Ushaq Nama_Sheikh Fakhruddin Iraqi

 

A. J. Arberry

Fakbru’d-din Ibrahim ibn ghahriyar of Hamadan, called ‘Iraqi, one of the greatest Persian poets of the 7/13th century, has unaccountably been neglected by scholars and litterateurs, both occidental and oriental. The only published edition of his poems is a lithographed text, abounding in inaccuracies and based on a Very faulty manuscript, which was issued by the Newal Kishore Press at Cawnpore in 1 9. Of his Lama'at, a famous mystical treatise in rhymed prose and verse on Divine Love, on which many commentaries were written, a lithographed edition exists, which I have never seen.

An admirable account of the poet, together with a biography based on native sources, is given by E. 6. Browne, Literary History of the Persians, III, pp. 124-39. This notice also contains most felicitous renderings of some of ‘Iraqi’s lyrics, and of the first “Flash” of the Lama‘at. Since the present book includes the Persian text and an abridged translation of a hitherto unpublished biography of ‘Iraqi,  it is unnecessary in this place to elaborate his life further.

Besides the Diwan and Lama'at already referred to, ‘Iraqi wrote a long poem, in mathnawi with giazal interspersed, which is now critically edited for the first time.  The title of this work is variously given as 'Ushshaq-ndmah, "Ishq-namah, and Dah fasl : of these titles the first has perhaps the best authority It is a treatise, in ten chapters, on the subject of Divine Love the mystical-philosophical discourse being illustrated ant enlivened with anecdotes of famous mystics and others, afte the usual fashion of the mystical mathnaiui. The genre to whicl the poem belongs has a long and interesting history, which ha been traced by H. Ritter in his admirable article (Philologika VII) in Der Islam, XXI, pp. 89- 9. ‘Iraqi’s poem is the earlies extant versified treatise on this theme, unless indeed the ‘Ishq namah attributed to Sana’! is to be accounted genuine.        It se a fashion, followed by various writers in Persian and Turkish most notably the famous satirist ‘Ubaid i Zakanl,8 himself i figure who deserves more attention than he has hitherto received readers may now judge for themselves of the merit o ‘Iraqi’s poem, which has won from H. Ritter the epithe “reizvolle”. The English version aims at being tolerabb faithful and literal. It was hopeless to attempt to rhyme th translation throughout, and besides the contrast between blanl verse and rhyme in English appeared to correspond not unfairly with the contrast between mathnawl and gb&zal in the original The author writes with a certain sly humour, manifesting itsel notably in meiosis, and this figure has, it is hoped, been retainec in the version. Nowhere in the poem does ‘Iraqi attain the heights of pure lyric achieved in some of his more famous verses; nevertheless he always writes with a fluency, and sometimes with a rhetoric, characteristic of himself.

In establishing the text, four manuscripts have been collated, that is, all that appear to be extant, with the exception of the British Museum MS. Add. 7749, which was examined and found to be of no critical importance.  It cannot be claimed that the text is in all respects satisfactory, and this is inevitable seeing that the oldest manuscript now extant (A) was written more than a century after the poet’s death. The tradition of A has generally been made the basis of this edition, though in some places where A stood alone the reading of the majority has been adopted. The appended table of Sigla sets forth the available material.

It is a pleasure to acknowledge with gratitude my deep obligation to Dr. Ritter, who most generously put at my disposal his own copy of A, partly collated with R. At the conclusion of his article previously mentioned he writes: “Mochte wenigstens die eine oder die andere der aufgefuhrten Schriften den gadiq finden, der ihr zu dem sehr bendtigten Brautgewande einer wissenschaftlichen Edition verhilft”. The present publication is a small attempt to fulfil that desire. I am most grateful to the Committee of the Islamic Research Association, and espe-cially to Mr. A. A. A. Fyzee and Mr. W. Ivanow, for their kindness in undertaking to publish this work, and for their valuable advice and assistance.

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BIOGRAPHY.

It is said that the poet was bom in the village of Kamajan, in the district of Hamadan. His ancestors were all men of learning and consequence. A month before his birth, his father dreamed that he saw the Caliph ‘All with a company of the pious assembled in a garden, and himself standing there. A man came forward and placed a child on the ground before the Caliph: the latter picked up the child, and calling the poet’s father to him, gave the child into his arms, saying, “Take our ‘Iraqi, and tend him well, for he will be world-famous”. So overjoyed was the father, that he awoke from his sleep.

“When ‘Iraqi was bom”, he used to say, “I looked at his face, and perceived that he appeared to be the very child which the Caliph ‘Ali had given me”.

At the age of five ‘Iraqi was sent to school. Within nine months he had committed the Qur’an to memory: at night he would recite in a plaintive voice the portion which had been his task that day, thereafter weeping awhile, until all who heard his melodious intonations were unable to control themselves for astonishment. Every night his neighbours waited for him, and would not sleep before they heard his recitation. He was attended day and night by a following of his fellow-pupils: a strong bond of affection was forged between him and them, so that they could not be apart for a moment. By his eighth year, his fame had spread throughout Hamadan, and his evening readings of the Qur’an were attended by multitudes.

One day he happened to be reciting the Sura Taha, his portion for that day. A number of Jews were passing at the moment when he reached the verse, “And so do we reward the prodigal, who believeth not in the signs of his Lord. Surely, the punishment of the world to come is more severe and enduring”. (S. xx, 127.) Three of the Jews stood and listened, and then came 

into the mosque, and falling at ‘Iraqi’s feet accepted Islam gladly at his hand. The whole population of the city assembled, and escorted them with great honour through the streets, giving them untold wealth: they however would not accept a pennyf but coming to their homes expounded the faith to their people and children, so that five of their kinsfolk were likewise converted.

When he was seventeen, and had acquired an understanding of all the sciences, having studied all things well, and being himself already an instructor to others, it chanced that a company of wandering Kalandars came into the city and began to hold seance, chanting the following ode melodiously and sweetly:

Now have we quit the temple, and unto taverns turned, Yea, we have rent faith’s pages, the book of virtue burned; Within the rank of lovers in Beauty’s street we sit, Seizing the cup of drunkards, filling and swilling it. Hereafter let us glory, while breath doth yet abide, For we have raised to heaven the banner of our pride: Of piety and purpose much labour we have known, Let piety and purpose alike aside be thrown.

Hearing them recite these lines, ‘Iraqi was deeply stirred. His glance fell upon a boy of matchless beauty who stood in the midst of the Kalandars: he at once lost his heart to him, and stripping off his cloak and turban he gave himself up to the Kalandars, reciting the poem which begins:

How sweet it were, if I might be thy lover, Thy dear companion, and familiar friend!

If but thy loving glance on me might hover, My joy would fill the world, and have no end.

After some time, the Kalandars left Hamadan for Isfahan. As soon as they were gone, the poet was filled with yearning for them. Throwing away his books, and forgetting all his learning, he followed after them on the road. They received him with great joy into their fraternity, and he continued with them on their wanderings, through Persia, and afterwards to India.

At Multan they halted at the hospice of Baha’u’d-Din Zakariya Multan!,1 and were received by him and had the honour of kissing his hands. That saint, gazing at the company, at once observed ‘Iraqi,

“That young man has talent”, he remarked to his friend Tmftdu’d-Dln. “ He should stay here. ”

‘Iraqi told his companions of the attraction which he felt for the saint, and bade them depart quickly, before he was constrained to remain.

So they departed, and came to Delhi, where they stayed awhile. Thereafter they set forth for Sumanat; but on the sixth day there was a storm, and he with one other became separated from the rest. After wandering lost that day and night, they came on the morrow to the gates of Delhi. For some days they stayed in the city, but when no news of his companions came, ‘Iraqi resolved to return to Baha’u’d-Din, and to this end consulted with his companion. The latter, however, refused to join him preferring to stay in Delhi.

When ‘Iraqi came to the hospice, the saint received him.

“Iraqi”, he said, “you fled from us”.

‘Iraqi then recited:

My heart doth never flee from thee,

Since thou art all my life to me, But cleaving to thy loving breast The milk of tenderness I taste.

At once the saint set him in a cell. For ten days ‘Iraqi sa therein, admitting nobody. On the eleventh day, overcome bj his emotion, he wept aloud and sang:

The wine wherewith the cup they first filled high

Was borrowed from the Saqi’s languorous eye.

The inmates of the hospice ran and told the saint what was passing. Now this order followed the rule of ghihabu’d-Din Suhrawardi,1 whose favoured pupil Baha’u’d-Dln was; and Suhrawardi’s rule was, that the devotee should only occupy himself with the recitation of the Qur’an and the expounding of Tradition. The other brothers therefore viewed ‘Iraqi’s behaviour with disapproval, and complained to the saint. He however replied that this was prohibited indeed to them, but not to. him.

Some days later, ‘Imadu’d-Din, passing through the bazaar, observed that this poem was being recited to the accompaniment of music. Visiting the taverns, he found the same thing there. On his return, he reported this to the saint, recounting what he had heard as far as the lines

Why should they seek to hurt ‘Iraqi’s fame,

Since they themselves their secrets thus proclaim ? 2

“His affair is complete”, said the saint; and arising he went to the door of ‘Iraqi’s cell.

‘“Iraqi”, he called, “do you make your prayers in taverns ? Come forth I ”

The poet came out of his cell, and laid his head at the saint’s feet, weeping. The latter raised his head from the ground, and would not suffer him to return to his cell, but taking off the mystic robe set it upon him. He also betrothed his daughter to him, and that same evening their marriage was celebrated. Of the union a son was born, named Kabiru’d-Din.

‘Iraqi remained in the saint’s service for twenty-five years. When his time was come, he sent for ‘Iraqi, and appointed him his successor in the order: he then passed over to the divine mercy. When the other brethren saw this, they were moved to jealousy and hatred. They chose among themselves messengers ’ to present their case before the Sultan.

“This person”, the messengers said, “whom the saint has chosen for his successor does not preserve his rule, but spends all his time reciting poetry, in the company of young boys”.

The Sultan, who had long hated the order, seized this opportunity for wreaking his vengeance. He at once sent a messenger to find ‘Iraqi: the latter forthwith said farewell to the brethren. Heedless of those who sought his life, a few of his friends, men of purity and faithfulness, determined to accompany his flight. So the company set forth, taking the road to the sea, for it was in their minds to come to Mecca.

When they reached the borders of ‘Oman, news of their approach was carried to the Sultan of that country: for the history and verses of the poet had spread to those parts. The Sultan gladly made ready to receive them, and with a company of notables went out to meet ‘Iraqi. When the travellers arrived, the Sultan gave them to drink with his own hand, and setting ‘Iraqi on his personal mount brought him and his companions with honour and respect into the city. There the Sultan lodged them in his own hospice, and they received suitable attention. ‘Iraqi was appointed Chief Shaykh of the district, and was attended by all the local ulema, Sufis, and men of piety.

