw the line of erasure,
Throw me not, like the reed, into the conflict.
I am a blade of grass, nourished in the faith of Thy
promises,
Which Thou hast brought out from the clay and the
water;
My head waves on every side to the wind,
But my foot is set in the clay of Thy valley;
And the clay of the valley in which my foot is fast
Is better than the rose which has neither colour nor
fragrance for Thee:
Make me in this garden like a rosebud of one core;
Mark me like the tulip with Thine own streaks.
In this path no gain is to be made but by singleness
of heart;
To be double-hearted is to lose every advantage.
The blooming pistachio sees not two kernels,
Like the double almond, to injure the teeth;
Since the corn-ear nourishes a hundred grains in one
bosom,
The sickle cuts down all at a single stroke;
When the single-hearted rosebud shews its face upon
the thorn,
It receives not a wound from its thousand daggers.
Although my sins are beyond all measure,
Thy mercy is a thousand times more redundant still!
Nay! tho’ my sin were two hundred sheaves,
Thou couldst burn them up if thou wouldst with the
lightning of my sighs;
And tho’ my rebellious acts were to fill a hundred
volumes,
Thou art able to wash them out by the waters of
mine eyes.
For all eagerness for fame which hath glowed in my
eye,
My eye-lids have trickled with drops of blood;
May I wash out from mine eyes all vain dreams of
renown;
May the blood-tinged drop suffuse my countenance,
If my looks strain towards the hope of celebrity.
Let a tear be the reputation to which I aspire!
Let my two eyes become two rivers of repentance!
Let this be my glory till the day of resurrection!
Let this be the gain which crowns my ambition,
—To carry my salutation to the ears of the Prophet!
Then follow five sections:—In Praise of the
Prophet—The Prophet’s Journey to Heaven—Supplication
for the Intercession of the Prophet—Prayers for
his Blessing—The Praise of Sultain Hussain.—These
as they would not probably be interesting to many
readers, and have no necessary connection with the
subject of the poem, have not been translated, except
a short passage from the “Journey to Heaven,” in
which the poet narrates how the Angel Gabriel
awakes him as he is slumbering on his bed, and informs
him, that he has brought him the wonderful
horse, Borak, a kind of mysterious animal like some
of those described in Ezekiel, to convey him to Paradise.
Mounting this, he first visits Jerusalem, as the
Hebrew Prophets had done, and then wings his flight
through the eight inferior heavens to the ninth and
highest.
No sooner was this bower dignified by his presence
Than he was quickly transported to the Court of the
Eternal;
There he flings off, like rags, the vesture of his body,
And exalts his standard in the incorporeal world;
Leaves with his earthly clay this humble vestibule,
And touches with his hand the Sublime Throne.
And when he had moved his piece from the chequered
board,
And his courser had sprung out of the narrow bounds
of extension,
Then found he space unlimited by space,
Into which neither body nor spirit is admitted;
ONE Only—who is beyond the praise of all,
Whose being knows nothing of great or little.
He saw there what no other eye ever saw;
Ask not of us, what was its nature!
That place is not measured by “How, and how Much;”
Therefore close thy lips as to the “Less or More;”
No tongue nor palate hath given account of it;
Nor hath speech ever explained its meaning.
He heard what no voice hath ever uttered in words;
Meaning in meaning, mystery in mystery;
The ear of the spirit drinks nothing but wind,
The finger of the heart can transcribe not a letter;
The robe of the understanding is too contracted for its
size,
The steed of intellect is lamed in its career;
It is loftier than aught that can be seen or heard,
The tongue should be cut out which discourses about it.
O Jami, plant not thy foot beyond thy bounds,
And escape from this life-devouring sea!
Expend not a breath in this idle conversation!
Put a seal on thy talk—GOD IS THE GREATEST!
Beauty.
In that solitude, in which Being is without a mark,
The universe still lay hidden in the treasure-house of
non-existence;
Whilst its substance had not yet taken the form of
duality,
And was far from speech and talk, from “We”
and “Ye,”
BEAUTY was free from the shackles of form,
And by its own light alone was it visible to itself;
It was a lovely bride behind the veil of her nuptial
chamber,
Her vesture unsullied by suspicion of a speck.
There was no mirror to reflect back its countenance,
Nor had ever comb passed a hand thro’ its ringlets;
No breeze had ever ruffled a lock of its tresses;
Its eye had never been touched by a grain of sulmadust;
No nightingale had yet nestled under the shade of his
rose,
No rose had put yet on her adornment of verdure.
Its cheek was not yet embellished by mole or down,
And no eye had yet beheld it even in imagination,
Its voice of endearment was with itself alone,
And with itself was played its game of affection.
But wherever the power of Beauty exists,
Beauty is angered to be hidden by a veil.
A lovely face will not endure concealment;
Bar but the door, it will escape by the window!
Behold the tulip on the mountain top,
How smilingly it comes forth in the vernal season;
It shoots out of the earth thro’ every cleft of the rock,
And forces itself into notice by its own loveliness.
When a feeling of Beauty once falls upon the sight,
And strangely threads itself on the tie of sensation,
It can never again pass away from the fancy;
It insists henceforth on being heard or spoken of.
Wherever is the Beautiful, this is its law,
Imposed by the action of the Eternal Beauty;
Coming from the realms of the Holy here it pitched
its station,
And revealed itself in every quarter and to every spirit.
In every mirror is reflected its face,
In every place is heard its conversation and language;
And all the Holy who are seeking the Holy
Exclaim in ecstacy—“O Thou Holy One!”
And from all the divers in this celestial ocean
Rises the shout—“Glory to the Lord of Angels!”
From its brightness a beam fell upon the rose,
And from the rose came his melody into the soul of
the nightingale;
(Note 3.)From its fire the taper kindled up its cheek,
And forthwith a hundred moths were burnt in every
chamber;
(Note 4.)From its light a spark set on fire the sun,
And straightway the Nile-lily raised its head from the
water.
(Note 5.By its countenance Laila arrayed her own,
And Mejnun’s passion was inflamed by every
hair;
(Note 6.)The mouth of Shireen opened its sugared lip,
And stole the heart of Parviz and the soul of
Farhad;
(Note 7.)The moon of Canaan (Joseph) raised its head from its
breast,
And bore away reason from the brain of Zulaikha.
Yes!—Beauty unveils its countenance in the private
chamber,
Even when hid behind the veil from earthly lovers;
Of every veil which thou seest it is the veil-holder,
’Tis its decree which carries every heart into bondage;
In its love only has the heart its life,
In its love only has the soul its felicity.
The heart of every one who is enamoured with the
lovely,
Is inspired by its love whether he knows it or not.
Beware that thou fall into no error as to Beauty;
Love we must when it shows forth its charms;
For as each thing is fair, so is it worthy of love;
It is the stem whence comes the object,
Thou art the mirror, it brings thee the image;
Thou art hid by a veil, it shows itself openly;
When thou lookest on Beauty it is the mirror also,
For it is not only the treasure, but the treasure-house
too.
We have in this matter no right to intermeddle—
thou and I;
Our opinions about it are but vain fancies!
Be silent!—for this is a tale which has no ending;
Its language is one which has no interpreter.
Better for us that our business be love,
For without its converse we are nothing—nothing!
Love.
A heart which is void of the pains of love is no heart;
A body without heart-woes is nothing but clay and
water.
Turn thy face away from the world to the pangs of
love,
For the world of love is a world of sweetness.
Let there not be in the world an unloving heart!
Let not the pangs of love be less in the bosom of any
one!
Heaven itself is confused with longings after love,
Earth is filled with tumult at the clamours of its
passion.
Become the captive of love in order to become free;
Lay its sorrows to thine heart that thou mayst know
its gladness.
The wine of love will inebriate and warm thee,
Will free thee from coldness and devotion to self.
In the memories of love the lover renews his freshness,
In his devotion to it he creates for himself a lofty fame.
If Mejnun had never drunk the wine from this cup,
Who would have spread his name throughout both
worlds?
Thousands of the wise and learned have passed away,
Passed away—forgotten, because strangers to love;
No name or trace remains of their existence,
No history of them is left on the records of Time.
Many are the birds of beautiful forms,
Which the people closes its lips and refuses to speak of;
When those who have hearts tell stories of love,
The stories they tell are of the moth and the nightingale.
In the world thou mayst be skilled in a hundred arts,
Love is the only one which will free thee from thyself.
Turn not thy face from Love, even if it be shallow,
It is thine apprenticeship for learning the true one;
If thou dost not first learn thine A, B, C on thy slate,
How wilt thou be ever able to read a lesson from the
Koran!
I heard of a scholar who besought a teacher,
To assist him in treading the path of his doctrine:
The teacher replied—“Thou hast never yet stirred a
foot in the way of love;
Go! become a lover, and then appear before me;
For till thou hast tasted the symbolical wine-cup,
Thou wilt never drain the real one to the lees.”
(Note 8.)No! thou must not stay lingering over the image,
But quickly transport thyself over this bridge:
If thou desirest ever to reach the inn,
Thou must not remain standing at the bridge-head.
Praise be to God! that so long as I have dwelt in this
monastery,
I have been a nimble traveller in the road of love!
When the mid-wife first divided the navel-string,
She divided it with the knife of love;
When my mother first put my lips to her breast,
She gave me to suck the blood-tinged milk of love;
Although my hair is now white as milk,
The savour of love still dwells in my mind.
In youth or in age there is nothing like love;
The enchantment of love breathes upon me for ever.
“Jami,”—it says—“thou hast grown old in love,
Rouse up thy spirit, and in love die!
Compose a tale on the pleasures of love,
That thou mayst leave to the world some memorial of
thine existence:
Draw thou a picture with thy delicate pencil,
Which, when thou quittest thy place, may remain in
thy stead.
Adam’s Vision.
After these introductory pieces, and a eulogy of
the WORD—Speech—beginning,
The Word—the exordium of the Book of Love,
The Word—first fruits of the Garden of Love;
Wisdom has no greatness or efficacy comparable to
the Word,
The Earth has no memorial enduring as the Word:—
the Poet enters on the proper subject of his work
with a description of Adam’s first awaking to a sense
of his existence, and a perception of the world around
him. Beholding the long line of his descendants—here
the Prophets—there the Saints—Kings and
Leaders of the People—each in his destined rank and
office—his eye is arrested as he scans the multitude
by the surpassing beauty of Joseph; whom the
Orientals consider the perfection of the human form
and the model of manly grace and elegance.
Then Joseph struck his eye like a radiant moon,—
Moon!—no, a sun in the zenith of his splendour and
glory!
The distinguished taper of a select assembly,
A high-flashing torch in a festive gathering.
The loveliness of the lovely in his presence was as
nothing,
As stars vanish in the beams of the sun;
The perfection of his beauty and loveliness passed
conception,
Exceeded all limits of the powers of thought;
The vesture of Divine power robed his shoulders,
His head bore the crown of royal splendour;
His brow was like the dawn of the morning of felicity,
And his face changed the gloomy night into the day
of brightness;
All the Prophets before and after him,
Purified from the darkness of their mortal bodies;
All the holy spirits without failure or diminution,
Waving high their standards, right and left,
Shouted aloud,—“In the name of God,”—and—“There
is no God but God.”
And Adam was amazed at that majesty and glory,
And in a tone of astonishment whispered softly,
“God!—from what rose-bed comes this seedling,
And of whose eye is he the bright beauty-spot;
How hath this ray of fortune beamed upon him!
Where hath he found this perfection and honour!”
And a voice answered,—“It is the light of thine eye,
The joy giving-solace of a sorrow-stricken heart;
He is a sapling from the garden of Jacob,
A gazelle from the plains of the Friend of God (Abraham);
The height of his dome shall be more exalted than
Saturn’s,
The land of Egypt shall be his royal palace;
The excess of loveliness which shines in his countenance
Will inflame with envy the loveliest in the world:
Thine own countenance is mirrored in his;
Bestow upon him all that thou hast thyself in thy
treasure-house!”
Then Adam drew him and pressed him on his breast,
And poured into him the virtue of his own pure heart;
Made him certified of his own affection;
Imprinted on his brow a fatherly kiss;
Blossomed like a rose in the possession of his child,
And invoked blessings upon him as the nightingale
on the rose.
Joseph.
In this changeful world—a worshipper of semblances,
When each one in turn strikes the tymbal of existence,
(Note 9.)Each day makes conspicuous some new truth.
And some name spreads abroad a light through the
earth.
If the universe remained conformed to one rule,
How many secrets would remain unrevealed!
If the brightness of the sun never became less in the
revolving sphere,
The starry mart would never exhibit its riches;
And did winter never depart from the garden,
No rose would smile at the aspect of spring.
These words introduce the Poet’s account of the
succession of Adam’s descendants,—Seth,—Enoch,—
Noah,—Abraham,—Isaac and Jacob—to the birth of
Joseph, upon whom, of his twelve children, Jacob
concentrated his strongest affection. Losing his
mother after two years, he is taken in charge by his
aunt; who becomes so devotedly fond of him, that
she will not part with him, and resorts to devices for
keeping him from his father, and as much as possible
to herself. But after a time she too dies, and Jacob
can no longer resist his fatherly yearnings to enjoy
his son’s companionship.
But Jacob was cheered by this event,
And closed not his eyes in sleep from the desire to
behold him.
He found in Joseph the Kiblah of his affection,
(Note 10.)And turned away his face from his other children;
In Joseph was centred his every act,
To Joseph was limited his whole occupation;
In Joseph alone his soul found repose,
By Joseph alone was his eye lighted up:
Yes! whatever place that moon should irradiate
To that not even the sun would find an entrance!
How shall I describe beauty and alluringness,
Which transcended that of Houri or Peri!
He was a moon in the firmament of graciousness,
Which filled with brilliancy the whole universe:
A moon, resembling a resplendent sun,—no!
A moon—of which that in heaven is but a ray!
What say I?—What room for comparison with the
sun!
The sun’s flashing beams were, compared with him, a
delusive mirage.
(Note 11.)No “Why or wherefore” will explain his sacred
lustre,
When from his bright countenance he withdraws the
veil:
For in him dwelleth calmly He to whom there is none
like,
And veileth Himself under the name of Joseph.
If then love of him stole unheeded into the heart of
Jacob,
And fixed itself in his soul, it was not without reason!
Zulaikha, herself the envy of the lovely Houris,
Sitting in the far west behind the veil of her modesty,
From the sun of his countenance caught a spark,
And became in a dream the captive of his image:
When the pangs of love overpower those who are
distant,
How can it be far away from those who are near?
Zulaikha.
