Asmán-rá ḥaqq buwad gar khún bi-rízad bar zamín
Bar zawál-i-mulk-i-Musta'ṣim, Amíru'l-Mú'minín.
“Well it were if from the heavens tears of blood on earth should
flow
For the Ruler of the Faithful, al-Musta'ṣim, brought so low.
If, Muḥammad, at the Judgement from the dust thy head thou'lt
raise,
Raise it now, behold the Judgment fallen on thy folk below!
Waves of blood the dainty thresholds of the Palace-beauties
whelm;
While from out my heart the life-blood dyes my sleeve with hues
of woe.
*
Fear vicissitudes of Fortune; fear the Sphere's revolving change;
Who could dream that such a splendour such a fate should
overthrow?
Raise your eyes, O ye who once upon that Holy House did
gaze,
Watching Kháns and Roman Cæsars cringing to its portals go.
Now upon that self-same threshold where the Kings their fore-
heads laid,
From the children of the Prophet's Uncle
*
streams of blood do
flow!”
The above, however, is far less typical of the classical qaṣída, beginning with the tashbíb already described, and passing, in the The typical Qaṣída. bayt known technically as the guríz-gáh, or “transition-verse,” into the madíḥa, or panegyric proper, than a very fine qaṣída (No. 29 in Kazimirski's edition, pp. 73-76) by the poet Minúchihrí, a younger contemporary of Firdawsí. This poem comprises seventy-two bayts, of which I give only a selection, indicating in each case the position of the translated verses in the complete text by prefixing the number which they bear in it. The metre is the apocopated hexameter Hazaj, which I have been obliged to shorten by one syllable in my translation. It begins—
Aláyá khaymagí, khayma firú hil,
Ki písh-áhang bírún shud zi manzil.1. “O tentsman, haste, and strike the tent, I pray! The caravan's already under way;
The Tashbíb, or Exordium. 2. The drummer sounds already the first drum; Their loads the drivers on the camels lay.3. The evening-prayer is nigh, and lo! to-night The sun and moon opposed do stand at bay,
4. Save that the moon climbs upwards through the sky, While sinks the sun o'er Babel's mountains grey,
5. Like to two scales of golden balance, when One pan doth upwards and one downwards weigh.”
The poet next describes his parting with his sweetheart, whom he addresses as follows:—
6. “‘O silver cypress! Little did I think To see so swiftly pass our trysting-day!
7. We are all heedless, but the moon and sun Are heedful things, whose purposes ne'er stray.
8. My darling, wend thee hence, and weep no more, For fruitless are the hopes of lovers aye.
9. With parting Time is pregnant; know ye not Needs must the pregnant bring to birth one day?’
10. When thus my love beheld my state, her eyes Rained tears like drops which fall when lightnings play.
11. That she crushed pepper held within her hand And cast it in her eyes thou wouldest say.
12. Drooping and trembling unto me she came Like throat-cut bird, whose life-blood ebbs away,
13. Around my neck like sword-belt flung her arms, And on my breast like belt depending lay.
14. ‘O cruel,’ cried she; ‘by my soul I swear My envious foes rejoice through thee this day!
15. Wilt thou, what time the caravan returns, Return therewith, or still in exile stay?
16. Perfect I deemed thee once in all thy deeds, But now in love imperfect, wel-a-way!’”
The poet again endeavours to console his beloved, who finally departs and leaves him alone. He looks round the caravansaray, and sees “neither beast nor man, neither rider nor pedestrian,” save his own camel, fretting “like a demon chained hand and foot.” Having arranged its harness, he mounts, and it springs forward on the path whereby the caravan has departed, “measuring with its feet the stages like a surveyor measuring the land.” He enters the desert— “a desert so cold and rugged that none who enters it comes forth again”—and describes the biting wind “which freezes the blood in the veins,” and the silver patches of snow on the golden sand. Then comes the dawn, blinding him with its glare, and causing the snow to melt “as one who wastes of consumption,” and the sticky mud to cling to his camel's feet like strings of isinglass. At length the caravan which he has striven to overtake appears encamped before him in the plain; he sees the lances of the escort planted in the ground like ears of wheat in a cornfield, and hears the tinkle of the camel-bells, sweet to his ears as the nightingale's song.
He then continues:—
48. “Then to my gallant beast I cried aloud, ‘O friend of talent! Slower now, I pray!
49. Graze, sweet to thee as ambergris the grass! Walk proudly, thou whom iron thews did stay!
50. Traverse the desert, climb the mountain ridge, Beat down the stages, cut the miles away!
51. Then set me down at that Wazír's high court