“When they had sailed their Vessel for a Moon
And marr'd their Beauty with the wind o' th' Sea,
Suddenly in mid Sea revealed itself
An Isle, beyond Description beautiful;
An Isle that all was Garden; not a Bird
Of Note or Plume in all the World but there;
There as in Bridal Retinue array'd
The Pheasant in his Crown, the Dove in her Collar;
And those who tuned their Bills among the Trees
That Arm in Arm from Fingers paralyz'd
With any Breath of Air Fruit moist and dry
Down scattered in Profusion at their Feet,
Where Fountains of Sweet Water ran, and round
Sunshine and Shadow chequer-chased the Ground.
Here Iram Garden seemed in Secresy
Blowing the Rosebud of its Revelation;
Or Paradise, forgetful of the Day
Of Audit, lifted from her Face the Veil.

Salámán saw the Isle, and thought no more
Of Further—there with Absál he sat down,
Absál and He together side by side
Rejoicing like the Lily and the Rose,
Together like the Body and the Soul.
Under its Trees in one another's Arms
They slept—they drank its Fountains hand in hand—
Sought Sugar with the Parrot—or in sport
Paraded with the Peacock—raced the Partridge—
Or fell a-talking with the Nightingale.
There was the Rose without a Thorn, and there
The Treasure and no Serpent to beware—
What sweeter than your Mistress at your side
In such a Solitude, and none to chide!”

The Tuḥfatu'l-Aḥrár, or “Gift of the Free,” is a didactic and moral poem of theological and ethical contents com- Tuḥfatu'l­Aḥrár prising, besides doxologies, eulogies of the Prophet, and Supplications to God (Munáját), twenty Maqálát or Discourses, of which the last*

is addressed to the poet's little son Yúsuf Ḍiyá'u'd-Dín, who was then only four years of age, while his father was sixty. Each discourse is, as a rule, followed by one or more illustra­tive anecdotes. In a short prose preface prefixed to the poem Jámí implies that it was inspired by the Makhzanu'l-Asrár (“Treasury of Mysteries”) of Niẓámí and the Maṭla'u'l-Anwár (“Dayspring of Lights”) of Amír Khusraw of Dihlí. The poem is on the whole dull and monotonous, and can­not be regarded as a favourable specimen of Jámí's work. As a specimen I give a prose translation of part of the author's above-mentioned address to his son, the original of which can be consulted by those who desire it in Forbes Falconer's printed text.*

(1615)

“O New Moon to the night of my hope, to whose Image the eye of
my fortune is a pledge!
The Crescent Moon arises after thirty days, while thou didst show
thy face after sixty years.
Thy years are four at the time of reckoning: may thy four be forty
and thy forty four! *
May each forty [years] of thine be quadraginta, * wherein, by know-
ledge and ecstasy, thou mayst explore the degrees of Perfection!
Thy name is the Yúsuf [Joseph] of the Egypt of Faith: may thy
title be the Light (Ḍiyá) of the Empire and of Religion!
With the pen which inditeth wisdom I write this Book of Wisdom
for thee.
Although thou hast not at present understanding of advice, when
thou attainest the age of understanding put it into practice.

Until the hair of thy face becomes a veil, set not thy foot outside the
house into the market and the street. *
Be the enchainer of thine own feet; be the [willing] prisoner of thine
own apartments (ḥaram).
Never carry thy goods from the companionship of thy house-fellows
to the doors of strangers.
The sight of a stranger is not auspicious, especially if his age exceed
thine.
If they set thee to work at school and place the tables of the alphabet
in thy lap,
Do not sit beside every low-born [school-fellow]: separate thyself
from all and sit alone.
Although the letter alif (<text in Arabic script omitted>) is not by itself of crooked stature, see how
crooked it becomes [in combination] as lam-alif (<text in Arabic script omitted>).
When thou placest thy slate in thy lap lift not up thy finger like an
alif therefrom.
Modestly hang thy head like the letter dal (<text in Arabic script omitted>); fix thine eyes upon
it like the letter ṣád (<text in Arabic script omitted>).
Smiling now at this one, now at that one, show not thy teeth like
the letter sín (<text in Arabic script omitted>).
Divide not thy heart with errant thoughts; be like the letter mím
(<text in Arabic script omitted>) too narrow-mouthed for speech.
Hearken not vainly to every kind of tittle-tattle, so that thou mayst
not suffer the pain of a box on the ear.
Take heed of right behaviour during the teacher's lessons, lest thou
become the little drum * of the school-room.
Although the [master's] slaps impart virtue, yet is it better if thou
dost not bring the affair to slapping!”

Excellent as this paternal advice (and there is much more of it) may be, it does not constitute what we should regard as suitable material for poetry, while here again the many fanciful conceits about the ethical lessons to be learned from the shapes of the letters of the alphabet make it diffi­cult to produce a tolerable translation even in prose.