When some time had passed, and the travellers had rested from the fatigue of their journey, since now the season of the Pilgrimage was drawing near, they sought leave of the Sultan to depart. Observing, however, that he was unwilling to let them go, they set forth secretly, putting their faith in God. The Sultan, hearing of this, desired to follow after them; but as he mounted his horse the beast stumbled, and threw him. He therefore returned, but sent a number of notables after them with much moneys, bidding them expose his case to ‘Iraqi, and make all efforts to persuade him to return. If he was willing, well; if not, then they must give those poor presents to his servants, to provide for the journey. However, the messengers went by one way, ‘Iraqi and his party by another.

Wherever they went, they were received with honour. At last they joined the Hejazi caravan, and putting on the robes of purification they duly performed the Pilgrimage. This over, they bade farewell to the sacred territory, leaving three of their numbers to reside there. The remainder joined a party of Syrians, and took the road to Damascus.

‘Iraqi with two disciples journeyed on to Rum, passing through all the parts of that country, until they came to the great saint Sadru’d-Din Qonawi.  He was expounding the Fu$u$ al-hikam   to a class of students, and ‘Iraqi himself derived great benefit from his instruction, as well as from the study of al-Futuhatul-JMakkiya.  Sadru’d-Din conceived a great affec¬tion for ‘Iraqi, and believed in him more and more as the days passed.

Each day ‘Iraqi, as he heard Qdnawi’s lectures, on the FU$U8, composed his Lama‘at  : when the book was completed, he submitted it to his master. Sadru’d-Din read it: then, kissing the pages, and putting them against his eyes, “ ‘Iraqi”, he said, “you have published the secret of men’s words”. Now the Lama? at is really the pith of the FU$M.

‘Iraqi captured the minds of all in Rum, and many became his disciples and believers. Among those who believed in him was Amir Mu ‘inu’d-Din, the Parwana.  He had a great affection for the poet, and believed in him completely, and often requested him to choose a place for him to make a dwelling where he might lodge. ‘Ir&qi however refused, being engaged with his own devotions: but finally the Parwana built a hospice at Duq&t. It is said that the Parwana would not add to the score of his life any day on which he did not visit ‘Iraqi.

So matters continued, until Mu‘inu’d-Din fell from the Emperor’s favour. Knowing at once that circumstances had changed, he came at night to ‘Iraqi, bringing with him a purse filled with gold. This he laid before the poet, saying, “This is all the money that I have saved during my term of office in Rum. Now they are seeking my life, and I see that fortune has turned against me. ”

‘Iraqi wept, and the Parwana also lamented. After some time, the latter said, “You know that I have a beloved son in prison in Cairo. If you pass that way after I am dead, please try to secure his release, using some of this money. If you succeed, do not leave him out of your sight for an instant, but let him wear the mystic robe, and do not suffer him to have any ambition for secular power. If, however, his release is unattainable, then spend the money in whatever way you think fit.”

After Mu'inu’d-Din’s death, ‘Iraqi, being warned of the machinations of his enemies, set out for Cairo, taking the purse with him. In Cairo he lodged in the Salihlya hospice, where he rested for three days. He then began his search for the Parwana’s son, intending to plan his release, but found no means of doing so. At last, he took the purse and presented himself at the gate of the Sultan’s palace, begging an audience.

The Sultan, being informed by his attendants, ordered them to admit him, after first searching him for weapons. Having examined him and found no arms upon him, they brought the poet into the royal presence. He salaamed to the Sultan, and laid the purse before him, and then stood in his place. The

Sultan gazed on him, and knew at once that he was a great man: making him sit down, he asked him the meaning of the purse.

“It is a trust”, ‘Iraqi replied. “I do not know what it is.” The Sultan signed for the purse to be opened and emptied.

It was filled with jewels of incalculable worth. The Sultan looked from ‘Iraqi to the jewels, and from the jewels to ‘Iraqi, and then asked for details. ‘Iraqi explained that the purse had been entrusted to his charge by Mu‘inu’d-Din, and told the whole story from beginning to end. The Sultan was amazed that any man, having such wealth in his hands, should bring it all to him, without appropriating anything for himself. The poet, aware of what was passing in the Sultan’s mind, began to expound the verse, “Say, the goods of this world are of little worth: the world to come is better for him who fears God, and ye shall not be wronged an iota” (S. iv, 79). The Sultan was amazed, and leaving his throne sat down before ‘Iraqi, listening to his discourse. That day he wept more, it is said, than in all his life before. He commanded Mu ‘inu’d-Din’s son to be fetched, and treated him with affection, giving him the rank of prince, and ordering that he should have a personal bodyguard of two men, a daily stipend of  0 dirhams, and that all his desires should be granted. ‘Iraqi he appointed Chief Shaykh of Cairo, and commanded that his appointment should be pro¬claimed forthwith; that on the morrow he should be enthroned, and that all the Sufis and ulema should come to court in honour of the occasion.

The following day, a thousand Sufis, as well as all the ulema and notables of Cairo, came to court. The Sultan gave order that ‘Iraqi should be mounted on his own horse, and clothed in robes of honour and a hood. He also decreed that he alone should be mounted, and that the others, notables, ulema and generals alike, should walk at his stirrup. When ‘Iraqi perceived the respect paid to him, he thought within himself that no man in that age had ever been treated in that fashion; and pride over¬came him. At once, however, be wrestled with his pride, and xxi casting to the ground both hood and head-cloth, stood still for a time: then he put them on his head again.

When the assembled company remarked this, they all began to laugh and find fault, saying, “How is such a man deserving of rank?” Others said, “He is mad”, and others, “He is a buffoon”, all ridiculing him. The vizier said to him, “Why did you do that ? ” But he replied, “Hold your tongue: what do you know ? ”

News of this was at once carried to the Sultan. The next day he sent for ‘Iraqi, and asked for an explanation of his conduct. The poet said, “Pride overcame me. If I had not acted in that manner, I should never have escaped from the consequences of my sin. ” This increased the Sultan’s faith in him, and he doubled his emolument.

It is said that the Sultan instructed his servants that ‘Iraqi should always be admitted, whenever he might call on him; if he was with his harem, he should be sent for at once, or if he was asleep, he should be awakened immediately.

The poet remained awhile in Cairo, and then desired to go to Damascus. His intention was reported to the Sultan, who summoned him and forbade him to go. ‘Iraqi however spoke with the Sultan and won him over: he only stipulated that he should wait long enough to permit him to make all arrangements. ‘Iraqi would not delay, and so the Sultan ordered a pigeon to be sent, so that at each station the poet might be received with honour. He also wrote to the Maliku’l-umara’ apprising him of ‘Iraqi’s approach, and saying that all the ulema, Sufis and notables of Damascus should go out to meet him; that he should be appointed Chief Shaykh of the district; and that a regular allowance should be paid to his servants.

‘Iraqi’s approach to Damascus was notified to the Maliku’l- umara’, and he made proclamation that all the population should go out to receive him. All gladly complied. Now the Maliku’l- umara’ had a very beautiful boy. When ‘Iraqi arrived, and saw him, he at once lost his heart to him, and before all the people placed his head at the boy’s feet. The boy did likewise to him, and the Maliku’l-umara’ consented. The Damascenes criticized the poet’s behaviour, but could find no grounds of accusation against him.

Six months passed. Then ‘Iraqi’s son Kabiru’d-Din came to visit his father; for although he was sitting in the seat of Baha’u’d-Dln Zakariya, yet he was drawn by the attraction of parental love, and left the hospice, to the groat regret of the brethren, who would have prevented his departure, but for a dream in which it was revealed to them that they must let him go.

So for a time Kabiru’d-Din enjoyed his father’s company. But then ‘Iraqi was stricken by a fatal illness, a bloody swelling overcoming his face. Five days he slept, and on the sixth he called for his son and his companions, and with tears in his eyes bade them farewell, reciting the verse, “The day on which a man shall flee from his brother, and his mother, and his father” (S. Ixxx, 34-5). Then he spoke the quatrain:

When by Decree this world was first begun Not after man’s desire the deed was done;

But of the portion on that Day assigned

None shall win more, nor any less hath won.

So he conversed awhile, until he drank the cup of fate and passed from this perishing realm to the everlasting shore. The Maliku’l-umara’ and the people of Damascus all gathered to pay their last respects to the dead, and with much lamentation buried him in the Salihlya cemetery. For three days they mourned him, and on the fourth appointed his son Kabiru’d-Din as his successor. He also in turn passed over to the divine mercy, and was buried by his father’s side.

 

THE SONG OF LOVERS.

(1)

Whatever man hath life and spirit’s breath must surely bear life’s anguish: wherefore praise illimited be unto Him ascribed Who, sole Creator of the universe, unsired, unchilded, everlasting, one, in essence pure of every blemish free, is only God, no other god beside. Sovrain in power, mighty, without stain, He made and knows the hidden and the seen.

  Our Lord is ever glorious, great His might: within His hand, since nature’s origin, He holds creation, His omnipotence has every being vanquished. From the founts of power creative the Artificer brought forth the several species true to type, and after forty days in perfect form produced them visible: on forty dawns the cup was passed, whereof each spirit drew life*giving draughts. His Word eternal rang:

  “Be, and it is”—though word was uncreated.. Then made He time and space, to fill the modes of elements and tempers: in this world of being and decay He fashioned life instinct with hope that, being born of Him, it shall to Him return. Of seven sires and mothers four, three children came to birth: earth, water, air and fire His purpose wrought, our frames He fashioned out of opposites;

to soul He gave a quickening power, the body in length breadth depth He formed, the one to light aspiring and communion with Him, the other into outer darkness cast. When of dark earth the body’s clay was made, with spirit’s light He next illumined it: at the beginning so He fashioned man receptive unto knowledge, giving him of His great bounty such an instrument whereby he may determine good from ill. He gave him wit, within a world of form,  to apperceive beneath the seeming cloak

the real, and grasp it. When the Pen was drawn, and man had life, “Work ye to righteousness” He did command. We all imperfect are: He perfect is alone, and glorious for evermore, His unity supreme

above imagining, His wondrous work beyond analysis. I do not say, He is the soul’s soul: whatsoe’er I say, that He transcends, for He is free of space, and may not be attained by swiftest thought

or furthest sense. Before His essence true denial, affirmation, both are vain.

Whatever thing is borne by sense to mind or shaped in fantasy, be all the fruit or all the rind, all has its life in Him, nay, all is He. Whatever else but Him in either world appears is but the double descried in image by the twisted eye. His Word is first and last: He of creation  outward and inward is. The body’s house is lighted through the spirit’s open door by radiance divine. He is the light of heaven and earth, Hia everlasting ray the Holy Spirit. Whosoe’er has light within his soul, the ground thereof is light;

within the lantern’s glass the niche of night to radiant mom is turned, and when the soul sits thus with light, thereafter the heart’s steel contacting it is quickened into flame.

  So made the Friend similitude twixt light and fire, and from that day our lot was cast. When the Beloved His face doth show, my sight augments to vision. Never human eye hath won pre-excellence above the glance irradiated by the light of God: if thou wilt only thine own sight regard, thine eye sees not, save by the light of God.

