SAADI.

TREES in groves,

Kine in droves,

In ocean sport the scaly herds,
Wedge-like cleave the air the birds,

To northern lakes fly wind-borne ducks,
Browse the mountain sheep in flocks,

Men consort in camp and town,

But the poet dwells alone.

God, who gave to him the lyre,

Of all mortals the desire,

For all breathing men's behoof,
Straitly charged him, 'Sit aloof;'

Annexed a warning, poets say,

To the bright premium,

Ever, when twain together play,
Shall the harp be dumb.

Many may come,

But one shall sing;

Two touch the string,

The harp is dumb.

Though there come a million,

Wise Saadi dwells alone.

Yet Saadi loved the race of men,

No churl, immured in cave or den;

In bower and hall

He wants them all,

Nor can dispense

With Persia for his audience;

They must give ear,

Grow red with joy and white with fear;

But he has no companion;

Come ten, or come a million,

Good Saadi dwells alone.

Be thou ware where Saadi dwells;

Wisdom of the gods is he,

Entertain it reverently.

Gladly round that golden lamp
Sylvan deities encamp,

And simple maids and noble youth

Are welcome to the man of truth.

Most welcome they who need him most,

They feed the spring which they exhaust; For greater need

Draws better deed:

But, critic, spare thy vanity,

Nor show thy pompous parts,

To vex with odious subtlety

The cheerer of men's hearts.

Sad-eyed Fakirs swiftly say

Endless dirges to decay,

Never in the blaze of light

Lose the shudder of midnight;

Pale at overflowing noon

Hear wolves barking at the moon;

In the bower of dalliance sweet

Hear the far Avenger's feet;

And shake before those awful Powers, Who in their pride forgive not ours. Thus the sad-eyed Fakirs preach:

'Bard, when thee would Allah teach,
And lift thee to his holy mount,

He sends thee from his bitter fount
Wormwood, saying, "Go thy ways,
Drink not the Malaga of praise,
But do the deed thy fellows hate,
And compromise thy peaceful state;
Smite the white breasts which thee fed;
Stuff sharp thorns beneath the head
Of them thou shouldst have comforted;

For out of woe and out of crime

Draws the heart a lore sublime."

And yet it seemeth not to me
That the high gods love tragedy;

For Saadi sat in the sun,

And thanks was his contrition;

For haircloth and for bloody whips,

Had active hands and smiling lips;

And yet his runes he rightly read,
And to his folk his message sped.

Sunshine in his heart transferred

Lighted each transparent word,

And well could honoring Persia learn What Saadi wished to say;

For Saadi's nightly stars did burn

Brighter than Dschami's day.

Whispered the Muse in Saadi's cot:

'O gentle Saadi, listen not,

Tempted by thy praise of wit,

Or by thirst and appetite

For the talents not thine own,

To sons of contradiction.

Never, son of eastern morning, Follow falsehood, follow scorning. Denounce who will, who will deny, And pile the hills to scale the sky; Let theist, atheist, pantheist,

Define and wrangle how they list,