Thus hath said the master of choice speeches, the
eloquent narrator,
He, who from his treasury of words can produce a
treasure of expression,
That in the Western Land (Mauritania) lived a
renowned king,
Whose royal tymbal beat to the name of Timus,
Possessed of all that is befitting sovereign authority,
So that not a wish of his heart remained unsatisfied;
His head gave to the crown prosperity,
His foot exaltation to the steps of his throne,
Orion, by the grace of Heaven, girded himself in the
support of his armies,
And victory cleaved with firm grasp to his sword.
A lovely daughter was his, by name Zulaikha,
Whom he prized beyond aught else in the world;
Daughter,—no! rather a star from the constellation of
heaven,
A brilliant jewel from a royal casket.
Her perfection could not be comprised within the
limits of description,
I can but essay an attempt to portray her.
Like her own tresses I must descend from head to foot,
My soul must be enlightened from the reflection of
her own countenance,
From her own sweet ruby lips I must draw her portrait,
If I am to repeat what I know of her qualities.
Her stature was that of the grace-created palm-tree,
Which raiseth its head in a garden of delights;
And which, copiously watered from a royal stream,
Exalteth itself like a cypress on some broad river.
Even the wise man might be entangled in the snare
of her tresses,
Than which not musk itself exhaled a greater fragrance.
Oft did the comb nicely divide the hair,
Which elegantly adorned the crown of her head;
So that the musk-bag burst with passion,
For there was no employment for musk here.
Why should I further make mention of gold,
For in the ankle-ring it lay at her feet.—
(Note 12.)One while she walks proudly in the presence chamber
of the palace,
In the gold-shot robes of Egypt and Syria;
Another while she reclines coquetishly on the sofa,
In the beautifnl brocade of Rum and China;
On every new day on which beams a ray,
She arrays her person in a new vestment;
She crowns not her head twice with the same tiara,
Presenting like the moon every day a new phase.
She allows not the grandees the favour of the foot-kiss;
Reserving that privilege for the skirt of her garment.
Tall cypress-formed maidens move airily about her,
Peri-faced attendants minister to her wants,
And a thousand houri-born damsels youthful as herself
Stand before her day and night to do her service.
Never yet had a burden weighed upon her heart,
Never yet had a thorn lacerated her foot,
Never yet had she loved, or had a lover,
Never yet admitted a passion to the heart.
She slept thro’ the night as sleeps the fresh narcissus,
And bloomed in the morning like the smiling rosebud
With silver like dolls (young girls,) yet tender in years,
Or with graceful gazelles in the courts of the dwelling,
Her mind, thoughtless of the deceitfulness of the
changeful sphere,
She had not a care beyond her sports:
So was she cheerful and gay at heart,
And her soul was free from every sorrow,
As to what the coming days might bring to vex it,
Or what might be born from the womb of the nights.
Zulaikha’s First Dream.
A night it was, sweet as the morning of life,
Joy-augmenting like the days of youth!
Fish and fowl rested from motion,
Business drew its foot within the skirt of its garment.
Within this pleasure-house full of varieties
Naught remained open save the eye of the star.
Night—the thief—robbed the sentinel of his understanding,
The bell-ringer stilled the tongue of the bell;
The hound wound its tail round its neck like a collar,
And in that collar stifled its baying;
The bird of night drew out its sword-like feathers,
And cut off its tuneful reed (
its throat) from its morning
song;
(Note 13.)The watchman on the dome of the royal palace
Saw in imagination the drowsy poppy-head,
And no longer retained the power of wakefulness;
The image of that poppy-head called him into
slumber.
(Note 14)The drummer no longer beat his tymbal,
His hand could no longer hold to the drum-stick;
The Muezzin from the minaret no longer cried,
“Allah! Allah! the ever-living!”
Roll up your mattresses, ye nightly-dead, and neglect
not prayer!
(Note 15.)Zulaikha, of the sugar-lips, was enjoying the sweet
slumber
Which had fallen on her soft narcissus-like eyes;
(Note 16.)Her head pressed the pillow with its hyacinthin
locks,
And her body the couch with its roseate burthen.
The hyacinthin locks were parted on the pillow,
And painted the roseate cheek with silken streaks;
The image-seeing eye was closed in slumber,
But another eye was open—that of the soul:
With that she saw suddenly enter a young man,
Young man, do I say?—rather a spirit!
A blessed figure from the realms of light,
Beauteous as a Houri, borne off from the garden of
the seventh heaven,
And had robbed trait by trait of each beauty, excellence,
and perfection,
Copying one by one every alluring attraction.
His stature was that of the fresh box-tree;
The free-cypress in its freedom was a slave compared
with his;
His hair from above hung down like a chain,
And fettered, hand and foot, even the judgment of the
wise;
From his brow shot so resplendent a flash of light,
That sun and moon bent to the ground before him;
His eyebrows, which might have been a high-altar
for the saintly,
Were an amber-scented canopy over the sleeper’s
eyes;
His face was as the moon’s from its station in Paradise;
From his eye-lashes darted arrows to pierce the heart;
The pearly teeth within the ruby lips
Were lightning flashing from a roseate evening sky;
The smiles of his ruby-lips were sweet as sugar,
When he laughed, his laugh was the lustre of the
Pleiades;
The words of his mouth were sugar itself.
When this vision rose before the eye of Zulaikha,
At one glance happened that which needs must
happen;
She beheld excellence beyond human limits,
Seen not in Peri—never heard of in Houri.
From the beauty of the image and the charm of its
perfection,
She became his captive, not with her one but with a
hundred hearts;
Fancy made his form the ideal of her mind,
And planted in her soul the young shoot of love.
Silent Sorrow.
On the morrow, when the raven of night had taken
its upward flight,
And the cock was crowing its morning carol,
And the nightingales had ceased their soul-moving
chant,
And had withdrawn from the rose-bush the veil of
the rose-bud,
And the violet was washing its fragrant locks,
And the jasmine was wiping the night-dew from its
face,
Zulaikha still lay sunk in sweet slumber,
Her heart-look still fixed on her last-night’s altar;
Sleep, it was not,—rather a delightful bewilderment—
A kind of insanity from her nocturnal passion!
Her waiting-maids impress the kisses on her feet,
Her damsels approach to give the hand-kiss;
Then she lifteth the veil from her dewy tulip-cheeks,
And shaketh off the sleep from her love-languishing
eyes;
She looketh round on every side, but seeth not a sign
Of the roseate image of her last night’s dream.
For a time she withdrew like a rose bud into herself;
In the grief of not beholding that slender cypress-form,
She would have rent the clothes off her body to
pieces,
Had not shame withheld her hand in the presence of
others,
And restrained her foot within the skirt of patience:
So she kept the secret tight within her bosom,
As in a ruby-mine the hard stone incases the ruby;
And though she was gulping down in her heart the
rose-red blood,
She showed not outwardly an action of emotion.
Her lips recounted her stories to her maidens,
But her heart whilst she recounteth them is full of
lamentations;
Her mouth to her companions talketh sweetly as sugar,
But her heart like the sugar cane is full of hard
knots;
Her tongue to her friends still telleth its tale,
But a hundred sparks flash from the wounds of her
passion;
Her looks fall on the figures of rivals,
But her heart remaineth fixed on the only-beloved one.
No longer were the reins of her heart in her own
hands,
For wherever she was she was with the heart-stealer.
No longer now hath she a wish beyond her friend,
Nor except with her friend had she any rest.
If she sayeth a word, to her friend she sayeth it,
And if she formeth a wish, from her friend she
seeketh it.
A thousand times riseth to her lips the desire of her
heart,
That night would come to that day of weariness,
The night which cometh so agreeably to lovers,
The night which keepeth the secrets of lovers;
Therefore all the day the night is their desire,
For this guardeth the veil, and that uplifteth it.
When night came she turned her face to the wall of
sorrow,
She stooped her back like a crooked lyre;
She strung her harp with the chords of tears,
And tuned it in concord with her own heart’s
sadness;
She rent her bosom with its tuneful wailings,
And runneth thro’ every note of sighs and lamentings;
She setteth her friend in fancy before her face,
And poureth out from her lips and eyes words and
pearly tears:
“From what mine dost thou come, thou pure gem,
That hast given me this power of scattering jewels?
Thou hast stolen my heart, but told me not thy
name,
Nor left me a sign of the spot where thou dwellest!
I know not of whom I can ask thy name!
I know not whither to go to inquire thine habitation!
If thou art a king, what is thy name?
If thou art a moon, what is thy station?
Forbid it, that another should become captive like me,
For I have no longer in my hand either my heart or
my lover!
I saw a vision which has broken my sleep,
And drawn out pure blood from heart and eyes;
Now I no longer know what sleep is,
My heart is consumed by a perpetual glow!
How is it that, as when thou castest water on fire,
Thou too dost not become warm and agitated!
I was a rose from the rosebed of youth,
Moist and fresh as from the fountain of life;
No rough wind had ever blown on my head,
Never had a thorn punctured my foot;
With a single soft glance thou gavest me over to the
wind,
Thou hast planted a thousand thorns in my couch!
A body a hundred times softer than a rose-leaf,
How should sleep visit it on a bed of thorns!”
So all the night long she passed in moanings,
Uttering her complaints to the vision of her friend;
But when the night was gone, to avoid suspicion
She washed the tears from her blood-suffused eyes;
On her lips, still moist from the cruel struggle of the
night,
She impresseth deeply the seal of silence;
She maketh her bed gay with the fresh rose leaves,
And enliveneth her pillow with the silvery cypress,
In such wise passed she her days and nights,
Nor changed her habit by a single hair.
Zulaikha’s Second Dream.
Happy the heart which love hath made its abode!
(Note 17)Which love hath set free from worldly cares!
He on whom the flashing lightning hath darted so
vividly,
That it hath consumed the harvest of patience and
reason;
In whom not a trace is left of anxiety about his
security,
On whom a mountain of reproach weigheth but as a
straw!
Zulaikha dwindled in a year like the waning moon;
In a year she had changed from the full to the new.
Seated at night in the grey twilight,
With blood-shot eye, and bowed like its crescent,
She would exclaim, “O Heaven, how hast thou dealt
with me!
How hast thou paled the brilliancy of my sun!
Thou hast bent like a bow my stately form,
Thou hast made me a mark for the arrow of rebuke,
Thou hast given my reins to the hands of an arrogant
one,
Of whom I know nothing, except his arrogance!
He hath kindled in my heart the flame of love,
Yet even in sleep dealeth with me like a niggard.
He never in my waking hours cometh to sit near me,
Never permitteth me to see him even in my dreams.
A sign that my fortune is wakeful were the sleep,
In which I could behold that world-illuming moon!
My eye no longer reposeth in sleep;
Oh, that my fortune would lend me its own sleep;
For my fortune would show itself awake from its
sleep,
If it brought to me in sleep the vision of my friend!”
So she complaineth thro’ a watch of the night;
So cometh to her lips the anguish of her soul!
When suddenly sleep interrupted her fancies—
No not sleep—but rather bewilderment;
And hardly had her body touched her pallet,
When lo! her soul’s desire entered from the door.
The self-same image which before beset her way,
Entered with an aspect more radiant than the moon.
The moment her sight fell upon the beautiful countenance,
She sprang from her couch, and cast her head at his
feet,
And kissed the ground, exclaiming, “O lovely as the
rose and graceful as the cypress,
Thou who hast robbed my soul of rest and patience,
By that Maker who framed thee out of light,
Who created thee exempt from all defilement;
Who gave thee pre-eminence over all lovely things,
And greater sweetness than the water of life;
Who made thy form a rose-tree in the garden of
souls,
Thy lips a delicate morsel to meet those of spirits;
Who from thine heart-inflaming countenance kindled
the taper,
Which like the moth hath consumed my soul;
Who made thy musky locks a noose,
Every hair of which entangleth me in its fetters;
Have mercy, I pray thee, on a love-sick maiden,
Open thy sweet ruby lips to give me an answer!
Tell me with this heart-captivating perfection
Who art thou?—from what family descended?
Art thou a sparkling jewel?—from what mine comest
thou?
Art thou of royal birth?—where is thy palace?
And Joseph replied: “I am of mortal lineage,
Of the race formed of earthly dust and water:
(Note 18)If thou makest a claim upon me as a lover;
If thou art sincere in what thou sayest,
See that thou keep true to thy love and thy promise,
That thou remain unmarried in mutual affection.
If I have inflicted a wound on thy bosom,
Think not that mine is free from a wound also;
For my heart in sympathy is fettered in thy snare,
And I too am marked with the self-same wound.”
When Zulaikha perceived this gentle bearing,
And heard this tender language from his ruby lips,
The mad demon again took possession of her mind,
Her soul like the moth fell again into the flame;
She tore her clothes as one teareth a rosebud,
She poured out on the ground her heart’s blood, like
the tulip’s.
Now in her passion she lacerateth her face,
Now in yearnings rendeth her locks, hair by hair.
Her attendants gather round her and endeavour to
sooth her, but she repulses all their efforts. They
report her condition to her father. He consults his
wise men and they prescribe a charm, practiced in the
East, to restrain her free action. Then she bursts into
fresh lamentations.
“Ah, would but favouring fate lend me its assistance,
I would fetter his foot in this chain of gold,
Then might I gaze upon his face as long as I would,
And in gazing upon him my dark day would once
more be bright!
But what am I saying?—This delicately-nurtured
being,
On the instep of whose foot every grain of dust
Would weigh like a mountain, pressing out his life,
Tho’ he hath crumpled up the carpet of my happiness,
How could I chuse so to burthen his soul!
How pain his precious ankle with a chain!
Sweeter were a hundred swords to my sorrowing
heart,
Than that a thorn should pierce even his garment!
Then she fell with the wounds in her distracted
breast,
As falleth to the ground the wounded bird;
For a time became the sharer of unconsciousness,
And again returned to her former condition;
Again, under the spell of her insane mind,
Commenceth anew the tale of her sorrows;
One while smiling, she bursteth again into lamentings;
Now appeareth dying, and now to live again:
So every moment she changed from state to state,
And continued another year in the same condition.
Zulaikha’s Third Dream.
Come, love! full of charms and fascination,
Whose business is now peace, now war!
(Note 19)Who one while makest the wise man a madman,
At another time makest the madman wise,
When thou tiest up the tresses of the Peri-faced
maiden,
The prudent man falleth into the snare of folly;
But if thou untiest the band from her tresses,
The lamp of consciousness bursteth out in full
splendour.