If thou wouldst serve the Friend, and win His grace, He is thine eye, thine ear, thy tongue, thy brain;

  and since through Him thou speakest, and through Him hearest, before His Being thou art naught; for so, when shines the sun’s own radiance, the light of stars is darkened. Never man of his own purpose unto Him hath won, yet by His power thou canst behold His face: though earth may not attain the pure world, soul shall yet by Soul perceive. The shaft of thought that silences the shout of alleluia is honey to the heart, and I am dumb:

OF PURIFYING THE HEART.

His secret in the heart where certainty or doubt holds sway is sum of unbelief or nurse of faith: this world the mirror is of His fair beauty, and the glass thereof holds being and not-being. Make thy heart a mirror; gaze therein; yet do not keep the glass obscured: not every shining thing 

serves for a mirror. Polish off the rust that stains thy inward mirror, and so come into the palace of the King of Beauty. Glass-like, let all thy body be an eye, and thy soul’s vision shall be radiant: turn back on self, and haply thou shalt be as in a mirror face to face with Him.

Now hear a fancy strange and rare. The sun is as the Friend’s light, and the lover’s heart is like the gleaming moon’s celestial disk (0 sweet portrayal!)—so light infinite floods down upon the moon, being near the sun. Upon which fashion if a man beholds the Friend at hand, his eye is his heart’s door; but when the eye no radiance of itself possesses, of the sun it knows but scorching. The sun’s light in this world is manifest, and if the bat descries it not, the fault is in the bat’s eye: let it bum and blaze, the bat will not perceive it. Though the eye lacks light, yet it beholds all distant things; is still, except thou questest; does not see, save thou attainest. On the foot of self I cannot tread this path, unless thou too art passing: verily, no man hath seen tiie furthest borders of this wilderness save with the soul’s eye; yet hath the eye a link with the eternal, and in the bazaar

* of the unending Kingdom is a coin. Within the vasty spaces of this world the coin of God’s grace has currency. Beside His might the Throne is but an ant, the mind before His unity doth flee, and at His door the wise, as heedless, cry “Lord, we have wronged ourselves. ” Upon His way 

such as have knowledge learn the trade of woe, and suffering, and forbearance. Intellect, acts, definition, quiddity, are naught within the path of His divinity, yet in the shadow of that radiance rare far set from spissitude the eye doth walk: though love requireth little intellect,

  love dwells beyond the intelligible world.

Light dwells not in the garb of every lamp, nor in the cavities of every brain

lurks hidden. So, if thou wouldst comprehend the mystery of lovers, soar beyond the summits of imagination; free the brain from barren labours; rise, and strike the bargain of “I reck not”. When, 0 when wilt thou shake off the bonds of reasoned proof and free thyself from prison ? Now erase   the tablets of these tempers, and rehearse the alphabet of holy ordinance.

(3)

DESCRIBING THE LORD OF MESSENGERS.

Turn now from pestilence of unbelief to faith, and see the Prophet’s perfect proof. Seal of the prophets, messenger of guidance, Gabriel’s companion, confidant of God, purpose and aim eternal, first and last— first in creation, yet born last in time— king'of the palaces of bounteous being, quest of all knowledge, knowing well the quest, preserver of the page whereon is written

  the meaning of the heart, himself the spring from which the heart draws life-blood, anchorite of God’s own cloister, having all the knowledge of God’s Qur’an, he only wore the raiment

of love divine, and to his exaltation the heavens bowed: Lord of all being he, who came within two bows’ length of his God. When his faith’s arrow winging strikes the butt, the skies shout joy. A hundred sciences his holy law through this chameleon world   has scattered: Canopus his slave, the sun his servant, dawn his face, his hair the night.

(4)

OF THE EXCELLENCE OF THE RIGHTEOUS CALIPHS.

Companions four he had, who led the faith and merit approbation; in his life they were his friends, and followed after him in faultless sway. Folly of ignorance born names this one friend, the other enemy: if this be all thy knowledge, thou art lost in vain conceit. Divorce such evil fancies: what knowest thou of matters such as this, why one before the other bore the rule ?

  Since thou art ignorant how this affair was best arranged, why disapprovest thou in self-opinionated bigotry ?

Consider all things well; be not a fool; could a Companion, chosen of the Prophet, be else than well ? Their sacred resting-places open a thousand gates to Paradise.

(5)

• ADVICE TO THE COMMONS.

How long, thou sluggard, drunken with the sleep of ignorance, how long wilt thou give ear to an unseemly teacher ? Shall the blind guide thee upon this path to thy desire ?

Saddle the beast of intellect and knowledge, and quit the gates of foolish superstition. One moment free thyself of every thing, open one hour thine eye, one instant pass from past and future, for a twinkling gaze   upon the world of self. Sleeper, how long waitest thou ? Lo, already thy companion hath marched a stage: now wherefore dost thou seek within the world ? Since thou art gone astray, what is thy quest ? 0 thou that slumberest, open thine eye, and haply thou shalt find in self thy quest. How long the barren toil that profits others, heedless of thyself?

Wilt thou not look at last upon thy soul nor pass away from self, thou canst not gaze   with perfect vision, nor discriminate

’twixt union and separation. God made thee not wholly flesh, to eat, to sleep; within this form of feeble fundament there lives a soul, its meaning: know this well. Why, like the cow that hangs its head before, or like a sheep, art thou content to be the wolf’s prey of the flesh ? Thy body’s clay is but a carpet for the blackened dust: thy heart and soul, the crown of heaven’s arch.

  When fate at last shall hurl its battering-ram against the spirit’s battlement of form, then shall the core be severed from the rind, then shall the soul be gathered to the Friend. 0 fool, that heedest not thy soul’s salvation, when at the last to that place thou retumest whence thou hast come, thy God will question thee: “0 reckless sinner, didst thou boast of manhood ?

Where is the profit now of form and spirit ? ” One day, within the palace of the King, thou wilt desire reward for work undone: whoever gave his heart to worldly things shall gain eternal torment; every heart that hungers after fleshly joys, augments in fleshly might, but wanes in power of soul. What man is faithless to his stewardship of spirit, may not be the treasurer of clay and water, vital coin of God.

Pearls are not cast before swine, and this high truth may not to all be spoken: lovers know this station, and are fitted for this toil.

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DESCRIBING THE TEN CHAPTERS.

When that my spirit, entering the world of heart, had pleasure of it, and was great, within my body, by the grace of God, a spiritual being grew to birth.

Since passion through affection tempered grew, love was the midwife that received the child.

I saw it newly come into the world, a sweet delight, well-formed; in swaddling-bands of love I wrapped it, and in warm desire cradled it; at the breast of purest thought for two full years I gladly suckled it;

so, day and night, its nourishment was passion. Though but a babe, it was the guide of lovers. Its form was beauteous, even as its spirit, unmarred by vain adornment, void of blemish. No eye beheld it, ev’n in sleep; its face was never seen by moon or sun; no light of day e’er crossed the threshold of its door, ne’er was its shadow cast upon the earth: safe in the chamber of security it lay close-guarded. Meanings infinite 

undreamed of by its fashioner lie hid beneath its form. The wine of its desire hath made me drunk, for verily it is my own sweet darling. Honoured evermore its lighting-place hath been, since it hath trod in the Friend’s street. It is a dear companion, silent in turn, and sweet of speech; in word and meaning excellent; its flowing verse   a fountain is of love; a thousand blooms its season brings, that make it now a bower and now a garden; verses blank and rhymed, like to its fables, soft and sweet to hear. So footless in the world it makes its way, and tongueless sings the praises of the Lord.

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IN PRAISE OF THE MINISTER.

Almighty God in every age of earth a citadel of happiness doth build wherein He sets His throne, and there exalts a king to sit supreme: a sanctuary for all the world He makes there, and illumines the eye of empire with that capital.

Its shadow is the radiance of compassion: foursquare it stands, and faces every way, perfecting rule terrestrial and supernal   and ordering the universe aright.

The royal throne is its authority, the faith its cause: when it is noised abroad the age is blessed therewith, from every lip mount up the prayers, that God may ever guard. Behold then manifestly in this cycle the presence of the lord of earth and time, champion of faith, most mighty ruler, pride of all Arabia, Persia’s comeliness, the Asaf of this age, earth’s chancellor, the Emperor’s appointed Minister, Captain of all the captains of the earth, the Man of Destiny—he, Saad ed-Deen I Never his like within this hostelry of being and decay was bom. By him the ship of state is steered: felicity supreme attends his blest nativity, empire and faith in him are glad; the rule of wisdom through his tender care stands firm. His shadow is an azure vault that spans a million worlds: his justice decks the earth like Iram’s garden, fair, and kind, and good. His loving bounty fills the hungry mouth, his generosity outstrips desire; his hand is like a rain-cloud, showering pearls of lustre rare upon the earth beneath.

His nature is a pearl (this realm the shell) which from the ocean of his bounteousness is cast like foam: his grand munificence and generous giving, caring not to have, leave small remainder of his treasuries. His kindly glance transmutes to honey sweet the bitter poison of the adder’s tongue.

His balanced temperament, of light compounded, abhors all sinful and forbidden lusts.

His essence pure, full rich in learned lore, needs not the pen of fulsome adulation: whatever attribute by artful tongue is unto him ascribed, a hundred times falls short of fact. What needs the lovely face of art’s adornment, that itself bejewels its proper beauty ? Does his essence pure lack any grace, that I should pray to God to grant it ? Gem of mine, and sea of justness,

his rank transcendeth honour. Light of glory that shineth as the sun! Sublime perfection, foil radiance of the moon! Thy judgment lights a lamp of peace and safety, and illumines the whole wide world. Thy court is ever thronged by concourse of the learned, and the shadow   of God is manifested in thy light.

May every arrow winged by hand of force speed swiftly to its mark, thy foeman’s heart: and may thy form so grace the eye of meaning that every enemy shall blinded be I

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COUNSEL TO KINGS.

Thus spake the wise preceptor of the world: “Two things there be that mark the perfect man.

The first, to learn of God, for this is life unto the reasoning soul; to make alive the spirit’s self by learning, and to scour the stain of sin by learning from the soul: of what the faith prohibits to beware, to taste the fruits of the true fear of God. Second, not heedless of the realm to be ;  companioned by the righteous and the shrewd, in justice to administer affairs

with kindliness and harshness, each in place; to seek the counsel of religious men, eschewing all offence; with heart and soul, in secret and in open, constantly the rank of godly people to desire.” These noble virtues, which our fathers had, now grace in turn our Ruler’s Minister who, in these days, by God’s good providence

  within this empire bears authority: consultant he of every skilfol man, compound from head to foot of purest light. The banner of his perfect wit and knowledge waves o’er the kingdom of intelligence; his wisdom, and his knowledge infinite, his rule—did ever fire and water flow within one channel ? Never evil eye be cast upon his beauty and perfection, and may prosperity attend him still!

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STORY OF ALEXANDER AND ARISTOTLE.

