“How long will Fate put the scar of grief on my heart!
Before one scar is healed It put on another.
Every wound which inclines a little to amelioration,
It leaves that wound and makes a worse wound.
If my grief puts its back under a thousand mountains,
It puts a thousand fresh mountains upon it”.

What can one do? “This is not the first phial that has been broken* in Islám.” And this poem I wrote as an elegy on him, on account of the degree to which, through the wound of his loss, my heart has been, and is, and will be burnt until my appointed day. It is as follows:—

“O Lord! this day what a day it is has fallen on me,
And what a soul-wasting calamity it is that has shown itself to men.
There is no one whom the cry of my despair has not reached,
Yet no one comes to my cry of despair.
My moon at the end of life went behind the veil of invisibility,
See from this pregnant-one of darkness what a woe has been born to me.
My star of joy and hope was dashed to the ground,
After this my heart with what hope shall it be glad?
Although my foundations were firm in patience, yet
The torrent of grief came and threw me from my foundations.

(P. 128) That person, whom I remember a hundred times in a day,
Alas! that he does not remember me once in a year.
Unjust heaven how many sorrows has it given me!
On whom shall I take vengeance, who will give me satisfaction?
I know not the state of my heart, what shall I say? what do?
The remedy for my heart-pain of whom shall I seek? what shall I do?
O Fate! alas that thou hast made my heart wounded and desolate!
My content of heart thou hast utterly scattered.
O Jewel, that in my hand was hidden for others,
Thou hast openly carried it out of my sight and hidden it.
My Cypress thou hast carried from the garden to the prison of the tomb,
Thou hast made the garden a prison to me sorrow-stricken.
My Yúsuf thou hast given to the paw of the wolf,
Ah! me thou hast made a recluse in the cell of care.
In the dark clay thou hast put my new-born rose,*
Why hast thou made my day just like dark night?
In a word that person, from whom was all my scope and aim,
Thou hast carried away, and left me without scope or aim.
That brother, who came to this strange city,
Thou hast made his grave in the desert beside strangers.
The season of the rose is come, and the place of Muhammad is in the dust,
It is my place that through vexation I should lay my hand in the dust.
Finally, O mine Eye! what hast thou seen that thou art gone from the world?
That with thine eye covered thou art gone from my moist eye?

(P. 129) To my dark eye there was light from thy face,
The light is gone from my heart since thou art gone from my eye.
Thou wast to my eye like the signet of a ring,
In the end thou hast dropped from the ring like a signet-stone.
My heart for no cause is glad in the world,
A pity, in thousand pities, thou art gone sorrowful from the world.
Thou pure spirit wast sore vexed at this halting-place,
Thou tookest up thy baggage, and departest from this halting-place of sorrow.
On thy heart from worldly matters there was no burden,
All at once from worldly matters joyful and glad-hearted thou departest.
From the cradle I was to thee, companion and friend, every moment,
Why to the tomb art thou gone companionless and friendless?
Thou art gone, and grief for thee will never go from this bewildered heart
Sorrow for thee will never go from my heart, as long as my life goes not for sorrow for thee,
Who is there that will tell me any news of thee?
Shall any give news of the departed soul to the body?*
News of the rose, that has dropped through the injury of autumn,
Who is there, in short, that will tell it to the bird of the garden?
Where is there a messenger who my sorrow and grief face to face
One by one before thee gracefully will tell?
Who shall tell to you my words with his tongue, and then
For my consolation bring back the words from your tongue?
I am strait-hearted, rosebud-like, and there is none present,
(P. 130) Who will repeat to me a single letter from thee, O thou rosebud-mouthed.
There are a hundred knots and tangles in this heart for love of thee,
Who will tell to thee of this heart full of knots and tangles.
Thou art gone afar, and there has come no one from thy country
Who should tell me anything of thy state.
I go, and on the top of thy tomb I take my station,
That I may hear an answer from thee, and salute thee.
I say, O thou unfound jewel what is thy state?
With thy body wounded and helpless, what is thy state?
Thou art in the sleep of death, and without thee a confusion* hath arisen,
Awake, and lift up thy head from this sleep, what is thy state?
Through separation from thee thy friends are in a very bad condition,
O thou who remainest separate from thy friends, what is thy state?
Thy friends through distance from thee are near to death,
Far from company of companions what is thy state?
Thy place was once in the Prayer-niche,* and now I see
The niche left empty of thee, what is thy state?
Without thee I drink the blood of my liver, ask me for once
“In this drinking of blood what is thy state?”
Over thy clay a hundred fresh roses have blossomed from my tears,
Under the clay O thou fresh rose what is thy state?
In such a woeful habitation who is nigh thee?
The solacer of thy day, and friend of thy dark night who is he?
(P. 131) O I am fallen far away from thy fair cheek,
And I am fallen through thy absence into a hundred kinds of calamity.
Thou art in the desert, while I remain in this strange city,
O God! where art thou, and I am to what place have I fallen?
Thou hast not gathered thy whole weight of roses, and I know not now.
Why upon thee hath fallen a hundred hillocks of thorns and briars.
I knew not the worth of thy presence, and this is the requital,
That the day of retribution hath met with thee.
I would have spent my soul in thy behalf, but what can I do?
For thy business hath fallen under God's absolute decree.
Thy date was: He said, When the cypress fell,
‘That erect cypress how suddenly it fell from its place!’*
O Qádir wailing and crying doth not profit,
Strive after prayer, for the turn is come for prayer.
Ask of God, that his affairs be all laudable,
And that God may be satisfied equally with him and thee.
O Lord! may his passage be into thy garden of Paradise,
May the tower of the highest Paradise be his resting-place.
When into the garden of Paradise he passes unveiling his beauty,
May Houris and boys be on his right hand and his left.
In the dark night, when he purposed the journey to the other world,
May the light of Islám be the lamp of his dark night.
If there is no one who lights a lamp on his tomb,