Zulaikha, one night impatient and distracted,
Sat the twin-born of woe and the spouse of sorrow;
Draining to the dregs the cup of anguish,
From the burnings of love she could find no rest.
She tore the coif from her amber-scented hair,
In the frenzy of her passion cast dust upon her head,
Bent in supplication her fair cypress-form,
And, making of her tongue a melodious lyre,
Poured forth the deep anguish of her grief-stricken
heart,
And burst into an address to the unseen friend.
“O thou who hast robbed me of my reason and
tranquility,
And destroyed the peace of my happy days;
Thou hast caused my woe, but wilt not share it!
Thou hast stolen my heart, but givest me no return!
I know not thy name, that I may repeat it continually!
I know not thy dwelling, that I might wander round
it for ever!
Once I was full of smiles, sweet as sugar to the taste,
Now I am as the sugar imprisoned in its cane!
Once a fresh rosebud which my passion for thee
Tinted with the blood which flowed from my heart;
Now like a flaunting full-blown rose,
(No. 20)Forth I have come from the veil of my bashfulness,
Never shall I say, “I am dear to thine eyes;”
Ah! that I might be counted the last amongst thy
maidens!
Where would be the harm, wert thou kind to thy
maiden,
Wert thou to free me from the bonds of misery!
Oh, may never one be bathed in blood like me;
Become like me dishonoured amongst the people!
The heart of my mother is saddened by this union,
My father feeleth disgraced by his alliance with his
child;
Even my attendants, wearied with my service,
Bid me farewell, and leave me to my loneliness.”
Such was her discourse with her heart and soul’s
idol;
In such condition she remained till sleep overpowered
her;
And when the opiate from its cup had sealed up her
eyes,
Then again in her sleep cometh the marauder of her
sleep,
In form more beautiful than I am able to portray;
For what more to say, than I have said, I know not!
With cries and tears her hand clingeth to his skirt,
And her eye-lids pour forth her heart’s-blood at his
feet.
“O thou, who in the suffering which the love of thee
hath caused me,
Hast banished tranquility from my heart, and sleep
from mine eyes,
By the spotlessness of Him who hath created thee
spotless,
Who hath selected thee from the beautiful things of
both worlds,
Shorten, I beseech thee, the term of my anxieties,
Give me to know thy name and thy city!”
And Joseph replied:—“If that will content thee,
Know that I am prince of Egypt and that Egypt is
my place;
In Egypt I am a counsellor of the king of Egypt,
And he hath given me in Egypt high dignity and
princedom.”
When Zulaikha heard this account of her beloved,
Thou wouldst say, that one, a hundred years dead was
again alive:
His speech came to her like a refreshing draught—
Bringing strength to her body, patience to her soul,
and reason to her mind.
Then she ran hurrying to her attendants, and exclaimed,
“O ye, who have sympathized with me in my distress,
Carry to my father the glad tidings of my happiness;
Set free his heart from the burthen of sorrow:
Tell him, that reason and consciousness are come back
to me;
That the stream whose waters were dried up is flowing
again.”
Now she once more openeth her casket of words,
And beginneth to talk again about every city.
She would speak cleverly of Syria and Rum,
And when she mentioned Egypt her words were sweet
as sugar.
She would end with rehearsing the story of the
Egyptians,
That she might have occasion to utter the name of
Egypt’s prince:
But when she had taken this name upon her tongue,
She would glide from her feet like a falling shadow;
From her clouded eye would descend a torrent of
sanguine tears,
And the voice of her lamentation would ascend to the
skies.
Such by day is her employment, such by night;
And when this is not the subject, she lapseth into
silence.
The Ambassadors.
The beauty and attractions of Zulaikha are so noised
abroad, that ambassadors from powerful princes on
all sides crowd to her father’s court to demand her
hand in marriage. But none come from Egypt, and
Zulaikha is deeply disappointed.
“Is no one amongst them a messenger from Egypt?
The love of the Egyptian hath bowed me down!
My heart draweth me mightily towards Egypt!
If there is no messenger from Egypt, what availeth it!
The breeze which riseth from the land of Egypt,
Which bloweth into my eyes the dust of Egypt,
Is a hundred times more precious than the wind,
Which is laden with musk from the deserts of
Tatary.”
But no messenger is there from Egypt, and Zulaikha
will listen to no other. So her father is compelled to
dismiss them with the proverbial excuse — “Who
comes first has the first right,”—and to plead the
anterior claim of Egypt.
The Messenger and the Departure.
Zulaikha, sick through hope deferred, falls into her
old dejection, and her fond father, in his anxiety and
perplexity, determines to offer her in marriage to the
Grand-Vizier of Egypt. With this view, he selects a
trusty and discreet messenger, and sends him on his
mission. The Grand-Vizier, in great delight, accepts
the offer, but excuses himself for not returning with
the messenger to fetch his bride on the ground of his
duties and the requirements of his office, the King, his
master, not allowing him a term of absence. Her
father, nevertheless, decides to send her, and prepares
a magnificent dowry, and a suitable retinue of attendants
and companions.
For Zulaikha herself he provideth an elegant litter,
Or rather the model of a bridal chamber:
A sculptured apartment of sandal and aloes wood,
Its well-compacted boards overlaid with gold;
Its roof studded with gems like the Pavilion of
Jemshid;
Its golden dome like the ball of the sun;
Within and without covered all over
With golden nails and with pendants of jewels,
And hung all around with brocade and cloth of gold,
In heart-captivating colours and lovely figures.
They place Zulaikha in this bridal chamber,
And, with a thousand endearments, set her forward
towards Memphis:
The beautiful litter, borne on wind-footed dromedaries,
Went swiftly as the rose-leaves before the spring-tide
wind.
Zulaikha, with heart reconciled to fortune,
Hopeth soon to reach the end of her journey at
Memphis.
Soon will the morning dawn on the night of gloom;
Soon will the pain of separation come to its ending!
Thoughtless how many a black night was yet to be!
How many a year’s travel ere the dawn of that
morning!
By the bright day, through the darksome night,
They hurried on, till Memphis was nigh at hand;
Then they sent forward a swift messenger
To announce the news before their arrival.
He was to seek the nearest road to Memphis,
And inform the Grand-Vizier of Egypt—
“Lo! now a sudden fortune descendeth upon thine
head!
Rouse thyself, if thou wouldst give it a worthy
reception!”
Deception.
The Grand-Vizier hears with great delight of the
near approach of his bride, and goes out with a large
retinue to find a suitable resting place on the journey.
There he causes to be erected a magnificent pavilion
for her reception. Zulaikha is anxious to behold the
object of her dreams, and the nurse, to gratify her,
makes a small slit in the curtain. But, says the
Poet,—
This ancient sphere is but a cup and ball-juggler,
Quick of foot to discover means of deceiving men:
She bindeth hope round the heart of the dejected,
And then, with hopelessness, severeth the tie!
She sheweth at a distance the fruit of our desire,
And then grieveth us by preventing us from reaching
it.
No sooner had Zulaikha peeped through the rent,
Than from her breast was wrung forth a sorrowful
sigh;
“Ah! woe is me! what wonderful fate hath befallen
me?
This is not the man I have seen in my dreams,
In searching after whom I have suffered so much
misery!
This is not he who stole from me reason and understanding!
Who gave over to distraction the reins of my affections!
This is not he who told me his secret,
Who from insanity brought me back to consciousness!
My gentle fortune hath turned to harshness;
The morning splendour of my star is dimmed with
misfortune.
I planted date-palms—they have come up brambles;
I scattered the seeds of love—their produce is
affliction.
I had hoped from my rose garden to gather roses—
My garment is pierced with the pricks of their thorns.
I am a thirsty man amidst the sands of the desert,
Who hurrieth about on every side in search of water;
My tongue, through dryness, cleaveth to my lips,
My lips are bleeding with the feverish pastules.
Suddenly I seem to see water in the distance:
I hurry towards it, stumbling and rising,
I find in the hollow, in the place of the water—
And so she continues her moan, symbolising her
desolation by other images. Then she exclaims,—
“For Heaven’s sake, O Fate, have pity on my
sufferings!
Open before my face a door of mercy!
If thou wilt not give into my grasp the skirt of my
friend,
Let me not become the captive of another!
Suffer not dishonour to rend my garment!
Allow not my hand to sully my vesture!
I have pledged my faith to the object of my heart,
That with a hundred struggles I would watch o’er my
casket;
Consume not with grief one who hath lost all power
of hand and of foot,
Give not over to the serpent the disposal of my
treasure!”
(Note 21.)So she prolongeth her lamentations deeply into the
night,
And each eyelash is tipped with a blood-stained tear;
From her wounded heart and soul she poureth forth
her distress,
And groveleth in the dust in the extremity of her
anguish.
Then the bird of mercy came on the wing,
And a secret angel answered the complaint:
“O, comfortless one, lift up thy face from the earth,
For out of thy perplexity will come deliverance.
The Grand-Vizier of Egypt is not the goal of thy
desires,
But except through him thou canst not reach the
goal;
Through him thou wilt behold the beauty of thy
friend,
And through him wilt attain the object of thy wishes.
Be not affrighted in thine intercourse with him,
For from him thy silver casket will remain in safety.”
She is conveyed by the Vizier with great distinction
to Memphis, and is lodged luxuriously and with every
attention, in his palace. But nothing consoles her in
her separation from her friend. She is still restless
and unhappy, and continues her lamentations.
Such was her condition by night, such by day;
So passed her months and so her years.
When she feeleth her heart straitened in the house,
She rusheth out into the open corn fields.
One while she would erect her tent in the desert,
And there pour out the sighs and moans of her
wounded bosom;
At another she would hurry, like the torrent of the
valley,
With weeping eyes to the banks of the Nile,
And mingle her tears with its waters,
And throw over the stream the garb of her mourning.
So she spendeth her life, day after day,
Her eye directed on the path of expectation.
By what road will her friend arrive?
When will he rise on her like sun or moon?
Come, Jami, let us fulfil her desire,
Let us bring from Canaan the moon of Canaan;
Zulaikha in her heart is cherishing hope;
Her eye is fixed on the highway of expectation;
The pain of expectation hath passed beyond measure,
Let us offer the remedy—the union with her friend.
The Beginning of the Brothers’ Envy.
Whilst Joseph exalted his head in beauty,
He became dearer and dearer to the heart of Jacob;
He kept him in his eye like the pupil of his eye,
And closed his eyes to the other brothers.
He so preferred him to his special favours,
That every moment their envy increased more and
more.
There stood a tree within the court of his dwelling,
Augmenting delight by its freedom and beauty,
(Note 22.)Clothed in green like the brethren of the Oratory,
And like them ever moving in the ecstasy of devotion.
It stood rooted in the soil of stateliness,
And cast on the ground the shadow of luxuriance;
Every leaf was a tongue uttering praises,
Like one who keepeth reciting—“In the name of
God.”
The boughs climbed higher than the pinnacle of the
roof,
And Angels nestled like birds in its branches.
With every son which the Lord gave him,
From that tree, gladsome as the sidra-tree of
Paradise.—
(Note 23.)At the same moment sprouted out a fresh shoot,
Which waxed stronger and stronger as he grew in
stature;
And as each arrived at the age of manhood
His father would give from it a green staff into his
hand;
Except to Joseph; for to the greatness of his destiny
A staff from that tree he deemed an unworthy
present:
He was a sapling in the garden of spirits,
To whom a staff of wood was all too common.
But Joseph is not content to be so passed over,
and the ambitious and presuming youth beseeches his
father to pray to God to grant him a staff from the
sidra-tree itself:
Which from the season of youth to that of old age
May yield him support wheresoever he may be,
And give him on the field of exercise or combat
A marked superiority over all his brethren.
The prayer is granted to Jacob’s earnest and
humble supplication, and the angel brings the sought
for boon, which of course only increases the jealousy
of the brothers.
Joseph’s Dream.
Joseph was one night sleeping in the sight of Jacob,
In whose sight he was dearer than his own eyes;
His head rested on his pillow in sweet sleep,
And a soft smile played about his pleasant ruby lips;
But that soft smile on that candied lip
Filled with agitation the soul of Jacob.
And when Joseph awoke like his fortune,
And opened his moist sleepy eyes, Jacob said:
“O thou whose sweetness shameth the sweetness of
sugar,
What was the meaning of that honied smile?”
And Joseph replied:—“I saw in my dream
The sun and the moon and eleven brilliant constellations,
Who with one accord joined to magnify me.”
His father commands him not to reveal what he
had seen in his dream to his brothers. It could only
augment their envy and hatred. But he will not be
advised: he tells it to one, who tells it to another, till
all know it; as says the Poet,
Thou hast heard that every secret which passeth
beyond two,
In a little time becometh a throng on the tongue of
everybody.
The wise man hath said:—“Those two are the two
lips;
To pass aught beyond them is not well advised.
Many a secret which hath escaped from the two lips
Hath raised a blood-feud between brave spirits.”
Well said the thoughtful utterer of sage maxims,
“Let him who would keep his head in safety keep
his secret!
When thou hast freed the wild bird from the bars of
its cage,
Thou wilt never be able to bind its foot with thine
hand again.”
When the brothers had heard the dream they not
unnaturally burst out into indignant exclamations.
What! doth he desire that we, clear from his
darkness,
Should fall down to the ground and worship before
him!
And not we alone, but father and mother also!
This self-glorification must not be so valued:
We are our father’s trafficers—not he;
We are our father’s well-wishers—not he;
Whilst it is day, we keep his flocks in the field;
When it is night, we are the guardians of his
dwelling;
If he have enemies we are the strength of his arm;
In the circle of his friends we are its shining jewel!
Come, let us find a cure for this matter;
In every way possible let us compass his ruin;
The thorn which sprouteth up to bring with it
mischief,
It is better to root out ere it become a tree.
Artful Counsel.
When a difficulty springeth up before an intelligent
man,
So that by that difficulty his business is hindered,
He uniteth with his own the intelligence of another,
Who may give him his assistance in solving the
difficulty.
If his house is not sufficiently lighted by one taper,
He kindleth another taper to add to its brightness.
But this word applieth to the right-seeing only,
To those who sit exalted in the seat of rectitude;
Apply it not to the crookedness of those who love
crookedness,
For from two crooked things cometh only increase of
crookedness.
When Joseph’s brothers were assembled together,
In order to deliberate on Joseph’s affairs,
One of them said:—“He hath caused the blood of our
envy to flow,
We must use our cunning to make his flow also.
When thou hast got the power, shed thine enemy’s
blood,
For in shedding his blood thou wilt escape from thine
enemy:
When he is slain thy secret remaineth hidden,
For from the slain never voice cometh near.”