When Alexander from his royal seat set forth, intent to seek the Fount of Life, upon that quest and second expedition he was attended by the Grecian sage— men say he was his constant minister, advising him in all the realm’s affairs. Thus to his monarch Aristotle spake:

“May our king live forever. When the wind is mastered to thy sway, as long as life  lasts in this world, so long may thy life be ! ” Hearing which blessing, Alexander cried: “Philosopher, this prayer is worthy, true: but pity ’tis, ’tis quite impossible ! ” Then to the ruler signified the sage how he should dwell forever in the world: “What men are evil, their acts die with them, and only good repute attains the Fount of Life. No creature is, that lives for aye: he ever lives whose name is everlasting.”

  The man of mind, who knows all mysteries of time, how shall he win to taste the fount of immortality ? Yet in this world whatever man obtains a good repute doth weave the robe of everlasting life;

and whoso rules a realm of faith and knowledge has found the springhead of the Fount of Life. The Prophet said, as men recall to mind:

“The faithful in this world shall never die. ” Annoint thine eye with dust from the Friend’s street,

  and seek the Fount of Life in the Friend’s stream: heed not the noisy parliament of pride, but spare a moment for the lovers’ ring.

Enough of slaves thou hast: seek one free man. The sea is free for all: seek thou the pearl.

And now my mind has strung this pearl of thought, and spoken many subtleties of worth:

thou, with thy “less” and “more”, thy “fore” and “aft! whate’er thou thinkest first, be sure, ’tis last!

(10 )

OF THE POET’S STATE OF MIND. My friend, this secret that I guard within, unless thou askest me, I will not tell it.

I have a most insatiable desire: my feet are fettered, and I yearn to flee.

Who shall approve my skill ? My lips are sealed, I am a prisoner. Dost thou suppose I am a poet ? Wilt thou number me among that ragged rabble ? When the door of the Friend’s treasury was first unbarred,

  these were the blandishments that I was given: now night and day I drain the dregs of anguish and am in torment, though my tongue is still. For pity’s sake display the Rose to me, and let me hear the Nightingale’s sweet notes, that I may make a melody of love and practise these divine accomplishments. Now flows my discourse from its origin, unrolling on its current Chapters Ten.

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CHAPTER 1.

DESCRIBING LOVERS.

O happy hearts of lovers and happy days of love, when youthful heart discovers a purer world above !

In happy recollection of that dear Friend they tread the pathway of affection, and unto self are dead.

For troth they do not languish,    nor, being wronged, complain: since love is such sweet anguish, they gladly bear its pain.

His beauty for a token with light their spirits filled: their hearts by love were broken, to love their lives they yield.

This ill that hath descended into thy soul—be sure its pain will ne’er be mended:              no lover knows its cure.

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VERSE.

The lovers tread love’s highway, and rehearse love’s revelation: drunken with love’s wine they reel along the road that leads the heart to its Beloved. They have drained the cup of that primaeval Covenant, and forever are worshippers of wine; the wine of passion has filled their veins, and they are prostrate all before the feet of love, yielding themselves, for they have cast their burdens in love’s street.

  Insensate with the wine of nothingness, they cannot tread the road of seeming life. Love has a fairway in the heart and soul and strikes the first blow there. The Covenant laid this intoxication on my heart which now it feels anew: for then the Friend first gazed on me, and then was first declared the symbol of His manifesting love, then first appeared this splendour in the world, then first was love revealed. We hunger all

  for that Divine regard, and night and day we make our prayer: in every heart this chain is forged, on every foot this bond is set.

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POEM.

Light of the world, without thy loveliness the eye of lover cannot see the day, nor ever lover’s foot aspire to press love’s palace gate, till self is cast away.

No house-bred craven ever dared to know within love’s wilderness a way to take;

but I—I have been intimate with woe that melts the soul, until the heart doth break.

Love said to me: “Go, rend thy rich brocade!

  Tell not thy story, but my tale recite: put out the flame by thine own passion made,and kindle at my love a quenchless light.”

VERSE.

Love lit a lamp within my heart, and soon the bam of all my being was ablaze: love lights the inward star men call the soul, love moved the heart of God to make the world. When that potential to perfection grew, firm stood in heav’n the everlasting Throne. The love of meaning is the lover’s way, the love of form the lover’s cloister is: till thou hast trod this road unto the end,

  thou art not worthy in the cavalcade of righteousness to ride. Since thou thyself both form and meaning art, make not such boast of loving self. Look not on self, when love is come: love’s wine none but the selfless sips. What man has quaffed this cup, how shall he gaze upon his body or his soul again'!

The spirit that this anguish hath endured can ne’er forget it. Every love, be sure, that comes into a heart is severance

  from all but God: the alphabet of love, once learned, wipes clean the tablet of the mind of all that erst it knew, and when the slate is washed, the Lover whispers to the heart:

“O heart, my heart, thou leavenest thyself: love bare the child, thou givest it to suck. Thou art the home of love and of Beloved, for the Beloved thou dost wholly live.

Thou comest to the inn of weary hearts : see, with what care the broken heart is tended. ”   The heart is His abode; love is His yearning: the heart His lover is, His friendship love.

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POEM.

Since unto love my spirit drew love lays a burden on my heart: since heart and love together grew,

I cannot tell the twain apart.

Now from my heart like herbs that spring from dust, love leaps, now falls as rain.

Love came, love conquered, love is king:

if love were lost, all life is vain.

I cannot tell how came this woe,             who willed it, for what fault in me.

Be still, my heart! Complain not so: be honoured that Love visits thee.

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VERSE.

No guilt of ours this fault of loving is, since even prophets suffered this distress: love, which the very world to being brought, on Joseph and Zuleicha laid its spell.

While yet my heart in erring guidance strayed my soul was heedless of the Friend’s desire; but since it saw the simurgh’s feathered plume it beats like David on the door of love.

When love is mingled with a human heart   and holds that heart suspended by a hair, were he a saint, love swiftly overthrows his faith, and wins him to apostasy. Upon this path, for love of a gazelle, the holiest man shrinks not from tending swine. What though the lover, mastering his tongue, guards close his secret, and will not declare it, in truth he is a neophyte of love, 2

and, dying, dies a martyr unto love. Henceforward, let us grasp the skirt of love,

  and glean the grain of love’s own threshing-floor.

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CHAPTER 2.

OF THE STATE OF LOVER AND BELOVED.

In meditative mood I sat at dawn within my treasury, and sang a song, and in that song I threaded, pearl by pearl, the story of my love, and shortly told the loved one’s quality, in quietude, reading awhile the tablet of the Friend. My heart, released from motions good or ill, still greeted me, and gathered in my mind, proud, heaven-pacing, from the realms of space.

  A world-revealing thought that told of truth, a giddy fantasy within the brain, an ecstasy of joyous dalliance made melody of love: the artist mind, assaying beauty, skilful in design, pictured the loveliness of the thought’s bride; the reed, a skilled engraver seeking truth, made truth to flow like water in a stream; the pen, with swift embroidery of finger, drew beauteous forms upon the cloth of verse.

  So, slowly, one by one, the hidden truths came flooding from the unseen world to sight. Then, as I sat, with trembling in my soul, the Friend knocked suddenly upon my door; and in my mind the echo of that sound beating upon the gate of fierce desire addressed me thus: “Arise, fling wide the door! The Friend is come: life’s tree with fruitage hangs.” Distraught in mind, to self oblivious, as one intoxicated I arose  and oped the door; but when I saw His face the gate of Paradise stood wide to me. r ’ He entered in, more lustrous than the moon, far statelier than soaring cypress-tree: the shades of sorrow vanished from my soul because the sun was come. By that fair face my mind was scattered as His windswept locks, and in astonishment I spake to Him:

“O lovely fair, dear darling of my heart,, come in, come in! I bid thee doubly welcome.

  How sweet thou art, how rarely beautiful! Art thou a houri come from Paradise ? No human form e’er bore such radiance. An angel, or a fairy, or an image— which art thou ? Never since this world began was lover visited by such a sweet.

Thy form is as an angel’s: surely God created thee of spirit unalloyed.

Thy face a moon, thy brow a shining sun: no son of Adam ever looked like thee. ”

  With ruby lip, that I might gladly serve, he murmured softly, “Peace be on this house.” “A thousand hearts”, I cried, “thy ransom be!

Peace be on thee, and honours! ” Drunk with wine of beauty’s sweet deception, drawing glove He sat Him down a space, and gazed on me the bard, and saw these verses penned on screed.

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POEM.

Enough, ye bootless cavillers, a truce to your complaints: this beauty that my passion stirs hath moved the hearts of saints.

Such lips, such loveliness, such grace tongue cannot tell, nor thought embrace. The mind made captive by that tress is ever held in chain; yet theirs is endless happiness     who once His notice gain, and I am grateful, who have known that He is mindful of His own.

O breeze, thy servant let me be! if thou dost pass His way, their tidings whisper secretly who in this desert stray: tell Him the passion that I bear, and that I perish of despair.

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VERSE.

When He beheld how fair the verses ran, He, the Desired, to the desirous turned, took page in hand, and read the poem through, expounding what was excellent, what bad; then having finished all He wept, and said:

“Who is this hapless poet ? ” I replied:

“O Darling of my heart t In misery, lost in love’s desert, I composed these lines.” “I might believe”, he answered, “if forthwith   thou canst recite, upon this selfsame rhyme, unmeditated verses from the heart.

This poem tells of parting: let the new proclaim reunion with the Beloved. ” “O Fount of poesy”, I made reply, “Thine ’tis to write, mine but to speak the verse. ” “Give pen, and ink, and paper”, He commanded:

I gave, and He inscribed this elegy.

(20 )

POEM.

Thy beauty puts the sun to shame,

Thy lip is life and light, the thought of Thy fair cheek’s a flame that cheers Thy lovers’ night; and in Thy face a warm hue glows that shames the tulip and the rose.

The cypress bows its head so bold desirous for Thy grace; Thy lips life’s fountain captive hold,            and Chigil’s lamp Thy face.

Make not Thy snaring charms a knife to cut Thy lovers’ thread of life.

When but a breath was in my heart Thou earnest suddenly: alas! if Thou wert yet apart, and hadst not thought on me.

But Io, the wanderer, that did roam so far abroad, is safely home.

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VERSE.

When He beheld the beauty of those rhymes He gazed on jne with fondness, smilingly.

“How deep thy passion is”, He said, “how strong ! Within the butts of speech thy thought doth fly as sure as arrow swiftly to the mark.

Though I have oft times fondled thee, I swear now first I know thee as thou truly art.

God prosper thy love’s wisdom and its bliss that can indite such verses: pearls like these   thy tender wit has threaded and shall thread to give delight in speech.” “No man”, I cried, “hath ever made such rhymes. ” “ Others enough have spoken such”, He answered. “Poetry is but a plaything in this world of men, a sport of children. Thou that makest claim to private ownership of poesy, this poesy extinguishes thy light.

