With Manṭiqí we notice a more artificial style, and a greater
fondness for rhetorical devices, than is the case with the early
poets hitherto mentioned: in particular, a fondness for the
figure known as “poetical ætiology” (ḥusn-i-ta'líl), as, for
instance, when he ascribes the “pallor” or “sallowness” of
the sun to its fear of trespassing on the realms of his patron in
its passage across the sky, and that of the gold dínár to its
dread of his lavish and prodigal hands; or the “trembling”
(or twinkling) of the stars to their dread of his far-reaching
sword. This characteristic is due, I think, not so much to
personal idiosyncrasy as to the fact that the Buwayhid Court
of 'Iráq was, owing to its greater proximity to, and closer
connection with, the metropolis of Baghdad, more directly
subject to the literary influences and tendencies of Arabic-
“Wonder not at a man of 'Iráq in whom thou seest an ocean of
learning and a treasure of culture;
Wonder rather at one whose home is in the lands of ignorance if
he be able to distinguish head from tail!”
These lines were, of course, written before that brilliant epoch described in another passage of the Yatíma (vol. iv, pp. 33-4: see pp. 365-6 supra), but it shows that the flow of Muhammadan culture was, as we should expect, centrifugal, from Baghdad towards the periphery of the Lands of Islám.
The next poet mentioned by 'Awfí, Abú Bakr Muḥammaa
b. 'Alí al-Khusrawí as-Sarakhsí, was attached neither to the
Sámánid nor to the Buwayhid Court, but to that eminent
prince of the Ziyárid dynasty of Ṭabaristán, Amír Shamsu'l-
“I ventured to glance from afar at thy face, and Behold!
'Twas sufficient a wound to inflict on thy countenance sweet;
By thy glance in return was my heart smitten sore, for of old
'Tis the Law of Atonement that ‘wounding for wounding is
meet.’”
This verse was put into Arabic by the bilingual poet, Abu'l-
“Like to the Moon would she be, were it not for her raven locks;
Like unto Venus, save for her beauty-spot, fragrant as musk:
Her cheeks to the Sun I would liken, save that, unlike the Sun,
She needs not to fear an eclipse, she needs not to shrink from the
dusk.”
Abu 'Abdi'lláh Muḥammad al-Junaydí was another of the Ṣáḥib's bilingual poets. Abú Mansúr 'Umára of Merv flourished under the last king of the House of Sámán and the first of the House of Ghazna, and excelled in brief and picturesque descriptions of the spring season, wine, and the like. His is the following admonition to those who seek worldly success:—
“Though the world should hold thee in honour, let that not fill thee
with pride:—
Many the world hath honoured and soon hath cast aside.
For the world is a venomous serpent: its seeker a charmer of
snakes:
And one day on the serpent-charmer the serpent its vengeance
takes.”
Seven more poets whose patrons are unknown conclude
'Awfí's list of these early pre-Ghaznawí singers, of whom in
all thirty-one are noticed. These seven are: Íláqí; Abu'l-
Leaving these poets by profession, we turn now to two royal poets of this period.
The first of these was the Sámánid King Manṣúr II b. Núḥ (A.D. 997-9), whom 'Awfí calls the last of his line, though his brother, 'Abdu'l-Malik is generally reckoned to have succeeded him. “Though he was young,” says 'Awfí, “yet the dynasty had grown old, and no order (sámán) was left in the affairs of the House of Sámán, while the life of the Royal House had sunk to a mere spark. He lived at the beginning of the reign of Sulṭán Maḥmúd Yamínu'd-Dawla. Many times did he fall a captive into the hands of his enemies, and again recovered his freedom: greatly did he strive to recover his father's kingdom, but human effort avails naught against the Decree of Heaven and the Fate preordained by God, as saith God Almighty, “None can avert His Decree and none can postpone His command; God doth what He pleaseth and ordereth as He will.” Of him alone amongst the Kings of the House of Sámán is any verse recorded. His verses are both spontaneous and kingly. Whilst he sat on the throne of sovereignty in Bukhárá, enemies rose up against him on all sides, and all his nobles were disaffected, so that night and day he was on horseback, clad in a Zandaníjí* coat, while most of his life was passed in flight and fight. One day some of his companions said to him, “O King, why dost thou not get thyself fine clothes, or amuse thyself with those distractions which are one of the perquisites of royalty?” Thereupon he composed this fragment, in the sentiments of which the signs of manly courage are apparent and evident:—
“They ask me why fine robes I do not wear,
Nor covet stately tent with carpets rare.
'Midst clash of arms, what boots the minstrel's power?
'Midst rush of steeds, what place for rose-girt bower?
Nor wine nor sweet-lipped Sáqí aught avail
Where blood is spattered o'er the coats of mail.
Arms, horse for me banquet and bower enow,
Tulip and lily mine the dart and bow.”
The following quatrain reproaching Heaven for its unkindness is also ascribed to him:—
“O blue to look on, not in essence blue,
A Fire art thou, though like a Smoke to view.
E'en from thy birth thine ears were deaf to prayer,
Nor wrath nor protest aught avail with you.”
More important as a patron of letters, if not as a poet, was
the Ziyárid prince of Ṭabaristán, Qábús b. Washmgír,
entitled Shamsu'l-Ma'álí (“the Sun of the Heights” reigned
A.D. 976-1012). To him al-Bírúní dedicated his “Chronology
of Ancient Nations” (al-Átháru'l-báqiya mina'l-Qurúni'l-