The second spoke:—“This way were to walk in the
way of the faithless,
That we should think of slaying a guiltless man.
We may spur on the steed of punishment,
But not to the extremity of slaying,—we who are of
the Faithful!
Our end will be obtained by banishing him from this
region,
Rather than by killing, or smiting, or murdering him.
It were better to cast him forth, far from his father,
Into some dreadful valley—secluded and abandoned;
Some wilderness, where is naught but wild beasts
and pitfalls,
Save foxes and wolves, all of good and evil,
Where his drink will be only the tear of despair,
And his bread be only the disk of the sun,
No shade over him save the darkness of the night,
And no bed under him save the lancets of thorns:
When he hath abided thus only a few days,
He will doubtless come to his death, but die of
himself;
Our swords will not be tinged with his blood,
And we shall be free from his wiles and enchantments.”
A third said:—“This mode of killing is quite unlawful!
What kind of killing can be worse than this?
For to yield up the soul under the dagger in a moment
Is surely better than to die of thirst or famine.
It were best, far or near, in the place where we are,
To seek out a well, deep and narrow,
Into which we may cast him, with every indignity,
Down from the seat of exaltation and glory;
Perchance there may come thither some caravan,
Which may stop to rest itself awhile at this resting
place,
And some one may lower a bucket into the well,
And draw up him instead of water.
He may adopt him for his own son, or take him as
a slave,
And rejoicing in his booty carry him away:
So all his tie to this place will be cut off,
And calamity will not come on his account to us.”
(Note 24.)
Deceitful Request.
The above suggestion is approved of by the rest,
and in the morning the brothers repair to their
venerable father, and, kneeling before him with
seeming respect, urge him to allow their brother
Joseph to return with them to the wilderness.
“Already we feel the wearisomeness of the house,
And long to return to the open fields.
If thou wilt suffer us, it is the wish of our hearts
To go back to-morrow for some days to the wilderness.
Our brother Jacob—the light of our eyes—
On account of his tender years hath been little there
with us,
What, if he were to accompany us on the way,
And cheer our spirits by his companionship on our
journey!
Night and day he remaineth lost in a corner of the
house,
Send him forth with us to ramble and disport
himself!
Sometimes we will roam with him through paths of
the desert;
Sometimes we will wander with him o’er the hills
and the mountains;
Sometimes we shall draw the milk from the sheep;
Sometimes we shall quaff it with delighted lips.
We will mark out for him a play-ground on the
verdant sod;
We will trace him a path to a bed of tulips;
To one place we will lead the roes to pasture,
In another we will tear to pieces the strength of the
wolf.
Perchance by these means his temper will be cheered,
And his mind be set free from the anxieties of
home.”
But Jacob replied—“How can I approve of what ye
are saying?
It would fill my soul with deep anxiety.
I should be in terror lest ye should sit down neglecting
him,
Through inconsideration should overlook his condition;
Lest in this old calamitous wilderness
Some grey wolf should fix his sharp teeth
In that tender body, and tear it to pieces—
Tear to pieces his body, but my very soul.”
At last, however, they force from him a silent but
foreboding acquiescence, assuring him,
“That they are not such spiritless creatures
That ten of them cannot master a single wolf;
Not merely the wolf, but the courageous lion,
Would in our grasp be contemptible as foxes.”
The Well.
Alas! for this deceitful sphere, which every day
Casteth into the pit some heart-enlightening luminary!
The gazelle feeding in the pastures of the soul
It delivereth into the claws of the devouring wolf:
When Joseph was given over into the fangs of those
wolves,
Heaven cried,—“Behold! wolves are carrying off a
lamb!”
Whilst they still shewed themselves in the eyes of
their father,
They robbed one another to prove their affection:
One would carry him on the tip of his shoulder;
Another would embrace and bear him in his bosom;
But no sooner had their feet touched the skirts of the
desert,
Than they stretched forth upon him the hand of the
oppressor,
And cast off their burthen from the shoulder of
compassion
Down amidst the thorns and the hard pebbles.
Now he standeth on the thorns with naked foot,
And pricks and splinters lacerate his feet;
Now without a shoe he treadeth the stony way,
And teareth his silver hand to pieces on the rock;
The sole of his foot, which rivaleth the rose,
Maketh roseate the thorns and stones with its blood.
Lingereth he behind those hard-fisted ten,
One would smite him with a wound on the cheek;
Hurrieth he forward, another with a torrent of blows
on the neck
Would beat him black and blue like the face of a
criminal;
And walketh he along with them side by side,
They would drag him by the ears on one side and the
other.
Did he in tears hang on any one’s skirt,
In anger he would tear open the collar of his
garment;
Did he fling himself weeping at any one’s feet,
He would place with laughter his foot upon his head;
Did he utter his woes in the voice of lamentation,
No instrument would reply with accordant notes.
Besmeared with blood, or lying in the dust,
From a bosom torn to pieces with a hundred sorrows,
“O father,” he exclaimed, “where art thou? where
art thou?
Wherefore art thou so careless of the welfare of thy
child?
Come, and look at the sons of thine handmaidens,
How they are fallen away from the faith and from
understanding!
See, what they are meditating in their hearts against
the cherished one of thy bosom;
How they are repaying the claims of thy kindness!
The rose, which bloomed in the garden of thy soul,
On which dropped down the rain of thine affection,
Is so faded from thirst under the scorching heat,
That it no longer retaineth either colour or moisture;
A sapling, delicately nurtured in Paradise,
And planted in the flower-border of the palace of
life,
Hath so fallen to the ground under the wind of
tyranny,
That it is totally overgrown with thorns and
brambles!
The moon, which illumined thy night with its light,
Which seemed so far removed from the darkness of
the spheres,
Is obscured by the scowling heavens to such a degree,
That it is fain to ask for a ray from even the new
moon.”
But his lamentations naught avail him: he is
dragged away to the well.
There he once more entreateth for mercy from their
injustice,
And reneweth in such wise his wailings and supplications,
That if they could have been heard by the rock,
From his burning grief it would have melted like
wax;
But as the sharp note became sharper still,
Their stony hearts became still stonier.
He is plunged into the well; but the Angel
Gabriel descends to him from Paradise, brings him a
wonderful amulet to sustain his fortitude, and comforts
him with an assurance, that his pitiless brethren
will hereafter come to his presence to sue for his pity
and forgiveness.
The Caravan.
The narrative then proceeds to describe, almost in
the words of the 12th Surat of the Koran, how, a day
or two after, a caravan of merchants returning to
Egypt stop to repose near the well; how they go to
draw water, and how to their great surprise and
admiration they find Joseph, radiant with grace and
beauty; how the brothers, who have been on the
watch, appear and claim him as a slave whom they
are punishing for his stubbornness; how they sell him
for a small sum to the leader, Malik; and how the
caravan finally departs on its homeward journey.
The King of Egypt.
When from his distant journey Malik approached
Egypt,
The news was spread abroad amongst the Egyptians,
“Malik arriveth to-day home from his journey,
Accompanied by a slave of Hebrew race,
A refulgent moon in the zenith of beauty,
A perpetual monarch in the kingdom of attractiveness.
Never hath heaven with its thousand eyes
Looked on a portrait like him in the picture gallery
of the world.”
When the King of Egypt heard this report, he
was greatly disturbed, and refused to believe it.
“The land of Egypt is the garden of beauty!
Whoever saw lovelier than the roses of this garden?
A rose which hath grown in the garden of Paradise
Would sink to the earth in shame before them!”
Then he exclaimed to the Vizier of Egypt,
“Up, and go meet this caravan on the way!
See with thine own eyes this moon of beauty,
And bring him to our court with all expedition.”
The Grand-Vizier set his face towards the caravan,
But hardly had he cast eyes on that heart-lulling
countenance,
Than it so nearly robbed him of himself,
That in his ecstasy he almost bent down in adoration.
But Joseph raised up his head from the ground,
And permitteth not such an act of worship in his
presence:
“Let not thine head be bowed down before any one,
Save Him who set thine head on the neck of supplication.”
Then the Grand-Vizier delivers his message to
Malik; but Malik entreats him to suffer them to
repose a few days from the toils of their journey,
that Joseph may not appear before the King under
any disadvantage. The Vizier returns, and reports
this request to the King, who immediately issues his
command, that all the beauty of Egypt should be
selected and brought together to depreciate the
boasted pre-eminence of Joseph.
Meanwhile Malik takes every care to enhance the
value of Joseph, and amongst other means sends him
to refresh and purify himself in the waters of the
river; and under the title of
The Bathing in the Nile
follows a lively description, but somewhat too figurative
to be quite intelligible to those who are not
familiar with Oriental imagery, of the bathing and
its effects.
Intelligence.
Zulaikha all this time had no conception
That but two or three stages lay between her and
Joseph;
Yet had she some tokens of it in her secret heart,
And her bosom was scarred with the yearnings of
affection.
She knew not whence those yearnings arose,
Which she sought with all her strength to quiet.
(Note 25.)She would go forth into the fields, in order that there
She might dislodge from her heart what followed
her in the house:
There she would spend many a weary day,
Trying to bear patiently her heavy sorrow,
And find there the means of cheerfulness and pleasure;
But every moment only added to her grief.
Then, having watered the ground with her tears,
Again she would feel the longing for her home,
Again mount her camel, and seat herself in her litter,
Again resume her journey, and return to her house.
In returning home, however, she passes the King’s
palace, where she sees an immense multitude assembled,
and looking out from her litter, and beholding
Joseph himself, whom they have brought to
present to the King, she falls immediately into a
swoon.
The bearers hurry the litter forward,
And bear her to the privacy of her secret chamber,
Where, having remained for a time shut-up,
She returneth to herself from her state of unconsciousness.
Then said the nurse—“O light of my soul,
Wherefore come these sighs from thy burning heart?
What hath turned thy sweet lips to moanings?
Why hast thou fallen into this bitter unconsciousness?
And she answered—“Dear mother, what shall I say?
For every word I utter will be my torment!
The slave-boy whom thou sawest in the press,
Of whose arrival thou hast heard at Memphis,
That is he who hath become the Kiblah of my soul,
The ransom of my life—my life itself!
He it is whose lovely countenance shewed itself in
my dream,
He it is who hath robbed my distracted mind of
patience;
It was for love of him that I came to this country,
For his sake that my heart’s-desire was to behold
this city;
Who made me a wanderer from house and home,
And wandering thus hath left me destitute.
All the suffering which for years thou hast seen me
endure,
The fever of which hath robbed me of all repose,
All was the desire of beholding his face,
The passion to look upon his bewitching figure.
To-day my load hath become heavier than a mountain,
To-day I know not how matters will go with me;
What hall my moon will light-up with its rays,
Whose chamber the taper of his cheek will illumine!”
The nurse has no consolation to supply than this:
“Thou hast long borne thy condition with patience,
Trust then to nothing save patience to-day,
It may be that hope will dawn out of patience,
That the sun will yet break-out from the black
cloud!”
The Slave-Market.
Joseph is brought to the slave-market and is put
up to auction, and excites an immense competition to
obtain one who is endowed with so many excellencies.
But Zulaikha cannot bear the idea of losing him.
She pours out all her treasure, and persuades Potiphar
to go to the King, who wishes to purchase him, and
make his request, that, in reward of his long services,
he will permit him to become the purchaser, and
adopt him as his son. The King gives his consent,
and so Joseph is introduced into Potiphar’s house to
the great content of Zulaikha, who expresses her
satisfaction in very animated and beautiful language.
“Am I, O Heaven, awake or asleep,
That my soul hath obtained my soul’s desire!
In my dark nights however could I hope,
That one day would dawn upon me this auspicious
morning!
The moon of victory hath broken upon my night,
My night-and-day-grief and mourning are come to
an end!
Once my own tenderness was my sole companion,
Now it is but right that I confess the tenderness of
Fate!
Who in this abode of sorrow is so happy as I am?
Who after such a withering hath bloomed again like
me?
For I was like a fish deprived of water,
Palpitating in the drought on the arid sand,
When from the cloud of benignity poured down a
torrent,
Which bore me back from the sand into the sea of
preservation.
I was as one who hath lost his way in the darkness
of the night,
Whose life-breath in his bewilderment is come to his
lip,
When a beaming moon hath risen in my horizon,
And showed me the path to the valley of felicity.
Can I regret a casket of jewels,
When a mine of jewels is come to my hand?
What are jewels beside the wares of the soul?
Whatever it be, be it given for a friend!
For some dead fossils I have bought a soul,
In heaven’s-name, could I have bought anything
cheaper?”
Bazigha’s Daughter.
But—says the Poet—not from the eye alone germinateth
love,
Oftentimes this fortune chanceth through words;
Beauty entereth her bridal chamber through the ear,
And robbeth the soul of rest, and the mind of understanding.
A high-born and wealthy Princess of Egypt hears
the report of his attractions, and resolves to behold
them for herself. Accordingly she repairs to Memphis,
inquires his residence, and is distracted on
seeing him.
“O thou”—she exclaims—“who art surely the soul
of excellence,
Who hath adorned thee with this perfection of
beauty!
Who hath lighted-up thy temples like the sun!
What cunning artist hath portrayed thine image!
What gardener hath exalted thy cypress-like stature!
Whose compass hath rounded the arch of thy brow!
Who hath supplied thy fresh roses with moisture,
And nurtured in his garden to so much loveliness!
Who hath taught thee thy graceful walk!
Who hath given to thy lips their eloquent speech!
Who opened thy languishing eyes to see the light,
And roused thee to wakefulness from the sleep of
non-existence!”
And Joseph, when he had listened to what she said,
Poured forth from his sweet fountain these soul-refreshing
words;
“I am the work of that Workman—he said—
With a single drop from Whose ocean I am quite
content.
The heavens are but a dot of His perfect pen,
The earth but a single bud from the garden of His
beauty;
The sun is but a speck from the light of His wisdom,
The sphere but a bubble from the ocean of His
power;
From atoms of the universe He hath created for us
mirrors,
Which cast back to each of us the reflection of His
countenance;
His loveliness is free from the suspicion of defect,
Though it be hidden behind the screen of His mysterious
veil;
Whatever to thy sharpened eye appeareth to thee of
good,
Is—if thou pierce deeper—but the reflex of His
countenance:
If thou see but the reflex, haste to the source,
For before the source the reflex hath no lustre!
God forbid! thou should’st remain at a distance from
the source,
For, if the reflex come to an end, thou wilt be left
without light:
To the reflex is given no long duration,
Not much is to be trusted the colour of the rose!
Dost thou wish for duration, look to the source!