Hast thou not heard how true the Prophet said, ‘All claimants are but liars’ ? It were best   poets knew nothing of this poesy which, as men say, is as the course of men. Go, occupy thyself with getting knowledge, for all beside is superfluity of vanity. Make now an end of claims: toil for reality: sit in thy cell and hold thy peace. Make music in the ranks of them that truly love: or sit apart and bray not of thy worth. God will declare the worth of them that worth possess: self-praise

  betrays but ignorance. Come, cavalier, display thy prowess in the lists of speech or else confess thou knowest nothing. Come, cast thyself in love’s furness: or withdraw from love’s abode. Too many mouths have sung of lust, in ballad, ode, and elegy:

if in this market thou wouldst show thy wares, bring some new line, something original?’

“O Light”, I cried, “of the unsleeping eye, all has been said: what waits for me to say ?

            Thou Whose beauty is my life and love,

what man am I, and where shall my words come?” “ Not thus it is ”, He answered. “Think not so:

hold not thyself so humble. The heart’s speech

is other far than poetry: ’tis prose in rhyme, or rhyme in prose: its origin is ever one, as love is ever moved by loveliness of form. Within this world no man has ever been by love perplexed save as love’s flame hath seared him. Every tongue   knows not to speak, nor every eye is skilled

in threading pearls: though all have soul and body, not all attain the inward soul of meaning framed in the flesh of words. Let any man be borne to heav’n in fame, until he speaks his worth cannot be known: wherefore ’tis wise that what a man composes in his soul he shall declare before the congregation.

Hast thou not seen ? Hast thou not drunk the wine of union ? Thy thought is robed in light,

  thou standest not with the idolater, thou hast not stayed in form: thou canst descry what sunders lust from love; thou knowest well love’s true reality, for thou hast trod

. the path of love. Perfect what gifts thou hast in this profession; be about with lovers;

implant thy foot upon perfection’s path: what thou beginnest, God will bring to pass.”

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CHAPTER 3.

DESCRIBING LOVERS

Iraqi sends to lovers all his greetings! The pain of separation sears their souls, and they are strangers in this world’s abode, but honoured guests in Paradise, their home. Admitted to the cabinet of God, they chant the Throne-verse. They are travellers along a higher-road, but brigands all upon the lower path. Alive in soul though slain by sorrow, sober in the heart though drunk of soul, on spiritual thrones monarchs, and divers in the sea of light, king falcons caged with faces forward turned and feet in chains, in being’s confines lost transcending mind and self, naught else they seek except the Friend: like moths they burn in flame hurling themselves in fire, because they love and yearn to see His face. Upon His path they stumble blindly, as they say by heart the alphabet of love: the scroll of life proclaims them dead, but on the throne of spirit they take their turn. They have beheld the Friend within the veil, and yield their souls to Him, though yet in living bodies: they are drunk, not having tasted, with the wine’s bouquet.

Though they have never seen the heart’s Beloved they offer up their hearts, upon His path expectant standing, on their wounded hearts smearing the salt of yearning. They have borne like Job the weight of suffering, and culled the flower of separation, Jacob-wise.

And they have sundered all regard of self, and they have known how true God’s promise is; with heart and soul they turn to Him, and say: “ I have none other in my cloak but God.”

Upon the gibbet “I am Truth” they cry, heedless of Paradise, not fearing Hell. The badge of union they have fastened on and put to flight the armies of desire and anger; they have rooted out all pride; freed from the world, they are enslaved to God. 

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POEM.

To be with them is earthly Paradise and in their friendship Heaven’s light doth shine;

my body at their feet obedient lies, my spirit for the love of them doth pine.

The Universal Mind is in dismay, the very stars are into tumult drawn; that sun, whereof the Throne is but a ray, within their firmament doth climb to dawn.

Since Time with their acceptance first began,   in their abiding stands Eternity, and for their sake, in well-appointed plan,

God made the ordered universe to be.

By abstinence and knowledge they are known, their banner clemency and righteousness, yet claim in this no merit of their own: in all God’s grace abounding they confess.

In life they seek but love, all else resign, since losing self at last they truly live: whatever blessing in this world is mine   a symbol is of all their love doth give.

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VERSE.

He unto Whom their gaze is ever turned by loverhood was first revealed to them. When love doth win its way into a heart it holds that heart a captive, foot and hand; when love makes onslaught on love’s citadel its tent is pitched above the mind and thought. Whatever heart through love attains to sight, however low its station, strikes the stars; whatever heart beholds the face of love,  its yearning every moment doth augment.

Affection stirs desire within the soul, whether for grace received, or stern reproach (the first of commoners, the next of saints, in both God’s bounty is and kindness true). So thou hast read in God’s most holy Book:

“ This is affection cast in thee by Me. ” And when affection in the heart and soul, distraught by beauty, to perfection grows attaining to absorption absolute,

  men intimate with passion name it Love. If in that ocean thou art wholly drowned

. thou canst become a master of this path: but if its fame alone is known to thee, plunge boldly in, and thou shalt understand.

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STORY.

A youth there was of noble parentage, in character and learning well addressed, grounded in law, philosophy and science, one that eschewed the branch, and sought the root; a zealous pilgrim, intimate with pain upon this path, he came to Shibli’s cell, for he was fired to lift from the saint’s head the lightest burden wherewith he was galled.

Shibli, within his world of solitude,  to that disciple first commanded love:

“ First fall in love with beauty, and therein be truly lover: when thou hast attained the attributes of love, then come again and I will guide thee to the world of heart. ” When the disciple heard the master’s words he took them to his heart: commanded thus, he turned unto the taverns of the lovers.

And now give ear, and thou shalt shortly know what he, the favoured pupil, wrought to prove the master’s power of miracles: from the cell forth coming, spirit flooded with desire, whom first he saw in passing, unto him he yielded up his heart, to buy his love. He saw his beauty with the eye of love, and love of him above his being chose; then rained a fragrance in his brain, and love was anchored in his heart; so, suddenly, his heart, by passion led, was firmly caught a prisoner in love’s snare. He that had seized thus unawares his heart to taverns went, the other in his wake. About a year that neophyte, with love intoxicate, in taverns sat, a tumbler in his hand, love’s furnace still consuming him, love’s wine yet on his lips. To self oblivious, his being’s barn he opened to the winds; love plundered even his identity: not being he was not, nor being he. Shibli with spiritual eye perceived what crisis reigned in the disciple’s heart: forthwith he called him from the revelry, the coin of that love he soon assayed and gave him, for the false, reality, loosing the lock of ignorance in his soul. Then set he him in solitude to dwell that he might read the secret scroll of love. That youth became an elder of the cell and quaffed love’s beaker, and was drunk with God: when he was truly travelled in love’s way a thousand lovers took him for their guide. 

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CHAPTER 4.

IN EXPOSITION OF LOVE.

The lover is a victim, sacrificed to love, cast down at the Beloved’s door: the lover, slain, yet lives, his heart yet throbs though in love’s furnace he is all afire.

Ask of the lover his Beloved’s worth: ask Wamiq’s eye of Adhra’s loveliness, of Shirin’s qualities let Khusraw speak, on Majnun see the stamp of Layla’s love, Parwana’s burning in Parwin’s desire,

  and Ramin’s lure in Wisa’s melancholy.

In lovers neither smoke nor aloe is: ev’n David’s psaltery is love’s lament. If all the world with passion were replete the gnat were well content to yearn for Hind: though life was dear to Farhad, dearer far it seemed at last for Shirin’s sake to die. Whoe’er a heart possesses must perforce possess a sweetheart. Thou who knowest not (may God forfend) the mysteries of love,   why scatterest thou thy life unto the winds ?

(27)    

POEM.

The heart that is to love averse no heart is, but a devil’s hearse. Not heeding love, to death it goes: the nightingale yet heeds the rose. The heart that hath not love in sight is like an eye without the light: this saying needs not proof to show, look inwardly and thou shalt know.

The love-sick treads the Darling’s road,  love’s threshold is his sole abode:

say not that man is lacking mind whose reason love hath rendered blind.

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VERSE.

Whoever hath not feasted at love’s board is wholly name, no meaning is in him; whoso is inexperienced in love is like an ass upon its sacred path, with sugar-cane on back, and straw in heart, he witless parts, and in the wilderness of wilful self, through days and months and years, wanders; no lover in reality, a man in form, at heart he is an ass.

(29)    

STORY.

Hast thou not heard the fame of him who preached, a reckless lover, in Shiraz of old ?

His word a fountain was of truths, his thought discoverer of subtleties. One day mounting the pulpit, he began with words that gave delight to heart, and food to soul; his speech, outglittering gold, with die of love struck coin. Lovers listening, strong of soul, swift gallopers on plains of solitude,  rash gamblers in the world of unity, not having wine or glass, were drunk with love. One having knowledge in that midst arose and said, “Where is the lover’s home ? ” The sage of love, whose fingers oft had threaded pearls of meaning, burning inwardly with love made answer: “Hast thou never heard God’s saying, ‘ O blessed they, a beauteous home is theirs ’ ? ”

He spake, and in an ecstasy divine delivered speech thereon, touching desire.

  But suddenly a rustic ignorant that had not sight in head or heart or soul, a rugged mass, unpolished and unsquared, in that assembly like a ghost arose.

His lips were parched, his eyelids ran with tears: in utter helplessness, his head awhirl, “O prince of orators”, he cried, “give ear to my distress. I had a little ass— why call it ass ? It was an ass addressed in every virtue, house-bred, young and plump,   well-paced, his bones in fatness full of marrow.

We were like brothers, dear companions, the best of comrades, quite inseparable.

One day my galloper and I set forth to take a little stroll in the bazaar. Suddenly he was stolen, stolen from me. Please ask if anyone has seen my ass. ” The congregation, deep in mysteries profound, astonied at such speech, were fain to chide the man who brought an ass to mosque.

  The elder spake to him: “ O donkey-hunter, sit still an hour, and hold thy peace awhile; sew up thy mouth, and let thine ear be open, sit still in silence for a little space.” Then made he proclamation in the midst:

“ Ho ye, both old and young, who in this throng are seated! If there be among you one who mingles not with love, let him arise.” A certain fool, ill-favoured as an ass, in sheer stupidity sprang to his feet.

  “ Art thou the man ”, the elder asked, “ whose heart was never bound by love ? ” “Yeahe replied. Then said the sage: "Ho, thou that hadst an ass, lo, I have found thine ass. The cropper, quick 1 ” 0 thou that knowest not the world of love and hast not tasted of love’s bitter sweets, ass-like thou earnest on thy back a load of straw and grain, bom witless, witless dying. The holy joys of spiritual love were never thine: like any animal   thou goest in the earth, eye downward cast, unseeing, unregarding any fair.

That humour hot which doth distract the mind is radiance plundered from the sun of love; that soft delight which doth in beauty grow is borrowed from the eye of devotees.

If thou art pure, look only on the pure and severance make from earthy elements. The busy tumult of the pure in heart is not a sport: no shadow-play is love.