(P. 132) May the light of the mercy of God be the taper on his tomb.
Since he has taken away his bosom from the bride the old women of Fate,
May the fresh heavenly brides be in his bosom.
Since after death no friend was with him,
May the mercy of God moment by moment be his friend.
The drops of tears, which men shed over him,
May each drop become a pure pearl, and be devoted to him.
To all eternity may his abode be the pinnacle of heaven,
This prayer from me, and may from Gabriel come: Amen!

And in this year the building of the tomb of the late Emperor, which is heart-delighting, paradise-like, was completed. It is at Dihlí on the banks of the river Jumna and took Mírak Mírzá Ghiyás eight or nine years to build. Its magnificent proportions are such that the eye of the spectator gazing on it admits it only with wonder.

	“O Lord! this day what a day it is has fallen on me, And what a soul-wasting calamity it is that has shown itself to men. There is no one whom the cry of my despair has not reached, Yet no one comes to my cry of despair. My moon at the end of life went behind the veil of invisibility, See from this pregnant-one of darkness what a woe has been born to me. My star of joy and hope was dashed to the ground, After this my heart with what hope shall it be glad? Although my foundations were firm in patience, yet The torrent of grief came and threw me from my foundations.
(P. 128)	That person, whom I remember a hundred times in a day, Alas! that he does not remember me once in a year. Unjust heaven how many sorrows has it given me! On whom shall I take vengeance, who will give me satisfaction? I know not the state of my heart, what shall I say? what do? The remedy for my heart-pain of whom shall I seek? what shall I do? O Fate! alas that thou hast made my heart wounded and desolate! My content of heart thou hast utterly scattered. O Jewel, that in my hand was hidden for others, Thou hast openly carried it out of my sight and hidden it. My Cypress thou hast carried from the garden to the prison of the tomb, Thou hast made the garden a prison to me sorrow-stricken. My Yúsuf thou hast given to the paw of the wolf, Ah! me thou hast made a recluse in the cell of care. In the dark clay thou hast put my new-born rose,* Why hast thou made my day just like dark night? In a word that person, from whom was all my scope and aim, Thou hast carried away, and left me without scope or aim. That brother, who came to this strange city, Thou hast made his grave in the desert beside strangers. The season of the rose is come, and the place of Muhammad is in the dust, It is my place that through vexation I should lay my hand in the dust. Finally, O mine Eye! what hast thou seen that thou art gone from the world? That with thine eye covered thou art gone from my moist eye?
(P. 129)	To my dark eye there was light from thy face, The light is gone from my heart since thou art gone from my eye. Thou wast to my eye like the signet of a ring, In the end thou hast dropped from the ring like a signet-stone. My heart for no cause is glad in the world, A pity, in thousand pities, thou art gone sorrowful from the world. Thou pure spirit wast sore vexed at this halting-place, Thou tookest up thy baggage, and departest from this halting-place of sorrow. On thy heart from worldly matters there was no burden, All at once from worldly matters joyful and glad-hearted thou departest. From the cradle I was to thee, companion and friend, every moment, Why to the tomb art thou gone companionless and friendless? Thou art gone, and grief for thee will never go from this bewildered heart Sorrow for thee will never go from my heart, as long as my life goes not for sorrow for thee, Who is there that will tell me any news of thee? Shall any give news of the departed soul to the body?* News of the rose, that has dropped through the injury of autumn, Who is there, in short, that will tell it to the bird of the garden? Where is there a messenger who my sorrow and grief face to face One by one before thee gracefully will tell? Who shall tell to you my words with his tongue, and then For my consolation bring back the words from your tongue? I am strait-hearted, rosebud-like, and there is none present,