Wouldst thou rely on the promise, go on to the
First-Cause!
Often doth a something puncture the heart’s veins,
Because one while it is, and another it is not.”
When the wise maiden had listened to these deep
words,
She rolled up the mattress of her love for Joseph,
And said—“When first I heard a description of thee,
The desire to behold thee stamped itself on my heart:
With this desire I instantly set forth,
My head becoming feet to search for and find thee.
When I looked upon thy face immediately I fell down,
And longed to yield up my life at thy feet;
But thou hast strung for me secrets precious as
jewels,
Thou hast thrown up for me a jet from the fountain
of light;
Thou hast parcelled out for me to a hair the words of
truth,
And thou hast thyself warned me from seeking thy
love.
Thou hast removed the veil from the face of my hope;
Thou hast shewn me the way from the atom to the
sun.
Now is unclosed to me the door of the mystery;
Now I perceive that to till the field of thy love were
an illusion!
Now that mine eyes are opened to the truth,
I at once abandon my vain passion.
God reward thee, that thou hast opened mine eyes,
That thou hast made my spirit the companion of
spirits!
Thou hast broken off my heart from a strange affection,
And hast changed my halting-place into an abiding
sanctuary.
If each hair of my head were turned into a tongue,
I would unite them all to rehearse thy praises.
How shall I string for thee the pearls of my gratitude!
How shall I rehearse a hair’s-breadth of thy kindness!”
Then she biddeth him farewell, and leaveth him,
And departeth freed from the ferment of passion.
Returning home, she builds for herself a little
House of Piety on the banks of the Nile, and renouncing
for the future all worldly pomp, and
clothing herself in mean raiment, she dedicates herself
entirely to works of charity; and—adds the
Poet—
When her pious life came to an end,
She resigned it sweetly with the courage of a hero:
And think not that she resigned it in vain;
Resigning it, the face of the beloved-one beamed
upon her.
Learn, O my heart, manliness from this woman!
Learn like her to sorrow with a genuine sorrow!
If thou hast not such sorrow, grieve that thou hast it
not;
If thou mournest not thus, become a mourner!
Thy life is ending in the worship of semblances;
From semblances thou hast never escaped for a
moment:
But every moment taketh something from the fairness
of the semblance,
Which time keepeth changing from one form to
another.
Therefore plant not for ever thy foot in the same
stony way;
Sit not for ever on the self-same bough;
Choose thy nest above all time and space,
And build it aloft in the palace of reality!
Reality is unity,—semblance is thousand-fold:
Seek not for unity in the multiplication of semblances.
Numbering is ever connected with disjunction,
Therefore let ONE be thy fortified city:
When thou hast no longer strength against the
multitude of thine enemies,
It is well to escape from their grasp into thy fortress.
Love’s Services.
Joseph, being thus brought into the dwelling of
Potiphar as his slave, and into intimate daily intercourse
with Zulaikha, it is only natural that, with
her previous feelings towards him, she should bestow
upon him every care and attention. A passage in
the Koran, indeed, which the story in the main
incidents pretty strictly follows, intimates that
Potiphar himself enjoined this upon her.—(See Note 26.)
It is equally natural that, under such circumstances,
her passion should increase; for, as the Poet says,—
When the love-sick fixeth his heart on the beloved,
Nevermore can his condition be one of rest.
If he holdeth not in his hand the ready money of her
presence,
He will caress the fancy which is imaged in his
bosom;
But the heart’s-blood will still trickle from his heart,
Till the fancied image appeareth before the eye.
When the tearful eye hath obtained this portion,
Then followeth the thought of kisses and embraces;
And if the kiss and the embrace be also granted,
Then is entwined with the grant the dread of
separation.
In love there is no such thing as felicity;
In love no such thing as the satisfaction of life!
Its beginnings have their source in a bitter fountain,
Love Refused.
Zulaikha can now no longer command her passion,
and more and more throws herself in his way.
Zulaikha now seeketh the remedy of his presence,
But Joseph draweth himself aside from her company;
Zulaikha poureth blood-stained tears from her eyes,
But Joseph flee’th from the sight of her tears;
Zulaikha’s breast is scarred with many a heart-burning
wound,
But Joseph not the more stirred retaineth his tranquillity;
Zulaikha fixeth her eyes on that favoured countenance,
But Joseph declineth his to the instep of his foot;
Zulaikha regardeth him with glowing looks,
But Joseph sealeth his eyes, and will not see them.
At last her sorrow reached such an extremity,
That in brief space she could no longer sustain
herself.
She fell into the autumn of grief and misery,
The rose of her cheek faded into the yellow tulip;
The crowd of her anxieties overburthened her soul,
Her cypress-form was bowed beneath the pressure;
The lustre vanished from her ruby lip,
The taper of her countenance lost its brightness;
She no longer passed the comb through her amber
hair,
Only with clinched palm she tore it from its roots;
She no longer turned her face towards the mirror,
Never directed it save towards her knee:
Since all the world was dark in her eyes,
Why any longer tinge them with the surmah!
And if with the surmah she should try to darken
them,
Her tears would wash away the surmah from her
eyes!
Then from a bosom wounded with sorrows
She would open the lips of reproach against herself:
“O thou whose condition is become thy disgrace,
Wherefore this passion for a gold-purchased slave!
Thou who art a monarch on the throne of sovereignty,
Why play at love with thine own bondsman!
Seek for thy beloved a king like thyself,
For a king-born princess is worthy of a king!
Yet stranger still the arrogance that upholdeth him
From bowing down his head in a presence like thine!
If the women of Egypt should learn thy condition,
How many hundred times with their censures would
they add to thy sufferings!”
So said she,—but that Only-one
Had not so fixed his dwelling in her heart,
That she was able in such wise to eject him from her
bosom;
Nay, from such speech she but increased her affliction!
Yes! when a loved one hath thus mixed himself with
our souls,
It is not possible for the soul to snap asunder the
link;
A moment may cut off the soul from the body,
But to the beloved it remaineth steadfast for ever.
Well said one sick with the scars of love,—
“The perfume may forsake the musk, and its bloom
the rose,
But it is not within the compass of the possible
That the loving soul should forget what once it hath
loved.”
Questionings and Answerings.
A prey to her passion, and finding it unanswered,
Zulaikha now sinks into hopeless despondency. The
nurse, full of sympathy for her distress, questions
her more closely about its cause, reminding her that
the object of her affection is no longer a dream and
at a distance, but is constantly near her and in her
service.
“O my dear mother,” she replies, “is it possible
That thou still knowest not my entire secret;
That thou art still ignorant what presseth on my
heart?
What advantage have I from this life of the world!
True, he standeth before me ready in my service,
But the service he offereth is no service at all!
True, he is never at a distance from me,
But never are his looks bent upon me!
One cannot but weep in sorrow for that thirsty one,
Who liveth on the brink of the stream, and may not
drink of it!
When my face is lighted-up by the taper of beauty,
He turneth his away, and fasteneth it on his feet:
And yet I mean not to complain of this,
For fairer is his foot than is my face.
When I fix on him a penetrating eye,
His forehead sheweth only the semblance of folds:
And yet reproach for this would not be right in me,
For in whatever cometh from him no fault is to be
found!”
And so she continues in the same strain, till the
nurse exclaims,—
“Better the forced separation of the lovely,
Than a union fraught with so much of bitterness and
distraction!
Hard, indeed, to bear is the pain of separation,
But a union like this bringeth calamities without
number!”
The Nurse.
Assured of the sympathy of the nurse, Zulaikha
gives entire sway to her passion, and sends her as a
messenger to make known to the object of it the
state of her affections. But in vain: they are
promptly and even sternly repelled.
“O versed in secret business,”—he replies,—
“Be not a contriver of wiles for my deception!
I am Zulaikha’s gold-purchased slave,
Many are the favours I have received at her hands;
The bloom and brightness of my person are her
work;
My heart and spirit are due to her faithful nurture;
Were I to pass my life in recounting her benefits,
I could not discharge my obligations for what she
hath done for me.
Therefore must I bow my head to the letter of her
commands,
Therefore must I stand ever ready in her service:
But tell her that she must not conceive of me the
thought,
That I can ever be diverted from the orders of my
Lord;
That from the evil suggestions of rebellious passions
I could ever set foot in the sanctuary of her modesty.
The Vizier hath bestowed upon me the name of son;
He hath entrusted to me the charge of his whole
household;
I am a bird to which he hath given its seed and
water;
How, then, could I be disloyal to him within his own
dwelling!
The Holy-One to every different nature
Hath assigned diversitie of labour and tillage:
One formed of unsullied clay is unsullied in deed;
The child of impur y can only be impure;
A dog is not born of a man, nor a man of a dog;
Wheat cometh not from barley, nor barley from
wheat.
I hold in my breast the mystery of Israel,
I have kept in my heart the knowledge of Gabriel,
And if I be worthy of the office of a Prophet,
My only claim to it is derived from Isaac.
I am a rose with hidden secrets in its core,
Which blossomed in the garden of the Friend of God.
God forbid that I should do a deed,
Which should draw me aside from the way of my
people!
Say to Zulaikha, she must banish this passion,
And hold me exculpated, and her own heart;
For I rest my hope in God the Pure,
That I shall still be kept clean from the sin of
impurity!”
The Exculpation.
Zulaikha, though discouraged by the report of the
nurse, is impelled to make one more effort in person:
he answers her with his tears. She asks him why
he weeps.
“Because,”—he replies,—“I am heart-broken with
sorrow!
Never hath any one’s love brough happiness to me!
When an aunt desired to tread with me the paths of
affection,
They uttered my name with the epithet of “thief”;
When my father held me dearer than my brethren,
He planted for me in their souls the sapling of
jealousy;
They cast me from his neighbourhood far away,
And threw me abandoned on the land of Egypt.
And now every heart-beat is fraught with cruel fears,
Of what your love is to bring upon my head!
Yes! very jealous is the Prince of Love.—
(Note 28.)Love’s dominion will endure no partnership.
In this high office, beginning is ending,
No one will he ever associate with himself!
Hardly hath the cypress exalted itself in its gracefulness,
Than he humbleth to nothing the shadow at its foot;
Hardly hath loveliness lighted up the face of
beauty,
Than he burneth up its harvest with the lightning of
jealousy;
Hardly hath the sun reached the height of the whirling
sky,
Than he precipitateth it swiftly downward to its
setting;
Hardly hath the moon filled her mould with light,
Than he grieveth and affiicteth her with her waning
into darkness.”
Zulaikha still presses her request to be deemed
“the lowliest of his maidens.”
“My Mistress,”—he replies,—“I am your bondsman,
Bound as a slave to do you service;
Aught save service is out of my province,
Enjoin me only what becometh a servant;
Ask not from your servant that he become your
master,
Make him not by such graciousness ashamed of
himself!
Who am I, that I should become your familiar
friend;
That I should partake with the Vizier of the same
table!
It was quite meet that the monarch should put to
death the slave,
Who dipped his finger in the same salt-cellar.
Better that you should lay upon me some other duty,
In the discharge of which I might pass my days.
I desire not to withdraw my head from your service;
With all my power I would repay my obligations.
It is by service that slaves have become free,
By service that they have been gladdened with the
deed of manumission;
The heart is made joyful in the performance of good
services,
But never can the undutiful slave become a freedman!”
But Zulaikha will not listen to his request, and he
escapes from the interview to busy himself with his
customary employments.
The False Accusation.
Zulaikha, undiscouraged by hïs repulses, still continues
to force him into interviews, and contrives
various schemes with the design of seducing him
from his allegiance to duty. In a moment of weakness
she nearly prevails; but he impetuously flies
from her presence. Then, believing that he has
betrayed her secret, she accuses him to the Vizier.
The Vizier when he heard these words
Could not rest a moment in the same place;
His heart lost all self-possession,
And he turned his tongue into a dagger of reproaches.
He said to Joseph,—“When I had weighed my
jewels,
And emptied my treasury to pay thy purchase,
I received thee afterwards to the relation of sonship,
And raised thee to a high place to show thee my
esteem;
I gave Zulaikha to be thy companion,
I made her maiden handmaidens to thee;
My slaves bore thy ring in their ears,
And were to thee true and faithful servants;
All my wealth I entrusted to thy keeping,
And in nothing did I cause thee a single uneasiness:
It is not the rule of reason what thou hast done!
God forgive thee the evil thou hast committed!
In this cloister of the world, full of calamities,
Kindness only should be the reward of the kind!
My benefits thou hast rewarded with ingratitude and
rebellion;
Fed at my table thou hast turned away thy face, not
acknowledging the favour;
Thou hast eaten of my salt, and hast broken the saltdish!”
In vain he asserts his innocence; Zulaikha confirms
her accusation with an oath, and the Vizier
summons an officer and consigns him to a prison.
The Suckling.
When the sergeant had secured the person of Joseph,
And had conveyed him to that doleful prison,
His heart shrank under the weight of his misery,
And he turned upward to Heaven the face of secret
supplication:
“O Thou, who art versed in hidden mysteries,
Who hast knowledge to penetrate every obscurity,
In whose mind truth and falsehood are clearly distinguished,
Who knoweth but Thou how to unravel this great
perplexity!
Since Thou hast enlightened me with the light of
Thy truth,
Suffer not the suspicion of a lie to rest upon me;
Raise up at my prayer a witness in my favour,
That my sincerity may shine forth bright as the
morning!”
And the prayer is granted, for a babe in the arms is
endued with voice, and exclaims,
“Beware, Vizier, and proceed more slowly;
Be cautious, and be not in haste to punish,
For Joseph ïs not deserving of punishment,
No! rather is Joseph worthy of kindness and pity!”
But Zulaikha renews her attempts and is again
repelled. Then her passion is changed into anger,
and she contrives once more to have him thrown into
prison, having first caused him to be led through the
streets and exposed to every kind of contumely. But
the Orientals have a notion, that beauty of countenance
and vicious dispositions are inconsistent with
one another, and when the people beheld his exceeding
comeliness they refuse to believe his guilt.
But the crowd which came forward to witness the
sight
Exclaimed,—“God forbid! Ah, God forbid!
That from that beautiful face should proceed evil
actions,
That that charmer of hearts should inflict a heart-wound!
An Angel he is with an Angel’s purity,
From an Angel come not the deeds of Satan.
The beautiful face withdraweth its foot from vicious
habits,
And well said that wise and handsome man,
That every one in the world who is endowed with
beauty
Hath dispositions far better than his face;
That the countenance of every one whose nature is
ugly,
Covereth dispositions still uglier than his countenance:
So that from the unlovely can come naught of goodness,
And from the lovely nothing of evil.”
