Puslapio vaizdai
PDF
„ePub“

Whither went the lovely hoyden?

Disappeared in blessed wife;

Servant to a wooden cradle,

Living in a baby's life.

Still thou playest; - short vacation Fate grants each to stand aside; Now must thou be man and artist,

'Tis the turning of the tide.

PAINTING AND SCULPTURE.

THE sinful painter drapes his goddess warm, Because she still is naked, being dressed: The godlike sculptor will not so deform

Beauty, which limbs and flesh enough invest.

FROM THE PERSIAN OF HAFIZ.

[ocr errors]

The poems of Hafiz are held by the Persians to be allegoric and mystical. His German editor, Von Hammer, remarks on the following poem, that, though in appearance anacreontic, it may be regarded as one of the best of those compositions which earned for Hafiz the honorable title of "Tongue of the Secret."

BUTLER, fetch the ruby wine

Which with sudden greatness fills us;

Pour for me, who in my spirit

Fail in courage and performance.

Bring this philosophic stone,
Karun's treasure, Noah's age;
Haste, that by thy means I open

All the doors of luck and life.

Bring to me the liquid fire

Zoroaster sought in dust:

To Hafiz, revelling, 'tis allowed

To pray to Matter and to Fire.

Bring the wine of Jamschid's glass,

Which glowed, ere time was, in the Néant;
Bring it me, that through its force

I, as Jamschid, see through worlds.
Wisely said the Kaisar Jamschid,

'The world's not worth a barleycorn :'
Let flute and lyre lordly speak;

Lees of wine outvalue crowns.

Bring me, boy, the veiled beauty,
Who in ill-famed houses sits:

Bring her forth; my honest name
Freely barter I for wine.

Bring me, boy, the fire-water;

Drinks the lion, the woods burn;

Give it me, that I storm heaven,

And tear the net from the archwolf.

Wine wherewith the Houris teach

Souls the ways of paradise!

On the living coals I'll set it,

And therewith my brain perfume.

Bring me wine, through whose effulgence

Jam and Chosroes yielded light;

Wine, that to the flute I sing

Where is Jam, and where is Kauss.

Bring the blessing of old times,—
Bless the old, departed shahs!

Bring me wine which spendeth lordship,
Wine whose pureness searcheth hearts;
Bring it me, the shah of hearts!

Give me wine to wash me clean

Of the weather-stains of cares,

See the countenance of luck.

Whilst I dwell in spirit-gardens,
Wherefore stand I shackled here?

Lo, this mirror shows me all!

Drunk, I speak of purity,

Beggar, I of lordship speak;

When Hafiz in his revel sings,

Shouteth Sohra in her sphere.

Fear the changes of a day:
Bring wine which increases life.

« AnkstesnisTęsti »