The Subḥatu'l-Abrár, or “Rosary of the Pious” is a Subhatu'l­Abrár didactic poem of theological, mystical and ethical contents very similar to the last, equally lacking in coherence and even less attractive in form and matter. The following story of Abraham and the aged Fire-Worshipper, which also occurs in Sa'dí's Bústán, * and is the subject of some very lengthy reflections in Forbes's Persian Grammar, * where it is quoted amongst the extracts, may serve as a specimen.

<text in Arabic script omitted> <text in Arabic script omitted>

“One from a heathen temple took the road
And lodged as guest in Abraham's abode,
Who, seeing that his practice did accord
Ill with true faith, dismissed him from his board.
Beholding him a stranger to God's Grace,
The Fire-fane's smoke apparent in his face,
Bade him confess the Lord who doth bestow
Men's daily bread, or leave the board and go.
The aged man arose, and ‘Friend,’ quoth he,
‘Can Faith the vassal of the Belly be?’
With lips athirst and mouth unfilled with food
He turned away his face and took the road.
To Abraham a message from the skies
Came, saying, ‘O most fair in qualities!
‘Although that stranger held an alien creed,
‘Food to forbid him was no righteous deed.
‘For more than threescore years and ten, in fine,
‘He offered worship at a heathen shrine,

‘Yet ne'er did I his sustenance withhold,
‘Saying, “Thy heart is dead to faith and cold.”
‘What harm were it if from thine ample store
‘Some morsels thou shouldst give him, less or more?’
Abraham called him back, and did accord
A place to him at his most bounteous board.
‘This flood of grace,’ the aged man enquired,
‘After that first rebuff what thought inspired?’
He told the message which his act had banned,
And told him too of that stern reprimand.
‘To one,’ the old man said, ‘who thus can take
‘To task his servant for a stranger's sake
‘Can I endure a stranger to remain,
‘Or fail his love and friendship to attain?’
Unto the Source of Good he then addressed
His homage, and his faith in God professed.”

The story and the moral are admirable, but most Persian scholars will, I think, prefer Sa'dí's older to Jámí's later version.

The fifth of the “Seven Thrones,” the Romance of Yúsuf (Joseph) and Zulaykhá (Potiphar's wife), is by far the Yúsuf and Zulaykhá most celebrated and popular, and is also the most accessible both in the original and in trans­lation. The entire text, with German metrical translation and notes by Vincenz Edlem von Rosenzweig, was published in a fine folio volume at Vienna in 1824, and there are several Oriental editions of the text. * I have already alluded to the late Mr A. Rogers' English rhymed translation (1892) which cannot be described as happy; R. T. H. Griffith's earlier translation (1881) I have not seen. Of two fine passages on the nature of Beauty and its essential desire to manifest itself, and on love of the creature considered as the bridge leading to love of the Creator * I have published translations, originally in a lecture on Ṣúfíism contributed to the Religious Systems of the World * and again in part in vol. i of my Literary History of Persia (pp. 439 and 442).

The story itself, based on the Súratu Yúsuf (Qur' án xii), which describes it as “the most beautiful of stories,” is one of the most popular themes of romantic poetry in Persia and Turkey, and engaged the attention of the great Firdawsí after he had finished the Sháh-náma, and after him of a whole series of Persian poets. Of the Turkish renderings of the tale a pretty complete list will be found in a foot­note in the second volume of Gibb's History of Ottoman Poetry. * But of all these renderings of the well-known tale Jámí's deservedly holds the highest place, and on it his reputation largely rests. The text of the following trans­lation, which unfortunately is a very inadequate representa­tion of the original, occurs on p. 81 of von Rosenzweig's edition, ll. 19-42.

“This speech from Bázigha * when Joseph heard
From his sweet mouth came forth this living word:
‘That Master-craftsman's work am I,’ said he;
‘One single drop contents me from His Sea.
‘One dot is Heaven from His Pen of Power,
‘And from His Beauty's garth this world a flower.
‘The Sun's a gleam from out His Wisdom's Light,
‘The Earth's a bubble on His Sea of Might.
‘Each mundane atom He a Mirror made,
‘And His Reflection in each one displayed.
‘His Beauty from all faults and flaws is free,
‘Hid 'neath the Veil of what no eye can see.
‘Discerning eyes in all that's dowered with Grace
‘See naught, when well they look, except His Face. *
‘Beside the Prototype the Shadow's dim;
‘See His Reflection, haste thee unto Him.
‘If from the Prototype you stand bereft,
‘When fades the Shadow, naught to you is left.

‘Nor will the Shadow long remain with thee;
‘The Rose's colour hath no constancy.
‘Look to the Source, if permanence you claim;
‘Go to the Root, if constancy's your aim.
‘Can that which is, and soon is not again,
‘Make throb the heart, or twinge the vital vein?’”