So when that living heart entered the prison,
Thou wouldst say,—“It was as tho’ the soul had
returned to a dead body:”
An ebullition of joy broke forth in that abode of
misery,
And a shout of delight burst from the prisoners
At the arrival of that image of brightness and beauty;
All the enchained rattled their chains,
The shackles of their feet became fetters of inclination,
The chains of their necks collars of happiness;
The melancholy of their hearts was exchanged for
gladness;
The mountain of grief pressed lightly as straw.
Yes! whatever place entereth a heavenly Houri,
That place were it hell would become a paradise;
Wherever appeareth the blooming face of a beloved
one,
Were it a furnace it would become a bed of roses.
When Joseph reached the dwelling prepared for him,
He spread on the ground the carpet of devotion,
And, as was his custom, bowed himself down,
Turned his face towards the altar of adoration;
Then seated himself manfully in the resting place of
patience,
Thankful that he had escaped the snares of women.
To no one in the world happeneth an affliction,
That from the affliction cometh not an odour of
mercy:
Even the hard lot of the prisoner, overwhelmed with
misery,
An odour of mercy can render easy!
Repentance.
Wonderful is it how in this old blue-canopied
Pavilion
The race of Adam is so wanting in consideration!
Its habit is not recognition of benefits,
Its nature it is to know nothing but unthankfulness:
Although he hath passed a life of prosperity,
He acknowledgeth not its value till it remaineth no
longer.
Many is the lover who scoffeth at separation,
Believing that he hath tasted of love to satiety,
But as soon as Destiny hath kindled the fire of separation,
His body dwindleth away like a taper, and his soul is
consumed in the glow.
Whilst the prison became to the captives in the
prison
A rose-garden from the presence of that smiling rosebud,
Zulaikha whose dwelling that incomparable cypress
Had rendered gayer even than than the rose-garden,
Found, when the cypress had vanished from the
garden,
The garden itself darker than the prison:
She too in heart became a captive in its hold,
And in the separation her affliction was doubled.
For what affliction can be worse than his,
Who see’th the place of the charmer deprived of the
charmer!
What comfort is left in that bower of roses,
When the rose is departed, and the thorn only remaineth!
The spine of the thorn in a rose-bower without roses
Can be followed only by the wail of the nightingale!
Deprived of the sight of the beloved object,
Zulaikha abandons herself to utter despair, and attempts
to destroy herself. The Nurse affectionately
interposes with tender endearments and exhortations
to patience, which are received as such counsels
usually are.
Then the Nurse kissed her hands and her feet,
And from the bottom of her heart pronounced a
blessing:
“Mayest thou be set free from the pangs of separation;
May nothing remind thee of separation more!
Bethink thee!—how long wilt thou lose thy self-possession?
Resume thy reason!—how long wilt thou be unwise?
My sorrow for thee filleth my heart with blood;
Who hath ever done as thou doest now?
Listen to me, for I am old in experience,
Endurance only can order such matters as this:
By impatience hast thou fallen into this fire and fever,
Pour water on the flame from the cloud of patience.
When the rough wind of calamity bloweth on thine
head,
Thou shouldst not like a straw fly before it;
Better draw thy foot within thy skirt,
And remain like the mountain rooted in thy place.
Patience bringeth with it the fruit of hope;
Patience bringeth with it the happiness of perpetuity;
Patience layeth the foundation of victory,
Is the firmest step for mounting to felicity;
By patience the rain-drop in the shell becometh
a pearl;
By patience the mine is filled with gems and rubies;
By patience the ear of corn cometh from the seed,
And from the ear of corn the grain which nourisheth
the life;
By patience of nine months an atom in the womb
Becometh a moon to irradiate the world.”
The perturbed heart and soul of Zulaikha
Were soothed by the words which fell from the
Nurse;
In garments rent from the collar to the skirt,
She drew her slipper in patience within its border;
But the patience which the lover seemeth to exert,
Whilst the wise counsellor is uttering his words,
As soon as his counsels sink into silence,
Endeth, and the lover forgetteth every letter.
The Visit to the Prison.
When the lover’s day is changed into night,
The night but maketh the lover’s glow more glowing
still;
Separation hath turned his day into darkness,
Its darkness is increased by the darkness of the night;
The day by its sorrow is become black,
The night heapeth up blackness on blackness.
When the night draweth nigh to the impatient
Zulaikha,
It cometh to her at last fraught with anguish;
Far from the stealer of her heart, and separated from
the holder of her soul,
The night is without a moon, and her house without
a light;
When the face of the beloved one emitteth not a ray,
A hundred torches will not illumine the dwelling.
The anxiety of her heart never suffered her eye to
slumber,
And forced from her eyelids blood-stained tears.
“I know not”—she would exclaim—“how this night
it fareth with Joseph?
Who is this night the surety for his service?
Who will stretch out his feet on his pallet?
Who will lay his head comfortably on his pillow?
Who will kindle the lamp to light up his couch?
What hand of kindness will smooth down his cushion?
Who will unclasp the girdle from his loins?
Who will read him stories to lull him to sleep?
Hath the air of that place agreed with him, or not?
Hath that net yet tamed him like a bird, or not?
Doth the rose of his cheek still retain its brilliance?
Do his hyacinth-locks still keep their lustre?
Hath that air not borne away the brilliancy of the rose?
Hath that air not withered the lustre of the hyacinths;
Doth his heart still fold itself up like a rose-bud;
Or, like the rose, hath it expanded itself to pleasure?”
Urged by such feelings she cannot repress her
desire to see how he is, and summons the Nurse to
accompany her to the prison.
She beheld him from a distance kneeling on the
prayer-carpet,
Like a flashing sun drowned in light;
Now like a taper standing erect,
And casting the light of his face on the prisoners;
Now bowing his stature like the crescent moon,
And throwing on the carpet the rays of his countenance;
Now with head on the ground asking pardon for
error,
Like a tender rose-branch under the night-wind;
Now prostrated in acts of humiliation;
Now sitting resigned like the lowly violet.
After watching him for some time from an obscure
corner, she at last addresses him:—
“O thou, the lamp and eye of all that is amiable,
O heart’s-desire of all the unhappy,
Thou who hast kindled the fire of love in my breast,
Hast consumed my body from head to foot,
Never hath thy presence thrown water on the flames!
Never hast thou quenched the fever of my soul!
Thou hast lacerated my bosom with the sword of
tyranny,
And I see thee careless of the sorrow it has wrought.
Hast thou no pity to bestow on my sufferings?
On me so pitiable and alas! rejected?
Every glance of thine giveth me a fresh grief;
Would to God, my mother had never borne me!
Would to God, that, when I was born,
No Nurse had ever cast a shade over my head;
That she had refused me my portion of the pure milk;
Or vindictively mixed the milk with poison!”
So spake Zulaikha, discovering her condition,
But not less did Joseph retain his own:
Not a hair’s breadth did he approach her nearer;
Or, if he did, he betrayed not a sign.
At dawn, when the kettle-drum soundeth in the
palace,
And the Muezzin proclaimeth the morning call,
And the hound curleth his tail about his throat,
And stoppeth his breath from the baying of the
night,
When the cock, raising his neck from his pleasant
sleep,
Tuneth his pipe, and uttereth his shrill cry,
Zulaikha gathereth together, and tucketh up, her
garment,
Kisseth respectfully the threshhold, and departeth
homeward.
So long as her moon sat in the loneliness of his prison,
So long thitherward would she go to and fro:
This running backwards and forwards was the food
of her soul,
This coming and going was her sole occupation;
No one’s inclination to visit the flower-garden could
be stronger,
Than was the inclination of that broken-hearted one
to visit that prison:
And in truth he, whose friend is a prisoner
Where but in the prison can he find a resting-place?
The Terrace.
Unable to see him herself, she sends a favourite
servant to report upon his state, and to take him all
kinds of delicacies and comforts;
And when the trusty maiden returneth from the
prison,
She lavisheth upon her a hundred caresses;
One time would lay her cheek on the sole of her
slipper,
At another would impress on her eyes a hundred
kisses;
“For this is the eye which hath looked upon his face,
And this is the foot which hath reached his dwelling-place:
If I am not permitted to press kisses on his eyes,
Or place my cheek on the sole of his shoe,
I will kiss once at least that eye,
Which sometimes hath looked upon that beautiful
countenance;
I will place my cheek on the sole of that shoe,
Which once hath travelled in his direction.”
Then would she inquire concerning his condition,
And concerning the grace of that fortune-favoured
countenance:
“Had not that face been worn by his sufferings?
Had no knot perplexed his circumstances?
Had that air not withered the rose of his cheek?
Had not that ground injured his body?
Had he eaten, or not, of the dainties she had taken?
Had he remembered, or not, the friend who had given
him her heart?”
And then, after many replies to her questions,
She hurrieth from the spot with blood-stained eyes.
On the roof of her palace was a covered gallery,
Whence could be seen the roof of the prison;
In this gallery she would stay sitting alone,
Closing the door against all her people.
“Who am I, that I should look upon his blooming
countenance?
Enough for me, that I see his roof from mine!
Not worthy am I to gaze upon those features,
Let me be satisfied to behold his walls and his gate!
In every place where my moon is sojourning,
Is not his dwelling-place the garden of Eternity?
Its roof containeth the capital-stock of felicity,
When it overshadoweth so brilliant a sun.
From that doorway issueth head-exalting happiness,
To come forth from which my cypress hath bowed
its head!
Though favoured by Fortune is that threshhold,
Which hath so kissed the foot of him who hath captured
my heart,
Well would it be with me were my body cut to
pieces,
Member by member, by the sword of his affection;
Could I throw myself headlong from the window
To fall before the feet of that brilliant sun!
Thousands of times I envy the ground,
Over which that graceful form walketh so elegantly;
Which has been perfumed by the tucks of his garment,
Which has been honoured by his fragrant person!
Such in brief words was her life till night,
Such her behaviour, such her soliloquies;
At night her comfort was a visit to the prison,
By day to gaze upon it from her terrace-gallery.
For Joseph had so fixed his abode in her heart,
That for him she became a stranger to the world and
to herself.
Lost to herself in thinking of him,
She washed from the tablet of her heart good and evil.
However her maidens uttered their voices.
She returned not to the consciousness of what was
about her.
She would say to her maidens, in season and out of
season,
“I pay no longer attention to myself,
Seek not from me attention to your words:
Ye will have to shake me before ye speak,
For only by shaking will ye bring me to myself.
And then perhaps I may open my ears to listen:
My heart is only with my prisoner in his prison,
And this is the cause of all my distraction.”
And she falls ill.
Thou too, Jami, come wholly out of thyself,
And enter thou into the blissful eternal dwelling!
Thou knowest, I know, the way to that happy
mansion,
But happiness cometh not from so much sluggishness!
Turn away thy foot from the snare of the sluggish,
And set it toward the joyful land of nonexistence!
Once thou wast not—and it was no loss to thee;
Be so again to-day—and it will be to thy gain;
Seek not thy well-being in selfish indulgence,
For such mad passion will profit thee nothing.
The Two Officers of the King.
Whoever is born of his mother under a happy star,
Its brightness cleareth away even the darkness from
the night;
He goeth to a field of thorns, it becometh a bed of roses,
And he giveth perfume to the roses like the musk of
Tartary;
He passeth like a cloud over the thirsty fallows,
And his approach changeth them into a smiling paradise;
Like the wind, when it bloweth over the fresh garden,
His face kindleth up the lamp of every rose-bud;
He entereth the prison, it becometh pleasant and
joyous,
And he free’th the prisoner from his burthen of
sorrow.
These lines introduce the section of the Poem in
which are described the benevolent ministrations of
Joseph amongst the prisoners, in soothing their
griefs, healing their diseases, and interpreting their
dreams. Here he meets with the two disgraced servants
of Pharaoh, the Butler and the Baker, whose
story, following the narrative in the Koran, is
almost identical with that in the Bible, from which it
is evidently copied. He interprets their dreams, telling
the one that he will be hanged, and beseeching the
other, when he is restored to his office of cup-bearer,
as he will be, to mention his hard case to the King,
and to obtain his deliverance; a request which, when
restored, he quite forgets.
The King’s Dream.
There is many a curious lock, to open which,
When the key is lost, the way appeareth not:
But when the attempts of the most skilful have been
baffled,
When in face of the difficulty sight and thought have
devised nothing;
When the cunning hand hath not been ready,
And even the clever-handed hath found no means to
open it,
Suddenly and strangely it openeth itself,
And discloseth the deposit—the object of our wishes.
When Joseph had freed his heart from its own disguises,
And cut the tie which threaded its schemings,
There remained nothing for him but to take refuge
with God,
Who in our adversities is ever our stay:
Delivered from selfishness and want of understanding,
The grace of the Divine Wisdom took him by the
hand.
Here follows the account of Pharaoh’s dreams of
the seven fat and seven lean kine, and of the seven
full and thin ears of corn, as told in the Koran and
the book of Genesis. He interrogates his wise men
and counsellors, but they are unable to explain their
meaning. Then the Cup-bearer remembers Joseph,
and informs the King, that there is one confined in
the prison, who had interpreted his dream, and could
probably interpret the King’s. At the King’s command
he hastens to Joseph, and receives from him
the interpretation of the seven years of plenty and
the seven years of famine; and is immediately sent
back to bring him in person to the King’s presence,
who remarks,
“Sweet as sugar are the words which come from a
friend,
But sweeter is it still when we hear them from himself.”
But Joseph declines to obey the order:
“Why”—he says—“should I go to the King,
Who me—the friendless—the faultless one,
Hath kept confined for years in the prison,
And left me despairing of all signs of mercy?
If he desireth that from this house of sorrows
I should step forth, let him first command,
That the women of Memphis, assembled like the
Pleiades,
Should lift up the veil which covereth my actions,
And plainly declare what they have seen in me,
What is my crime, and wherefore they have led me
on the way to a prison:
Then may the mystery be cleared up before the King,
And it may be seen that my garment is pure from
perfidy:
No! it is not my habit to give way to sinful thoughts,
It is not my habit to have a thought of treachery!
In that house treachery never came from me,
Nothing came from me but truth and rectitude;
For rather would I grub for treasure in a mine,
Than become a traitor to the household-couch!
When the King has received this message, he
orders all the women of Memphis to be assembled,
and demands from them their reason for accusing
Joseph.
The women reply,—“O Fortune-favoured Monarch—
May thy throne and thy crown be ever prosperous!