  Go, beat upon that beauty’s door of love, for love hath made thee lovelier than thy wont. Raw is the heart that love hath never schooled, that soul a bird imprisoned in a cage. Love is a joy conterminous with life, the very eye that shines upon life’s brow; love is more living than the soul and heart and in the realm of spirit reigns supreme. It may be, love doth go about the soul, or in the soul’s soul hidden lies; the life

  that animates the soul may spring from love, or soul may be the soil, and love the plant. Love is the liquor running in the fruit of mind: nay, love’s the very Fount of Life. All lovers who would give their lives for love in glad abandon, they have known love’s joy.

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CHAPTER 5.

OF MAN’S PERFECTION IN LOVE.

O minstrel, raise thy plaintive melody, and let thy song be tender to my soul: upon the subtle ninefold modes of love display the secrets of a lover’s heart. One moment parted from the Friend, I die: revive my heart with thy life-giving stream that I may come into the lovers’ ring and grace the lovers’ circle. Let me pass one moment from the world, and for an hour

  I will not heed my selfhood: being lost to this false being, let me swiftly move to realms of drunkennes where, like the drunk, I will commence the dance, and raise the cry of yearning love—for truly I do yearn for my Beloved—standing in the field of high ambition. I will shake my wings like sacrificial bird, and fly at last from empty word to true reality.

Then will I tell in order, each by each,   the beauty of the Friend, the lover’s love.

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EXPLAINING THE ORIGIN OF ACCEPTED LOVERS.

On that primaeval day, when man was made receptive unto love, thereafter God did of His grace bestow an instrument whereby he might determine good from ill. And in that moment saw he, fold on fold, beauty with ugliness, with virtue vice: so he beheld the properties of each

and saw both pureness and impurity.

When pureness won possession of his heart,   he quested naught but beauty; beauteous face to ugly form preferred; for who hath seen the good, doth nevermore desire the bad. The beauty of that Darling everywhere he saw with inward, spiritual eye, each instant in a lovely robe arrayed: each moment grew his passion. When spirit’s eye beholding beauty kindles love in heart, before the Emperor a stoker stands.

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STORY.

A man there was forever at the stove, it had become his refuge and abode. About the baths of self he ever moved, stoking the body’s furnace. At the last, growing a little weary of that place, he went for an excursion in the fields.

Forth from the body’s stove on wings he flew and walked about the meadows of the soul: there saw he running water, verdure, flowers,   and, at the rose’s feet, the nightingale dying with love. He went about the mead and learned to tell the pure from the defiled.

“ This garden”, he remarked within himself, “ is really much more handsome than my stove. ” But suddenly there came into that field a beauteous maiden, lissom as a fay, clad in the very robe of loveliness: a hundred captive Josephs at her side; a hundred suns, her countenance beholding   and radiant cheeks, were envious and amazed;

a hundred hearts of fair ones, soft of speech, that sweet enchanter plundered with a curl; the moon, before that new-ascended sun, in utter shame fled headlong like a star; in her soft hair a hundred thousand hearts, weary with pain, were snared and fettered fast— her languorous eye beholding, and her brow, good linked with good they saw, and fair with fair. A hailstone gleaming on a laughing rose,

  so flashed her teeth against her ruby lips: so sweet, so pure her body and her soul, thou might’st suppose she had no part of clay. Intent upon the chase, intoxicate, with arrow poised in bow, and bow in hand, thou mightest say that with a single glance she would have pierced the hearts of lovers all. That unmelodious stoker, unaddressed, now newly from the stokehole coming forth beheld that radiant cheek, that houri fair.

  Amazed, bewildered, heart and head awhirl, hot tears he shed that welled up from the heart and rained betwixt the lashes on his cheeks. Rending his sordid garments from his back he followed swiftly in that charmer’s wake. The princess soon espied him, from afar scenting the breath of love that from his heart came wafting: in amazement at his case she loosed the horse’s reins, and swift as wind fled to the chase. The stoker, all undone,

  fell helpless to the ground: the fatal dart of parting pierced his soul, and every hope of meeting snapped. He yielded up his heart, dejected, hopeless, sick and sore of soul, drowned in hot tears that flooded from his eyes. Upon the morrow, passing by that way the princess saw him lying yet in blood.

He, drunk with passion, gazed upon her long, perceived she was his darling fair, and sighed. She heeded not, but held herself aloof   and left him thus. Like Wamiq he became that followed Adhra, wandering now in town and now in desert. Ever in his heart rehearsing that fair charmer’s loveliness and his unhappy passion, thus he cried:

“ Alas, vain fancy! Shall a beggar gain a king’s regard ? If any should enquire upon my present case, how can I tell for whom I weep ? I do not dare to say what yearning fills my spirit, or for whom.

  Far is my home, and I am heavy laden: what may I do, to help my helplessness ? ” His soul in anguish, and his heart aflame, by day and night he wept, long months and years. Drunken in soul, though to appearance sane, haunting his fair, regardless of the rest, he never unto any man disclosed the secret of his passion, keeping yet (though tears like blood did rain) the veil untom. If any time he came into the town  he would not tread save in his darling’s street, consorting with the dogs that ran therein accounting that a very blessed chance, blinding the inward eye, if he might catch the breath of the beloved, with the dust pawed by the dogs that strayed upon her street. So for a space, his heart by anguish rent, he tarried in the street of his beloved; when suddenly a lad with onslaught fierce attacked him, and expelled him from that place.

Lost heart and spirit, yet by instinct led he ran for refuge where the dogs did lie.

Two weeks passed over. Like a two-weeks’ moon in perfect beauty, for the hunting-field that maiden drew the ranks, and galloped first. The miserable lover, helplessly, o’er barren plain and rocky mountain strayed, blood in his eyes, and blackness in the brain, his soul a tumult of disordered love.

His flesh was wasted with the pain of parting;

 0 among the savage beasts he made his wont, lost in the pathless wilderness of passion like Majnun, naked, and in sore distress; gone now from mind the furnace and the bath, with lions and gazelles familiar.

Suddenly tidings ran of the beloved:

“ The queen will come into the hunting-field.” He spied a slaughtered deer, and with a cry flayed off* the hide, and clad himself in it, drawing the skin above his head, in hope

1  that, seeing him, and thinking him a deer, his darling haply might draw bow at him. The princess entered, looked about the field, saw what did seem to be a grazing deer that heeded not the chase. “That beast”, she said, “ squats carelessly”: and drawing forth a shaft sped it. The arrow struck that stoker’s heart and slew him, soul and body. Foolishly he cast the hide away from him, and cried:

“ True be thy aim, and strike! ” The winged shaft 1  that leaves the darling’s hand doth rightly poise when in the lover’s heart the mark it scores. Stricken at heart, and shedding tears of blood in torrent, yet he danced in ecstasy of gladness: when a mote beholds the sun it cannot rest from dancing of desire.

But when the blood no longer filled his veins his limbs relaxed, he slumped; upon the path where his beloved passed he slept in blood and, as he died, these verses he declaimed.

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POEM.

Too heavy seemed my flesh and heart: I gave my soul, and now am freed.

Why didst thou strike with sudden dart the prey that in thy snare doth bleed ?

To night is turned my gladsome day 0 tyrant, when thou art not near.

Why seekest thou my heart to slay t It hangs upon the gallows here.

When thou art hunting, lovers all           yield gladly up their lives to thee:

I do not fear thy shaft may fall but only yearn thy face to see.

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VERSE.

When that fair charmer, having sped her shaft, perceived the stoker lying their transfixed forthwith dismounting from her steed, she ran to soothe his bleeding wound. A fleeting moment she was compassionate, and laid his head upon her breast. So ever do the fair, when they have slain their lovers, cherish them: nor did she take his head unto her loins until the shaft was rooted in his soul.

  He, full of pain, could not endure the fever of her approach, and yielded up his life.

If thou art such a tavern-haunting lover why shalt thou suffer less than this man did ? To be a lover is to be afflicted: the mind distraught is by distraction plagued. But when to purity the soul is turned, whether the Charmer faithful is, or faithless, it matters not to thee: the fearless mark thinks not the shaft a peril. Thou shalt be   thyself the mark for the Beloved’s shaft when thou art truly dead to heart and soul: until thou seest the Beloved’s face, the fatal arrow cannot pierce thy flesh.

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POEM.

Shaft from quiver take, and now speed it from Thy curved brow: though Thy target be my heart, Thou shalt strike, and I may smart— what new pain can arrows bring to a heart that’s suffering ? Though with fire Thou bumest me, living founts I find in Thee.

Sweet or poisoned be the cup,     take it gladly, drink it up: but if bitter be its taste, dash it to the ground with haste. Bid me not to come to Thee: proud of heart, come Thou to me.

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VEBSE.

Who finds life is not sweet without the Friend makes thus his prayer: “My soul a jewel is of highest price, O Friend, what though this frame is but a dunghill. What should I desire upon, this dunghill ? Show Thy face to me that I may leave this prison. Though Thy scent is very sweet, and I am well content, yet do I yearn Thy countenance to see. ” 0 lover, learn from lovers, and accept   this spiritual tale from one whose heart is broken: with attentive ear receive the secret of this fable. Know thy body is but a furnace, and thy soul the stoker: although the soul a mine of learning is, it is a stoker in the body’s bonds.

He that did sow the roots of soul in thee hath called the body “very ignorant”. While thou art still a prisoner of self thy soul will never gaze on the Beloved:

  when thou art freed from prison, yield thy soul and haply thou shalt see the Darling’s face.

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CHAPTER 6.

EXPLAINING DESIRE OF THE FRIEND.

Ho, saki, pour the wine of risen dawn and give to lovers spiritual food: though we be drunk, yet give the wine of love, give wine, and all our selfhood take away.

I cannot taste the sweetness of the wine until my being is nonentity:

now of that goblet which is Paradise give wine to me, that I may sip, and live.

I have not touched the bowl, and yet am drunk   with Thy sweet perfume and remembered lips.

Seek but a moment for Thy drunken ones,

give ease of heart to as who worship wine. I am consumed, consumed in passion’s fire: let me one moment taste the wine of joy and so forget my pains. A strange distress that man doth bear, who worships wine: his lips have never quaffed love’s wine, yet he is drunk. He wanders in the wilderness at spring when clouds do rain upon the thirsty soul,   but though one instant he attains relief the very liquid doth increase his lust.

Give wine more freely, since more freely Thou hast stirred my passion: do not hide Thy face which Thou hast once displayed. Give ever wine, since I am drunk with love, and in the cup pour draughts unceasing, that I may begin again the revel, and repeat this song.

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POEM.

My yearning heart is nigh to Thee, my frame in prison far:

why hidest Thou Thy face from me ? Love should not know a bar.

Thou art the leech, and I am sick, Thou weary, I am fain;

Thy charming glance, like arrow quick, hath pierced my heart again.

Though wine hath never touched my lip          with yearning I am drunk: upon Thy sea of pain my ship of life and hope is sunk.

Thou Who mak’st to shine above you newly-risen sun, within the desert of Thy love my heart is spent and done.

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VERSE.

