(1)

“O Thou whose Beauty doth appear in all that appeareth, may a
thousand holy spirits be Thy sacrifice!
Like the flute I make complaint of my separation from Thee every
moment, and this is the more strange since I am not parted
from Thee for a single instant. *
It is Love alone which reveals itself in the two worlds, sometimes
through the raiment of the King, and sometimes through the
garment of the beggar.
One sound reaches thine ear in two ways; now thou callest it ‘Echo’
and now ‘Voice.’
Arise, O cupbearer, and graciously pour out a draught of that grief-
dispelling wine for the sorrow-stricken lovers!
Of that special wine which, when it delivers me from myself, leaves
in the eye of contemplation naught but God.
O Jámí, the road of guidance to God is naught but Love: [this] we
tell you, and ‘Peace be upon him who followeth right guidance.’”

The following is evidently inspired by and modelled on the well-known ode of Ḥáfiẓ composed in the same metre and rhyme:*

(2)

“O Breeze of Morning, visit the hills of Nejd for me and kiss them,
for the fragrance of the Friend comes from those pure camping-
grounds.
When the longing for union increases, what occasion for blame is
there if Majnún follows the litters in the hope of [finding amongst
them] Laylá's howdah?
My heart is filled with love for the Friend, who is not heedless
thereof, for they say ‘Hearts have a road to hearts.’
Behold, Salmá hath arrived from the road, while I am in such case
through bodily weakness; take, then, O comrade, my spirit as
a gift from me and accept it.
O cloud-like * eye, do not shed the rain of regret in her path, for it
is better that her horse's hoof should be far removed from the
plague of such mire.
In my heart were knotted a hundred difficulties through separation
from her; when I saw her form all difficulties were solved
forthwith.
Jámí suffers vexations from the harshness of this grievous cycle, but
fear of the wearisomeness of penitents did not prolong them.”

(3)

“Here is the border of the garden, the brink of the stream, and the
lip of the goblet: arise, O cup-bearer, for here abstinence is a
crime.
If the elder of the monastery is intoxicated with the delights of
music, give me the wine-tavern, for here this state endureth
continually!
Thou didst touch the lip of the goblet with thy lip, and I the drunkard
know not which is here thy ruby lip and which the wine.
Not my heart alone is bound in thy black tresses: wherever there is
a birdlike heart it is here caught in the snare.
Thou dost draw the sword to divide my heart in twain; lay aside
the sword, for here one glance is sufficient.
Do not explain the difficulties of Love to the reasonable; utter not
a private matter, for here is a public assembly.
Jámí is intoxicated with thy love, though he has seen neither wine
nor goblet: here is the Banquet of Love: what place is there
for wine or goblet?”

(4)

“The fair ones are a thousand, but of them all my desire is one; my
speech is one, though they cut me into a hundred pieces with
the sword.
The assembly of the beautiful is a pleasant meeting-place, but the
Moon whence this assembly derives its lustre is one.
For each pace of her advance we desire a different present, but we
fall short [of this our desire], for the soul in the body is [only] one.
I have grown so thin that, but for my lamentation and wailing, it
would not appear that there was anyone in this shirt.
Where the charming ruby [lips] of Shírín are glowing, rubies and
pebbles are alike in the eyes of [Farhád] the Tunneller.
It was thou of all the fair ones who didst shatter my name and fame;
yea, of a hundred Abrahams the breaker of idols is but one.
O Jámí, close thy mouth from speech in this garden, for there the
song of the nightingale and the shriek of the raven are one!”

This poem bears a great similarity, both in form and ideas, to an ode of unknown authorship of which I printed the opening lines with a verse translation in my Year amongst the Persians. * The fourth couplet appears to have been inspired by the well-known Arabic verses of al-Mu-tanabbí : * <text in Arabic script omitted>

“On the day of parting passion wore away my body with sorrow,
while separation effected a divorce between my eyelids and sleep.
[I am only] a spirit permeating [a body] like a splinter [in leanness],
no longer visible when the wind blows the garment away from it.
Thin enough is my body, for indeed I am a man whom thou wouldst
not see if I did not speak to thee.”

This is not an isolated instance of the influence of Arabian poetry on Jámí's Persian verse. Thus the line:

“I was of the company of dreg-drainers on that day
When there was [as yet] no trace of the vine or of the vine-planter”

is, as Mírzá Bihrúz has pointed out to me, almost certainly inspired by the celebrated couplet of the great Egyptian mystic 'Umar ibnu'l-Fáriḍ: * <text in Arabic script omitted>

“We drained a draught of wine to the memory of the Friend:
We were intoxicated therewith ere ever the Vine was created.”

Of the great Persian lyrical poets who preceded Jámí the influence of Sa'dí and Ḥáfiẓ is most noticeable; and in the verses sometimes known collectively as the Nay-náma, * or “Book of the Reed,” he has skilfully imitated the style and lucidly developed the idea of the Prologue to Jalálu'd-Dín Rumí's great Mystical Mathnawí. To conclude and epitomize in one sentence this wholly inadequate account of one who, though I decline to regard him as the last great classical poet of Persia, was certainly one of the most talented, versatile and prolific. In Jámí the mystical and pantheistic thought of Persia may be said to find its most complete and vivid expression; while, though he may have been equalled or even surpassed by others in each of the numerous realms of literature which he cultivated, no other Persian poet or writer has been so successful in so many different fields, and the enthusiastic admiration of his most eminent contemporaries is justified by his prolific and many-sided genius.