Never have we seen aught but purity in Joseph,
Never have we seen aught but honour and nobility;
The pearl is not more pure within its shell,
Than is that soul of the world pure from suspicion.
And Zulaikha also was seated there,
Her tongue freed from falsehood and her soul from
malice,
And purified by the discipline of love
From every deceit which was hid beneath a veil.
The brightness of rectitude shewed wisdom to her
heart,
And, like the clear morning, she spake out the truth.
She said,—“Joseph is guiltless of a crime:
It was I who lost my way in the pursuit of his love;
I it was who first sought his society,
And, when he refused it, drove him from my presence;
My injustice it was which threw him into prison,
My own misery it was which brought him to misery;
And when my misery had passed all limits,
I made his condition as miserable as my own.
For all the injustice done him through my injustice
Now am I bound to find a remedy;
And whatever favours a beneficent King may confer,
Joseph is worthy of such a hundred-fold.”
When the King heard these nicely-weighed words,
He expanded like a rose, and smiled like a rosebud;
He made a sign that they should bring him out of
prison,
And conduct him to that delightful palace-garden-house.
“He is a blooming rose from the garden of grace,
The rose garden befitteth a blooming rose better than
a prison;
He is a favoured King in the realm of spirits,
He ought to have no seat except a Throne.”
The narrator now goes on to describe how Joseph,
released from prison, is received with the greatest
honour by the King, who demands from him what it
will be best to do during the years of plenty and
famine, listens to his counsels and plans, appoints
him his Grand-Vizer, and gives him full power to
administer the affairs of the kingdom. Potiphar,
thus deprived of his rank and authority, pines away
and dies: and Zulaikha retires into solitude, and falls
into premature old age, blindness, and decrepitude;
but after a time, unable to bear her distance from
Joseph, she returns to the city, and builds herself a
hut surrounded with reeds, whence she can hear the
sound of his horse whenever he passes to and fro:
and this is her sole remaining solace and occupation.
The True Faith.
Never is the melancholy lover content,
His avidity increases hour by hour:
Not a moment doth he rest in the same desire,
Every moment his wishes rise higher and higher;
If he scenteth the Rose, he longs to see it,
If he see’th it, he cannot but pluck it!
(Note 29.)Zulaikha now sitteth perpetually in the way,
Pierced with the yearning to behold his countenance;
At night she boweth her head to the ground before
the idol,
Whom it has been her custom all her life to worship,
Exclaiming,—“O thou who hast been the shrine of
my soul,
Before whose perfection I have ever prostrated
myself in obedience;
Look with thine eye upon my reproach,
Restore to mine eyes the power of vision!
From him how long shall I remain separated?
Grant me to behold his face, though it be but from a
distance!
Fulfil this desire, if thou canst do so;
When thou hast fulfilled this desire do with me what
seemeth to thee best!
Keep me no longer in this soul-piercing sorrow,
In this miserable condition hold me not longer!
What life is this, than which not to be were better!
Better were it to me to tread the path of non-being!”
So she speaketh and casteth dust upon her head,
And maketh the earth all-wet with her tears.
When the sun, like a King, ascended the throne of
the east,
And the neighing was heard of Joseph’s charger,
Zulaikha would come forth in the guise of a beggar,
And would take her place in his narrowest path;
Hold up her hand like the petitioner for justice,
And pour out from heart and soul her sighs and
groans.
But from the loud cries which rose to the sky,
When the sergeants proclaimed—“Clear the way,”
And from the noise which struck the ear on every side
From the neighing and stamping of the road-clearing
steed,
No one amidst the tumult noticed her condition,
Though it was snch as might make one cry—“God
have mercy!”
Thus, with a heart broken in pieces,
A despairing wanderer from the valley of joy,
She went away, her soul heaving glowing sighs,
And withdrew her foot to her own sorrowful home.
There she brought out the stony Image, set it before
her,
And opening her lips to quiet her pain,
Exclaimed—“O stone,—vessel of my dignity and
honour,
Stone, which hath been the stone in my every path,
By which the way to happiness hath been barred to
my heart,—
It is fitting that my heart should have felt thy
weight.
When I prostrated myself in adoration before thee,
I struck into the road which led to sin;
When weeping I sought my desires from thee,
I washed my hands from the desire of both worlds.
Now, O stone, I will free myself from thy weight,
And break with a stone the jewel of thy power.”
She spake, and with the blow of a heavy stone,
Broke, like the Friend, the Image to pieces,
(Note 30.)And whilst she eagerly sprang to break it,
In the act of breaking she regained her purity.
When she had completed this work of Idol-breaking,
She washed her eyes with tears and her heart with
blood;
Humbled herself, and rubbed her face in the dust,
And in the court of God the Pure uttered her lament:
“O Thou to whom love is due from all thy subjects,
Idols, and idol-makers, and idol-adorers,
Did not a reflection from Thee fall upon the idol,
Who would bow down before an idol in worship?
When Thou hast touched the idol-maker with Thy
love,
And thereby moved him to idol-sculpture,
The man falleth down prostrate before the idol,
For worshipping the idol he thinketh that he worshippeth
God.
When, O God, I turned my face to an idol,
In that I committed, O God, an offence against
myself!
In thy mercy, O God, forgive the offence;
I have committed a sin, pardon my sinfulness!
Because I have trod so often the paths of sin,
Thou tookest away from me the jewel of sight,
Now since thou hast scattered the dust of my sin,
Give me back that which Thou tookest from me,
In order that, freed from the scars of my sorrows,
I may still gather a tulip in the garden of Joseph!”
When the Ruler of Egypt returned by the way,
Again she placed herself in his path, and renewing
her lamentations
Began—“O Thou Holy one, who didst make the
king a slave,
And didst abase his head to meanness, and weakness,
And hast placed on the head of a poor and needy
slave
A royal crown of dignity and glory—
When these words found a place in the ears of Joseph,
His mind was disturbed with awe and reverence,
And he said to his Chamberlain,—“This reciter of
praise,
Who hath deprived my soul of strength and firmness,
Bring her to my private chamber of audience,
Bring her within the circle of my most trusted intimates,
That I may question her as to every point of her
condition,
That I may question her as to her unhappiness and
happiness;
For that recital of praise hath so moved and disturbed
me,
That I remain astonished that it hath left so strange
an impression;
Unless some deep calamity have laid hold on her
garment,
How have her words so strangely impressed me?”
A hundred lives for the ground trod by that sagacious
Prince,
Who by a sigh, by a look, can discriminate
Between the clear morning light of the genuine
petitioner,
And the false story of those who have left the right
way!
The Renewal of Youth, and the Marriage.
The Chamberlain brings the Petitioner to Joseph’s
Palace. He inquires what she wants, and orders
him, if she be poor, to give her relief. She refuses
to declare what is the object of her petition except in
a personal interview. Being admitted, she makes
herself known, and, in answer to his compassionate
inquiries, what has reduced her to that miserable
condition, tells him, that it is her affection for him,
and conjures him to comply with her earnest requests.
Moved with pity at her sad state, he swears by the
Prophets, that he will do everything for her which
he can, and is permitted to do. First she requests
that she may be restored to her former condition.
He prays, that what she desires may be granted, and,
in answer to his prayer, she recovers her pristine
youth and beauty. Then he demands, what further
she requests, and she supplicates him to consent to
their union; and whilst lost in thought, he is deliberating
whether he shall say—“Yes or No”—the
Angel Gabriel is commissioned to inform him, that
the espousals have been already sanctioned in heaven,
and that the marriage is decreed to take place. It is
accordingly forthwith proclaimed, and is celebrated,
in the presence of the Court, with great pomp and
rejoicing.
The Victory of Love.
The Lover, whose desire is fixed on a true love,
Will at last obtain the title of Beloved;
Who ever trod the path of sincere love,
That in the end did not become the Beloved from
the Lover!
Zulaikha was a faithful devotee of love,
For to love she had given up every moment of her
life.
In infancy, whilst she was still occupied with her
games,
Her game she would ever call the game of love.
If she placed two dolls before her,
She would name them the Lover and the Loved;
As soon as she knew her right hand from her left,
In that dream which a kind fate sent her,
She became a captive in the net of Joseph.
She banished from her heart her affection for her own
country,
And resolved on the journey to the land of Egypt;
From her own city she repaired to the city of Joseph,
Not drawn of her own accord, but attracted by him.
Her youth she passed in visions about him,
In hopes of union with him it came to an end;
In old age her yearning was still towards him;
And, blind, her longing was still in her blindness to
behold him;
And when from old age she was restored to youth
and sight,
Her passion for him was ever the same;
And in wishes for him she lived whilst she lived,
And so long as she lived, she lived enchained in her
love.
And when he saw that her affection was boundless
and sincere,
The soul of Joseph was infected with a like passion,
And became so inflamed with the warmth of her love,
That he felt, as it were, ashamed of its warmth.
Her blandishments so beset his path,
That he could not remain an hour at rest without her;
He was ever seeking to content her wishes,
And was ever pressing lips to lips and heart to heart.
Thus, set at rest in her earthly affections, Zulaikha
feels her heart strongly drawn towards divine ones;
and Joseph, perceiving her inclination and her devotion
to her new Faith, builds her a beautiful Prayer-house,
and when it is completed, tenderly takes
her by the hand, conducts her to it, seats her on a
throne, and thus addresses her:
“O thou, who by every kind of kindness
Hast made me ashamed to the day of resurrection,
In those days when thou still namedst me a slave,
Didst erect in my name a palace of wonders,
Yellow and red, with gold and rubies,
And didst adorn it with every ornament possible,
I likewise, in gratitude for all thy bounties,
Have now raised to please thee a House of Adoration:
There rest, and shew thy thankfulness for the divine
beneficence,
Which hath showered its gifts on every hair of thine
head.
He lifted thee out of poverty to make thee rich,
From the weakness of old age He restored thee to
youth,
To the eye from which light was gone He gave light
again,
And opened to admit thee the door of His mercy,
And after a life in which thou hadst tasted of every
grief,
In thy union with me He provided the antidote.”
So Zulaikha, through the grace of God,
Sat down upon the decorated throne of sovereignty,
And in the privacy of that retired dwelling,
Was content in the attachment of Joseph and the
bounty of the Lord.
The longed-for Death.
Alas, the pity!—when the happy traveller
Hath laid down his burthen at the vestibule of
greeting,
Hath clasped Fortune like his beloved in his embrace,
And hath utterly forgotten the anxieties of separation;
When his heart hath shaken off the dust of sorrow,
And he looketh to spend the days of his life in gladness,
Then riseth suddenly the breeze of vicissitude,
And the simoon of separation doeth its work:
(Note 32.)A rude intruder bursteth into the pleasure-ground,
And breaketh off the fair branch from the tree of our
longings.
Zulaikha having obtained the desire of her heart,
And found rest to her soul in her union with Joseph,
Continued to live in cheerfulness and gladness,
Lived in freedom from soul-felt sorrows.
Long was the term of her days of enjoyment,
Forty years passed over her in that felicity;
That fertile palm-tree produced successively
Child after child, childrens’ children;
Nor was there a wish for earthly good in her heart,
Which was not fulfilled in the tablets of hope.
As Joseph one night bowed down his head before the
altar,
And the robber sleep fell suddenly upon him,
He beheld his father seated with his mother,
With face like the sun veiled in light,
Who cried to him,—“O son, be aware that the day
Of the far separation is swiftly approaching;
Sign away with indifference water and clay,
(Note 33.)And set thy foot in the pleasant places of the heart
and the soul.”
When Joseph again awoke from that sleep,
He repaired from the altar to the side of Zulaikha,
Announced to her the message delivered in his dream,
And explained to her its accordance with his own
desire of departure:
Then he sank deep in her heart the image,
And left glowing in her soul the anguish of separation.
But Joseph came out from the circle of his business,
And his desires were turned more and more towards
the regions of eternity;
He set forward his foot from the narrow passage of
worldly lusts,
To tread a larger way towards the dwelling of
mysteries.
He withdrew his earthly goods from the monastery of
mortality,
To lift up the hand of prayer towards the imperishable
sanctuary.
“O Thou who listenest to the supplication of the
needy,
Who settest a diadem on the head of the exalted,
Who hast placed upon my head a crown of fortune,
Such as Thou hast never bestowed even on the most
fortunate,
My heart is estranged from this transitory kingdom,
It is weaned from the ambition of worldly dominion;
Freed from myself, conduct me in Thy paths,
Issue Thy royal mandate for the kingdom of Eternity!
They who have done good—who have trod the road
of Faith—
Have come night to Thee and taken the first stations:
O take me out of the number of those who are
loiterers,
And let me be amongst the first to hasten to Thy
banquet!”
No sooner did Zulaikha hear the mysterious secret,
Than a severe wound struck her to the heart;
She knew at once that this prayer from him
Would quickly receive its visible accomplishment;
For not an arrow could part from that bow,
Which in the very bending would be slow to reach
the mark.
Then she retreateth to her closet narrow and dark,
And unknotteth from each other her night-black
tresses,
Seattereth dust upon her head in the pangs of separation,
And rubbeth her blood-stained face upon the earth.
Deserted by joy, the companion of grief and trouble,
The tears gush forth from her eyes as she exclaimeth,
“O Thou that relievest the sorrows of the sorrowing,
Who appliest the balsam to the lacerated breast;
Thou who fulfillest the heart’s-hope of the hopeless,
And extricatest him who seemeth fast inextricably;
Who bringest the keys which unlock the closed gates,
And bindest the andage on the broken heart;
Who givest deliverance to the forsaken in the
dungeon,
And makest lighter the pangs of separation;
I am captive in the thoughts of my own heart,
And strangely bewildered in my own acts!
I have no strength to bear my separation from
Joseph:
Oh with his life take my life from my body!
(Note 34)Without his beauty I desire not life,
And no continuance in the dominion of existence;
The sapling of life were leafless without him,
Life everlasting were death without him!
(Note 35.)By the canon of faithfulness it would not be just
That I should be in a world where he is not!
If he is not made the companion of my way,
Oh! take me away first, and him afterwards!
I wish that I may never sit apart from him;
Nor look upon a world not beautified by his beauty!”
So she passed her time in weeping and wailing,
Nor called the night night, nor the day day;
For to him who has his heart straitened with sorrow,
His day and his night will seem of one colour.
The Double Death.
The next day in the early morning,
When the beauty of the dawn filled all hearts with
gladness,
Robing his breast in regal vesture,
He was issuing from his dwelling, intending to ride,
When, as he was placing his foot in the stirrup,
Gabriel called to him—“Make no haste!