No other yearning, but to see Thy face, hath razed the house of patience lovers built: each moment strong desire upon its wont doth draw new nurture from my wounded heart. Doth not my state invite a moment’s thought, a single chance to hear Thy voice again— that voice which, coming from Thy grateful lips, is worth my life, for by its grace I live ? Though love is an incurable distress

  the cure of my distress is the Beloved, and I am well content in blood to lie if so I may attain my soul’s desire. Since I am captive by this craving held to think on self were infidelity: since to my ear the tale of Thee has come I will not listen to another’s voice. Thy beauty stirs an echo in the world and every heart that hears that sound must die; Thy beauty’s image wins the realm of soul,   the rumour of Thy beauty fills the earth, and all my yearning, secret and disclosed, hath set me running through the world for Thee.

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STORY.

The prefect of Tabriz a son possessed whose beauty charmed the heart and stirred the blood: such loveliness and symmetry of form were an incomparable work of God.

That learned elder of the faith, Ghazzali, that governor of learning’s provinces, hearing report of such a lovely fair and by deduction guessing at his worth lost heart and patience, and incontinent spurred on from Ray the saddled steed of purpose, yearning to see the fair one’s countenance. Intoxicated with the wine of passion with heart in hand he galloped on his way.

Now when the saint drew nigh the town, forthwith his case was laid before the governor.

“ He is a hypocrite ”, the prefect cried, “ he comes in hope, but shall despairing go.

A worshipper of form, a sycophant, the fame of his deceit hath reached the stars: let him not come within this city’s walls but turn back on his tracks, and venom drink. ” A messenger came out upon the road and bore these tidings to the elder. He hearing the news, familiar with pain, two leagues without the city made his halt; and when the sun was lost in heaven’s rim and all its radiance faded from the world the saint went to his tent, and made his bed, strewing with gems the borders of his tent. The prefect too was buried soon in slumber. Now hear what vision he in sleep beheld. He saw in dream the Messenger of God who gave to him some raisins, speaking thus: “ Take thou these raisins, and with all dispatch present thyself before Ghazzali’s tent. ” When morning came, the prefect woke from sleep and took the raisins, hastening to go.

The saint, of light compacted, when he saw afar the prefect hastening, scoffed aloud, and ere he could approach the tent, he bore to him a plate of raisins, and spoke thus: “ Those raisins which the Prophet brought to thee

last night were stolen from this plate by stealth.” So do the travellers in the light divine with a few raisins lead mankind astray.

Think not that beauty is in form: stay not for a few raisins from the heavenly path. When vision to perfection doth attain in seeing beauty all its pleasure is.

  Base nature sees the beauteous thing, and wills to pluck and eat it: yet the silver apple is not for plucking, but to be admired.

Then came the saint into that darling’s town and saw his boasted qualities confirmed. He went into the congregation-mosque resplendent with the miracles of saints and having led the faithful in the prayer that saint in sorrow versed the pulpit climbed. The concourse of the lovers gleamed with light

  as he delivered mysteries of truth in words that overpassed the common mind.

“ Though mind,” he said, “cannot attain these thoughts, this solid block of wood doth comprehend.” Thereat the pulpit started from its place and floated in the air. The elder cried:

“ Be mannerly, and leave such agitation to lovers! ” To its place the pulpit sank, and well nigh fifty men gave up the ghost in that assembly. Then the elder spake:

  “ The light of our assembly is not here.

Where is he ? Dark indeed the circle seems when he is absent. Love is a fine word, and he may pardoned be who, in the dark, discovers not a thing of texture fine.

The lamp shines not within the spirit’s hall: that ravisher of hearts, is he not here ? ” Since he came not into the lovers’ ring the lovers died in grief of separation.

He knows, who has a sign of Him, that stone   itself, for love of Him, will spring to life.

When lovers take His name upon their lips the doors and walls are opened in the soul: when He is far, the lover dies, the wood of pulpit flies in air. If thou dost doubt the truth of this, go, see within the court of that old mosque his couch that lies there yet.

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CHAPTER 7.

OF LOVE’S ONSLAUGHTS.

Lodgers are we who on Thy threshold dwell and nightingales that in Thy garden sing: whether we leave Thy door, or waiting stand, of only Thee we speak, of Thee we hear. Since we are captives caught within Thy nets where shall we thrust our passion or our heads ? And since in Thy affection we draw breath how shall we yearn for strangers ? Lo, we lay our heads upon the threshold of Thy door   waiting to come to Thee. Do not suppose that we shall ever leave Thy door (I swear it) except to come to Thee. Since we have quaffed the beaker of Thy love, we yield our hearts and make our lives Thy ransom: since we come again into Thy street, we turn our backs on all that is, save Thee. Our souls are bound to serve Thee, though in grief, and we have died to selfhood: being drunk with Thy desire and sore distraught, we cannot find the road   to selfhood. We are captives of Thy love and have not strength to flee. Thy beauty’s fever hath lit a flame: shall not our hearts be burned ?

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POEM.

When at Thy love a lamp we light our bam of being is ablaze and of that inward glow so bright a wisp of smoke to heaven we raise.

Turn Thou on us Thy beauty’s sun: our day is dark without Thy face, but we are blind to every one

when we have seen Thy matchless grace.

Lo, we have cast, and made our stake:

 our life and heart hang on a spin:

what better throw could gambler make if, giving all, Thy love he win I Like children, in Thy school of love the alphabet of love we learn: along Thy path to death I move, and I am glad, I will not turn.

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VERSE.

Since I have been acquainted with Thy pains my heart and soul have parted company;

since Thou hast deemed me worthy of Thy pains my selfhood wearies me. Since I have come within Thy circle in an ecstasy,

I am aweary of my very being.

I have said o’er the scriptures of Thy love and scattered to the winds my soul and heart. Thy beauty’s sun hath cast its rays about  for lovers seeking, but it found not one: o spirit-gladdening sun, if but our night catching Thy gleaming face might turn to day, sufficient were the radiance of Thy glance— say to the sun and moon, “Burn not again”. Within Thy love’s bazaar a thousand hearts other than mine their busy custom ply, and who am I, to make a boast of love ? Is it not foolishness, Thy love to claim ?

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STORY.

So true a lover of Thy loveliness was he men call the Greatest of the Stars: defender of the Prophet’s law, beloved, nigh unto God he lived, a very sun of spiritual truths and mysteries within the firmament of chosen stars, through whom the thronging pilgrims of the Path acquired perfection. On a time his heart, that erst was nobly free, became the slave

  of Majd ud-deen Baghdadi’s loveliness which, like a favoured idol, unawares from its high eminence his heart abased, waking the thought of love, and plundering all patience and repose. “Go, seek ye him”, he cried, “and bring him to my breast: since he is life to me, go, bring him to this flesh. ” Him in due season to the saint they brought who, overjoyed, inquired what was his wish, that he might gladly serve it. Being asked,  he shewed a yearning to engage at chess.

The saint called for the chessboard, chose a time, and soon was playing with his graceful friend; and, as he overcame his knight, forthwith he kindled his desire. The love of chess ravished his heart, and many moves he made surpassing good. The knight of dominance sat in the saddle, and the pawn of zeal became a queen. Then from his square the king of self removed: yet evermore required  that moonlike beauty. Finally he ended the game: his elephant remembered well its native Hindustan. So, many days, they sat together closeted, while he love’s secret tablets read: distraught with joy in his sweet purity, for love of him alone all other matters he forgot.

Love is a fire, whose spark within the heart consumes the veil of every accident: when intricate desire is wholly burned,  naught else abiding, love alone abides. Love is the robe of royal palaces, love is the mule that bears the Emperor’s load, and brings the heart by spiritual desire to God’s omnipotence and perfect beauty. Love is a quality of the Creator: lover, and love, and beauty—three, yet One. Creator and Sustainer, only God, He, gazing on Himself, Himself did love: that beauteous Artificer of Beauty

  “ I was a Treasure” said, and so desired to shew the door of Being’s treasury and ope it with the key of Qualities; and being shewn in private Attributes before the world His Essence was displayed. In perfect loveliness He was revealed, giving to spiritual men the power of love. His manifesting attributes found housing in the lover: power from Power, knowledge from Knowledge, hearing from Hearing, sight   from Sight, and speech from Speech Divine informed; will grew from Will, and life of Life was born, beauty from Beauty glowed, continuance of love in His Continuance increased, in man’s affection God’s Affection shone, and of his Love revealing man’s love sprang. Since in these attributes man knows the Friend, seeing himself, he doth the Friend behold: so, secretly, he doth His name proclaim,

“ I have no other in my cloak but God”.

  When man strips off the cloak, he doth escape: strip off that cloak, which serves but as a house. Now sign the document of fellowship, and chant the formula of severance:

when thou transcendest “Glory be to God”, wipe off the dust of selfhood from thy soul.

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CHAPTER 8.

ADDRESSING THE BELOVED.

Thou, Whose desire my soul’s companion is, source of my pain, and cure of my complaint, my soul a bird is that, with opened eye, spreadeth its wings and flieth to Thee, its nest. Thy talk is my companion night and day, Thy quest the fruits of all my toil. My heart is maddened by Thy love. Thou art a candle: behold in me the moth! Well may I be distraught, since my distemper knows no cure.

  Plagued by the sorrow of a faithless Friend, I move my very enemies to pity.

All we are empty-handed purchasers, He and His merchandise are very precious, and in this market many thousands stand in hopeless passion, better men than I.

 I pray to God that He may grant me sleep, and haply I shall see Thee in a dream. Cometh it not within Thy thoughts at all to spare a glance for one by passion slain ?

  Since all this passion springs within the head, shall I not lay my head before Thy feet ? When hearts are stolen, surely it is meet to give a thought for them whose hearts are lost. In kindliness Thou ravishedst my heart: do not in pride now cast me from Thy mind. Alas, Thy love is wholly for Thyself: how shall I win a place within Thy heart ? Thou art a very champion of the fair, and I, adoring Thee, indite this lay.

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POEM.

Thy love hath oped my spirit’s eye, to Thee my yearning heart doth cry; my night of grief turns not to day because Thy face is turned away.

Thou thinkest not on us, who pour our hearts’ petitions at Thy door. Shall ever thus my spirit’s peace this yearning break, that will not cease ? My soul, a bird, hath flown from nest and only in Thy street will rest: keep me no more in banishment, lest of our love the veil be rent.

At last, O spirit-gladdening sun, let fall Thy shade on me fordone: honour or contempt my lot,

I still beseech Thee, pass me not.

Each moment that apart from Thee I live in thought and memory a weary history doth make of heart’s desire and spirit’s ache.

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VERSE.

O Thou Whose grief is ever in my heart, no other gain from destiny I win but grief: yet evermore I pray that I may be afflicted, ever may my heart be prisoner of Thy calamity.

The eye must needs behold Thee: be Thy will to slay me, yet ’tis well. No heed of life affects my heart, since of life all my hope the Sweetheart holds.. When suffering augments then doth the love, that but a shadow was, become reality. Since love hath come into my heart, I prosper, for in love the truest troth is proved hypocrisy.

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STORY.

A greengrocer there was that dwelt in Fars, a man of piety, and wit, and learning.