(P. 130)	Who will repeat to me a single letter from thee, O thou rosebud-mouthed. There are a hundred knots and tangles in this heart for love of thee, Who will tell to thee of this heart full of knots and tangles. Thou art gone afar, and there has come no one from thy country Who should tell me anything of thy state. I go, and on the top of thy tomb I take my station, That I may hear an answer from thee, and salute thee. I say, O thou unfound jewel what is thy state? With thy body wounded and helpless, what is thy state? Thou art in the sleep of death, and without thee a confusion* hath arisen, Awake, and lift up thy head from this sleep, what is thy state? Through separation from thee thy friends are in a very bad condition, O thou who remainest separate from thy friends, what is thy state? Thy friends through distance from thee are near to death, Far from company of companions what is thy state? Thy place was once in the Prayer-niche,* and now I see The niche left empty of thee, what is thy state? Without thee I drink the blood of my liver, ask me for once “In this drinking of blood what is thy state?” Over thy clay a hundred fresh roses have blossomed from my tears, Under the clay O thou fresh rose what is thy state? In such a woeful habitation who is nigh thee? The solacer of thy day, and friend of thy dark night who is he?
(P. 131)	O I am fallen far away from thy fair cheek, And I am fallen through thy absence into a hundred kinds of calamity. Thou art in the desert, while I remain in this strange city, O God! where art thou, and I am to what place have I fallen? Thou hast not gathered thy whole weight of roses, and I know not now. Why upon thee hath fallen a hundred hillocks of thorns and briars. I knew not the worth of thy presence, and this is the requital, That the day of retribution hath met with thee. I would have spent my soul in thy behalf, but what can I do? For thy business hath fallen under God's absolute decree. Thy date was: He said, When the cypress fell, ‘That erect cypress how suddenly it fell from its place!’* O Qádir wailing and crying doth not profit, Strive after prayer, for the turn is come for prayer. Ask of God, that his affairs be all laudable, And that God may be satisfied equally with him and thee. O Lord! may his passage be into thy garden of Paradise, May the tower of the highest Paradise be his resting-place. When into the garden of Paradise he passes unveiling his beauty, May Houris and boys be on his right hand and his left. In the dark night, when he purposed the journey to the other world, May the light of Islám be the lamp of his dark night. If there is no one who lights a lamp on his tomb,
(P. 132)	May the light of the mercy of God be the taper on his tomb. Since he has taken away his bosom from the bride the old women of Fate, May the fresh heavenly brides be in his bosom. Since after death no friend was with him, May the mercy of God moment by moment be his friend. The drops of tears, which men shed over him, May each drop become a pure pearl, and be devoted to him. To all eternity may his abode be the pinnacle of heaven, This prayer from me, and may from Gabriel come: Amen!