The life-destroying sphere will give no promise,
That thou wilt place in thy stirrup another foot;
Snap the bridle of hope and security,
And draw forth thy foot from the stirrup of life!”
When Joseph’s ear received this joyful message,
In his gladness he forgot all desire of life,
He shook from his skirt every wish for kingly rule,
Summoned to his presence one of the heirs of his
power,
Seated him in his own place as Ruler of the country,
And bequeathed to him in his will his own great
deeds.
Again he said,—“Call hither Zulaikha,
And bring her to receive my last adieu!”
They replied,—“Weakened by the hand of sorrow,
She lieth prostrate in the midst of dust and blood;
Her soul hath no strength to sustain this burthen:
Leave her to herself to bear it as she can.”
He said,—“I fear that the scar of this misery
Will remain on her heart till the day of resurrection!”
They replied,—“God can bestow resignation upon
her:
In resignation she will find a strong cord.”
There lay an apple in the palm of Gabriel,
Which had added an ornament to the Garden of
Eternity;
He placed the apple in the hand of Joseph,
And he scented its spirit, and yielded up his soul.
In its perfume he recognised the Garden of Eternity,
And, attracted by its perfume, hastened to the Garden.
When in smelling the apple Joseph’s soul had
departed,
A sound of lamentation arose from all who were
present;
Voices of wailing went up on high,
And the cry was re-echoed from the azure vault.
Zulaikha inquired—“What meaneth this tumult and
uproar;
Heaven and earth are full of clamour, what meaneth
it?”
They answer,—“Alas! that high-gifted Prince
Hath turned his face from the throne to the bier:
He hath bid adieu to his narrow cell of earth,
And taken up his abode on the summit of the
unearthly palace.”
When she heard this account, her mind departed,
And the bright light of reason was lost to her body;
And in the horrors of these words that graceful
cypress
Fell like its shadow three days upon the ground;
And when on the fourth day she awoke from that sleep,
The hearing of it took her again out of herself.
Thrice was she three days out of her mind,
And lost to herself from the burning wound in her
bosom,
And when on the fourth she returned to herself,
Again her first question was to ask after Joseph.
She found no mark of his head on the pillow,
Not a trace of his coffin in the moving world;
They gave her back no intelligence but this,
That they had hid him in the earth like buried
treasure.
In her distraction she rends her hair, and tears her
cheeks, and lacerates her body, and then sinks into
melancholy wailings.
“Oh! where is Joseph?—Where he, the ornament of
his throne?
He, the bounteous purveyor for the wants of the
needy!
When he mounted his steed, and departed hence,
Intent on reaching the eternal kingdom,
So great was his haste to begin his journey,
That it was forbidden me to give him the foot-kiss
in the stirrup.
(Note 36.)When he went forth from this mansion of sorrow,
Why was I not present to witness his departure?
I saw not his head laid on his pallet;
I gathered not the dew from the face of that wild
rose;
I offered not my bosom as a wall to lean against!
When they opened the ground as a bed to slumber in,
And hid him in the earth like a pure gem,
I swept not the spot above and beneath him,
And slept not according to my heart’s wish in his
embrace!
Alas! and alas! for this ruinous blow!
Alas! and alas! for this soul-eating sorrow!
Come, desire of my heart, and behold my desolation,
Behold my oppression from the cruelty of heaven!
Thou didst sever thyself from me, and rememberedst
me not,
And didst not gladden me by a single look!
That was not the affectionate custom of friends,
That was not the faithfulness due to the faithful!
Thou didst leave me like one cast out of thine heart,
Thou didst leave me encompassed with blood and
dust!
Woe is me, thou hast broken a thorn in my heart,
Which will never come forth save out of my clay.
Nor hast thou taken thy journey to a place
From which he who maketh it hath ever returned;
Therefore it is better that I take my flight hence,
And at one soaring soar upward to thee!”
She spoke, and ordered her litter-bearers to come,
And adorned the litter in her own way,
And tottereth forth from that house of mourning,
And took the road to Joseph’s last goal;
But there she saw no sign of the pure pearl,
Save a little hillock of bare dank earth.
She throws herself down on the mound, and in her
desolation again abandons herself to a wild lament,
but in language and figures, which, however familiar
to an oriental, would be not quite simple and intelligible
to a western reader; and then the narrator
proceeds:
It is the custom with mourners overwhelmed with
their wretchedness
To scatter on the coffin blackened almonds:
(Note 38)But, separated as she was from the coffin, the
miserable woman
Only threw two black almonds on the grave,
Cast her blood-besprinkled face to the earth,
Kissed the ground in her misery—and yielded up her
soul.
When her companions beheld her condition,
Their cries and lamentations went up to the skies;
And every sigh she had breathed for Joseph,
Two hundred fold they breathed over her.
But when the wailing of the harp was somewhat
deadened,
They folded up their sleeves to wash the body;
They washed it with torrents of tears from their eyes,
Like a rose-leaf moistened with a springtide shower;
Like a bud which shooteth from a twig of jessamine,
They wrapped it round in a shroud of green,
Made clean her face from the dust of separation,
And placed her in the grave at the side of Joseph.
Fate has not always given to loving souls
To find in death the society of the beloved!
(Note 39.)But the narrator of this sweet story,
Who hath the account from the old of former days,
Sayeth thus: That on the opposite bank of the Nile
To that on which was buried the holy body of Joseph,
Arose an outburst of drought and pestilence,
And in the room of prosperity a crowd of calamities;
So that at last they came to the resolution
To place his remains in a coffin of stone,
And, when they had smeared every crevice with
pitch,
To sink it midway to the bottom of the Nile.
(Note 40.)
But see here the deceitfulness of the faithless spheres,
Which even after her death separated her from
Joseph!
I know not what spite they harboured against them,
That they would not suffer them to rest beneath the
earth,
But drowned the one in the sea of natation,
And abandoned the other lip-thirsty in the desert of
separation.
Well said the foot-sore Pilgrim of Love,
Who now resteth from all its gains and losses,
That Love, when it hath been purchased at a high
price,
Hath no more to do ever-after with repose;
It rendeth even the shroud which envelopeth the lover,
Though he himself be slumbering beneath the sod.”
Well for the lover, who, in the pangs of separation,
Bore such a soul to his beloved in the secret chambers
of souls!
Yet let no one say, that he in his winding-sheet
Attained the magnanimity of that lion-hearted woman,
Who closed fast her eyes to all love but his,
And after that cast down upon his grave the ready
money of her life.
A thousand blessings on her, body and soul,
And in the spirit world may her eye be brightened by
the sight of her beloved!
Two sections, one entitled
§ Complaint of the Stars or Fate;
the other,
§ Admonitions to his Son,
though containing very beautiful passages, are omitted
here, not having much connection with the story.
Address to Himself.
Turn thy face, Jami, towards the acts of the ripened;
Proceed no further in those of the still immature!
For what is ripeness?—’Tis to become free;
To fall prostrate to the dust of self-negation.
Dost thou not see, in this rust-discoloured pavilion,
How the fruit in its immaturity sticketh to the
branch?
When it changeth to ripeness, how it falleth of itself,
No longer wounded by the stones of mischief-seeking
boys?
Take thy food at the table of the perfected,
Escape from the roughness of the stone-throwing
unseasoned ones.
Tear-up by contentment avarice from its roots;
Break-off by trustfulness the bough of eager wishes.
Chuse thy dwelling in the city of good-intent;
Build thy nest in the sequestered abode of the Anka;
(Note 41.)Use not thy tongue in commendation of the weak,
And endure not for a loaf the ignominy of the base;
Turn away thy foot from the great ones of the
kingdom,
And show to the strong-handed of the world the nape
of thy neck.
See, how through the changes of the four seasons
The world revolveth ever in the self-same circle;
Behold how similar is the last spring to that of to-day,
Behold how the revolution of one autumn resembleth
another;
And how between two summers and two winters
In this constitution of things discrimination is impossible!
I know not, wherefore on this round orb
This ever-repeated condition should make thee joyful;
For though in change is a mixture of enchantment,
Yet a restless change is wearisome to our nature.
Leave then that which damageth, and take thought
for that which profiteth;
Turn thy face from thy being to when thou shalt
cease to be;
Free thine inner soul from the business of the busy,
Cleanse it from the foul machinations of the Ghoul;
(Note 42.)
Teach not the spell of love to ignoble minds,
Light not up the lamp for the eye blind as night.
Let thy spirit keep watch over inconsiderate words,
The condition of a wayfarer requireth watchfulness;
To a soul which walketh not in the path of vigilance,
The lengthening of a brief existence would be of no
use.
The taper of life goeth out with a puff,
If but the exhalation of a sigh rise to the brain of the
intellect.
Youth bringeth only darkness to thy dwelling,
Old age only illuminateth thy day of action!
The obscurity of blindness and distance is come to an
end,
And a fringe of hoary hair hath brought with it the
light:
In that obscurity thou never sawest thy desire
accomplished,
Try to accomplish it in the rays of this light.
It may be that this desire may bring thee to a place
Whence thou mayest perceive a portion of the truth!
But what comeliness at last will white hairs give thee,
If they give thee not also a white countenance?
(Note 43.)If of that colour thou art at heart ashamed,
Go! dye them like the black-headed with indigo!
For old age on thine head is melting snow,
And thy tears like snow-water will pass away also.
Enter thou weeping on the path of supplication,
And with snow-water wash out the blackness of thy
heart;
But knowest thou not how to wash out the blackness
from thine heart;
I know not in truth how blackness can profit thee!
Throw away thy reed for it is held by a tremulous
hand!
Tear the sheet for thou canst fill it only with vain
babblings!
The lamp of thought hath lost its brightness,
The gardens of poesy are all unwatered;
I see not now in these once happy bounds
Aught in thine hand save a raven’s claw:
(Note 44.)Thinkest thou with this to strut about like the peacock?
Why seek escape from the dungeon which imprisoneth
thee?
Freedom is to escape from delusion and conceit;
From the coupling of rhymes and the inditing of
poems.
Where is Nizami?—Where his soul-alluring lays?
The delicate refinements of his subtle genius?
He hath now taken his place behind the veil,
And all save himself have remained outside it.
(Note 45.)Since he hath withdrawn himself we have received
no portion,
Save from the mystic words which now he hath taken
with him.
But no one understandeth those mystic words, save
him who approacheth God;
Into whose sound heart hath entered the Divine.
But he hath escaped from these narrow bye-ways
To journey at large towards the sacred Temple,
And, terrified by the captives taken in the snare,
Reposeth under the skirts of the Throne itself.
In thine own side findest thou not such a heart,
What if thou wert to turn thy side away,
And lean it against that of some tried man,
And thou too take thy place in the circle of the tried!
Well said one whose heart was a treasure-house of
wisdom,
“The season of fasting is the winning of bread.”
The aged woman oft faileth in piety,
Because her youthful blandishments were weakness
and imperfection,
If thou art a true man take a heart in hand,
For with men of deeds this only is a deed:
Such a heart as that which I have above described,
And describing it bored a jewel and disclosed its
secret.
Seek a thorough man on whom to lean thy side,
For this is indeed to take a heart in hand.
Conclusion of the work.
Praise be to God that, in spite of time,
This soul-alluring story hath reached its end,
And oppressed by the solicitude of finding rhymes,
Now flingeth away the seales from the hand of
reflection,
And sitteth down with idle arms from weighing its
couplets;
Leaneth its back against the wall of leisure,
Falleth from the path of roughness into that of
easiness,
Lifteth up the head of heaviness from the knee,
And lightened is my heart from its secret burthen!
My reed—the horseman with the inky fingers—
Which hath made all the stages from Abyssinia to
Rûm,
(Note 47.)Hath left in Rûm the traces of his arrival,
And communicated to the present tidings of the future;
That he may repose awhile hath descended from his
steed,
And thrown himself at full length on the bed and the
day-couch.
No longer is his head bent down by the hand of the
scribe,
No longer is the hand of reproof directed to the
penknife;
The inkstand, become a flask of musk from Cathay,
By the aid of the reed spreadeth perfume around it;
The mouth of the flask is sealed with wax,
It is time that the mouth of the flask be so sealed;
The leaves, no longer scattered, are saved from
dispersion,
And have drawn the foot within the skirt of concord;
Two hundred leaves, as of roses, are there, under one
cover;
Oh! like roses, may the demand for them be fresh
every moment!
And oh! may their binding be a bond of perpetuity!
See here a book written with the pen of truth,
Signed with the name of a Lover and Beloved.
Like a sugar-eating popinjay I rest well-pleased,
When I name to thee the names of Joseph and
Zulaikha.
By heaven! it is a smiling garden in the new spring,
Compared with which the garden of Irim is a rough
field of thorns!
(Note 48.)Every story in it is a verdant pleasure-ground,
And in every pleasure-ground peepeth out a rosy face;
Within it bloom a thousand fresh roses,
And hundreds of narcissuses drowsily languishing;
Glades of meaning, branch within branch,
Figures bold and sweet as the lusty melody of birds;
Every line like musk on a sheet of camphor,
Or gleam of light quivering at the foot of the tree;
Every letter resembling a pure fountain-head,
From which welleth out bubbling a rill of meaning;
See on every side how each rill from the fountain
Swelleth into a stream full of waters of pleasantness!
Happy the way-farer, whom a lucky fortune
Hath led to the brink of that beautiful river!
A look on its waters will wash-out sorrow from his
heart,
Will cleanse away the dust from his afflicted bosom;
From his soul will extract the mysteries of faith:
He will draw out the hand of piety from the folds of
his garment;
From the billowy ocean of the divine mercies
Will crave to apply a drop to his thirsty lip;
And when he holdeth in his grasp the fresh roses,
He who laid out the garden will not be forgotten.
After recording the date of his book and the
number of the pages, the poet exclaims,
Lord! may the man who hath traversed the road of
love,
And laid down his burthen at its several stations,
Be blessed in the union with his bride within the
secret chamber,
And may her skirt and bosom be pure from the approach
of contamination.
Then after invoking a blessing on the Sultan,
Hussain Mirza Baihasa, the Pillars of his kingdom,
and his earned Vizier, Mir Ali Shier, the patron of
the Poet, he concludes,(Note 49.)
And now that thou hast ended thy words with a
blessing,
Let thy tongue, Jami, utter to thyself a parting
counsel:
Do no dark deed like thine inky reed:
Wash clean thy book with tears from reddened eyes;
Use thy reed only in the service of the Beneficent;
Fold up thy sheet against all deluding passion;
Inflict on thy tongue the punishment of silence,
For silence is better than aught that thou canst utter.
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS TO THE
TRANSLATION.