In mine own words but based on document.
There was an ancient man, hight Ázád Sarv,
Who erst lived with Ahmad, Sahl's son, at Marv.
A paladin in form and face was he,
And storied in the royal legendry.
His head was full of speech, his heart of lore,
His tongue of phrases of the days of yore.
From Sám, the son of Narímán, he drew
His line and many a fight of Rustam's knew.
What I received from him I will rehearse,
And interweave it, word with word, in verse.
If in this Wayside Inn I still shall bide,
With mind and wisdom acting as my guide,
I will complete this story of the past,
And then on earth my record too will last.
In his name then who hath made earth his own—
Mahmúd, that glory of the crown and throne,
Lord of Írán, Túrán, and Hind, through whom
The world hath grown to be like silk of Rúm!
He lavisheth his treasures which will be
Replenished by his fame and policy,
And he is mighty and in future ages
Will live upon the lips of all the sages.
The world is full of his memorials—
Wars, bounties, huntings, lore and festivals—
But they among mankind are blest the most,
Who look upon his crown, his court, and host.
Mine ears and feet begin to fail at length;
Old age and want have robbed me of my strength;
V. 1730
Misfortune hath so fettered me that I
Mourn stress of years and evil destiny;
Yet am I ever instant in the praise
Of our just world-lord all my nights and days,
And all the folk are one with me in that,
Though faithless and malign, for since he sat
Upon the royal throne he hath subdued
The hand of evil and the gate of feud,
Restraining him that doth presumptuously,
However overweening he may be,
While bountifully largessing the sage
That heedeth the prescriptions of his age.
I raise him in this world a monument,
Which, while men live, shall be still evident
In this my story of the Sháhs of old,
Of bygone horsemen and the great and bold,
Compact of feast and fight, of ancient lore
And rede, of many a gest of days of yore,
Of knowledge, Faith, of scruple and advice,
And guidance furthermore to Paradise.
Of all the things that earn our monarch's praise,
The things of chiefest profit in his days,
This best will serve to keep his memory rife,
And live as part and parcel of his life,
And I am hoping to live too till I
Receive his gold that, when I come to die,
I too may leave my monument with things
Drawn from the treasury of the king of kings.
And now I turn back to the words of Sarv,
The Light of Sahl, son of Máhán, at Marv.