One day, by God’s inscrutable decree, upon his rounds he passed before a palace, and, looking in the gate, by chance perceived the lovely daughter of the lord. So fair a form beholding, he was overwhelmed; his ordered heart into disorder fell.

About a year for love made he lament since he did not again behold her face:

the long bewailing filled his eyes with blood that were become like Bactrus’ stream in spate. No other story, but her qualities, was on his lips: by grief incessant plagued he did not eat, nor sleep, but with the dogs that ran about her street he made his wont.

One day a servant brought to him a message, reciting it as from her lips he heard it:

“ Restrain thyself, and listen to this word.   May such as thou attain to such as me ?

If thou a lover’s true melancholy   possessest, it were better thou didst pass the palaces of kings. Now where art thou and where am I ? Alas, in wilderness, and panting for Euphrates. Yet if thou art truly true in that thou makest claim, have done with claims, and prove thy truthfulness. Go to a certain mountain, and there make thy dwelling in a cave, not passing word   to any of thy secret. Worship there thy Maker, practising obedience to the Creator. So a little while continue, and thy secret piety will spread its fame abroad, and men shall come intent to win thy blessing, serving thee. Accept no gift from any man, nor speak to any. When thou art become a name throughout the world, the lord will also learn of thy repute, and come as thy disciple:  then shall thy sorrow all be turned to joy.” When that the lover heard this message, he with eager heart performed his love’s command. Forth to the mountain told by her he fared and there his dwelling fashioned: as she bade, on worship bent, he rested not, nor slept.

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POEM.

Thy lover cannot eat nor sleep,

his couch is drenched with tears;

though beauty strikes his spirit deep,

of death he has no fears.

Love’s lesson he has learnt by heart,

still fasting and at prayer,

and to the lover’s wilful dart

his bosom he doth bare.

No more may he his right defend,

            no strength has he to shield,

but on the pathway of the Friend

his heart and spirit yield.

With true resolve and purpose high

like him who pens this song

through storm he battles to the sky

love’s fearful path along.

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VERSE.

When for a space, by pain made impotent, that lover simulated piety, sincerity from simulation drew his heart, and bore him to a lively faith; sensing, beyond the false, reality a door of loverhood was in his soul opened; for ever recollecting God, he heeded not the beggar or the king, but in devotion, secret or displayed,  spake not, nor hearkened unto any man;

His court was thronged by subject and by Shah who sought to follow him. One night, that moon of loveliness, when all the world was sleeping,

knocked at the elder’s door, and made reply, “ She that was thy beloved”. “Yea”, he said, “ if thou art she, no more am I the same.”

In vain she knocked and knocked: he did not open nor grant her entrance. When that queen of beauty beheld his case, she was exceeding moved:

  perceiving in herself a grievous load of love’s commotion, she returned, and watched, her bosom full of fire, her heart expectant, her soul in sea, her body on the shore.

So ailed she, that she could not eat, nor sleep, but ever to herself these words rehearsed:

“ Behold the seeker who became the sought, behold the lover who became the loved.

O father, no physician seek for me: go, wash thy hands of me. I am diseased,   but with a weariness which knows no cure.

No succour has my suffering, but death.

Seek not the leech’s cure for my heart’s pain: haply it will not mend, though I perceive my lover. Since my pain is past the skill of leech, no remedy can me avail.

Not such a pain hath sorrow’s poison laid upon my heart, that love’s bezoar-stone can e’er expel. Too well I know the cure of this distress, but cannot tell for shame.”

  When the distemper laid her wholly low, this speech came to the prince’s ears, who said:

“ Who is her confidant ? Go, seek her out and ask her secretly what ails my daughter. Wants she the head of anq, or brain of shark, what swims beneath the sea, or soars in heaven ? ” The confidant inquired as she was bid;

the girl revealed her secret unto her, what way a greengrocer fell into love

with her, what remedy he took, how she   herself was smitten, and how heedless he

remained; what passed upon that fateful night, how she had come, and come again, though he gave never heed to her. With body sore and heart distressed she told the confidant confessing all. She, having heard the tale, came to the prince, and laid the secret bare; learning which news the lord at once proclaimed,

“ A cure must be discovered for her pain.” With all the nobles of that realm he went

  before the elder’s door, and humbly begged that he might grant him access to himself, accepting him in service. So they spoke, reciting all the story of his plaint. At last a tenderness made manifest the impress of his love. The elder cried, impatient to be done, in acquiescence:

Impute this not to my desire, but his.” Then took the lord his hand, and compact made of marriage: to his daughter tidings ran   thereon, and in the hour they brought her there. That dear beloved and most loving dear coming upon the threshold of his house knocked on his door: forthwith he gave her place, since union was permissible to both. Consider now that elder’s abstinence and his beloved’s loyalty: regard how well the thing was planned, how well it ended. The lover’s heart no greater pleasure knows than what is won by honourable commerce:

when firm upon foundations stands the house, the door is opened to his heart’s desire: when love has shed its radiance in the house, the lustre of that household decks the world.

(51)    

CHAPTER 9.

EXPOUNDING LOVE’S REALITY.

Welcome, thrice welcome to my Darling’s love that cometh not of flesh, but in the soul.

Now I have stripped my soul of all but Thee and having Thee, I seek for naught beside. Since Thy sweet sorrow dwells within my heart the house is all illumined with Thy lamp; since I am held a captive in love’s snare love’s beaker hath intoxicated me.

The beauty of Thy face doth cheer the heart and with Thy form my night is turned to day. Thy beauty is more lovely than the mead: the memory of Thee is* sweeter far than aught this world possesses. Be a man unmoved by Thy fair form, mere form is he without a soul in him. Since on Thy cheek I gaze bewildered, the Preserved Tablet of love I chant. The eye that hath beheld Thy loveliness, hath purchased with the soul the impress of Thy face. Alone I sit, seeing Thy face in my disordered mind: if Thou art absent, why do I behold Thee ? When on Thy face my glance I oast, forthwith I am transported from the habitation of soul and body: not to any man dare I declare, how truly I do love Thee.

(51)    

POEM.

How long shall I the truth conceal ? I love Thee! Let the echoes peal! Since Thou hast shewn Thy face to me, I yield my soul right willingly.

Thy lovers well may pardoned be, since never was a love like Thee: and shall the eye be satisfied that hath Thy beauty once descried ?

Shew now Thy face, and do not turn   from him whose heart with woe doth bum.

Now send me Thou repose or strife: Thou art the ruler of my life.

O ye who chide with counsel drear, such counsel love doth never hear.

Though I am banished from Thy face, Thine image ever I embrace.

So dwellest Thou within my heart, I think that in my sight Thou art: but ah, my soul! Dream not so vain:   thou canst not to such dreams attain.

(52)     .

VERSE.

It needs an eye of vision undefiled to see His beauty in its loveliness: the Sweetheart’s beauty doth the heart behold, not every eye may see it. Thou that criest, " A roguish glance hath trapped me”, blame not me, for I am well excused. If thou dost gaze upon my Darling’s beauty, thou wilt rend thy hands, with heart distraught: if thou beholdest His form and qualities, His stature tall  all flowing locks, like mine Thy heart shall be, His prisoner—to be idolater will be thy whole desire. What man is there that, having eyes to see, hath not surrendered his heart to that fair face ? No vision true  was e’er by man possessed, who did not yield his soul and heart and body unto Him.

The heart cannot withstand His loveliness: it steals away the mind, and cheats the heart. That slender grace, that is His beauty’s charm,   ensnares the hearts of spiritual men, and His primaeval lovers bear the mark of servitude eternal to His love.

(54)

STORY.

That elder of Shiraz, famed Ruzbihan, whose like in all the earth was never seen for purity and truth, the bezel was bejewelling the ring of saints, a man learned in spirit, life of all the world; of lovers all and gnostics he was king, captain of every heart that hath attained; When to the hall of loverhood he came the day was brighter, as his name was bright,   and many years his spirit-gladdening beauty turned day to night, and darksome night to day.

He had a lover, lovely as a fay, who to his eye his features did reveal.

By chance a fool beheld them, as the boy pressed lips upon his feet, and swiftly went to bear the tidings unto Saad the Prince, faster than leven coursing through the air.

“ O king”, he cried, “and guardian of the faith, a beardless youth doth kiss the elder’s feet.”   Saad, son of Zangi, for the faith he bore supposed the story was a calumny.

One day by chance he visited the cell and saw at once the habit of the saint. He saw a fair one, bright as moon at full, that in his bosom took the mystic’s foot.

When with his eyes the prince beheld the scene, he blushed for modesty, and lightly laughed.

Now by the saint there stood a chafing-dish replete with coals, and burning merrily.

  He took the feet from out the fair one’s bosom and thrust them in that brazier of flame.

“ Though sore distraught mine eye”, the saint exclaimed “ I little reck what passes with my foot.

The flame that seeks its portion of the flesh seeks only to consume the witless brain. To Abraham the fire blazed manifest, and Moses’ eye, when God revealed to him, was not consumed. According to thy sight our gaze was sinful, yet the heart’s desire   hath spiritual fruit: when heart is pure the gaze cannot defile. Although this pain affects thee not, it holds me ever chained.”

(55)

POEM.

Not this nor that concerneth me, in both the hand of God I see; my heart’s distraught, my brain is blind, I have not strength of faith or mind.

The bitter taunts I hear from Thee are sweeter far than life to me: whom other shall I choose above if ever I refuse Thy love ?

Be merciful to me, I pray,              if thou art purposing to slay,

nor let Thy silver-gleaming arm, that held me once, now work me harm.

No other idol I adore but love, my play and wont of yore. Since I am slain by Thy distress, reproach not this my helplessness.

(56)

VERSE.

O free of care, inquire of our distress, spare but one thought for them that loved Thee well of old; perceive my weakness, hear my prayer; Thou hast the power: gently take my hand.

Or art Thou weary of Thy worshippers, or is their blood now lawful unto Thee ? Nay, but one moment turn to him who hath no other friend but Thee! Carest Thou not what pain assails my heart ? Work not, my Friend,  all that Thou canst of evil and distress: if Thou art fair, and we are weak and frail, turn not, 0 Sun, Thy radiance from this mote. Shew us Thy face, and give us life again. Thy lovers’ hearts are sore: be merciful.

Lovers are caught within their Darling’s noose, they dwell within His realm, and cannot flee: the rose is fair, the nightingale doth die. If there be any station on this road, it is the refuge of primaeval lovers.

  When beauty came to being from the void love secretly attended beauty’s steps, and when the soul received the Word of God it found love waiting at the boundary. Though thou neglectest love, I cannot live without love’s occupation: so my soul is drowned in love, it cannot pass beyond.

(57)

POEM.

0 Thou Whose beauty steals my heart, what is this fairness and this grace ?

I fear my very mind may part for rapture gazing on Thy face.

Thy loveliness doth shame the sun when Thou Thy face uncoverest, and as when clouds its orb o’errun through veils Thy grace is manifest.

Thy beauty hath a grace so fine   that sharpest sight cannot descry.

Shew of that loveliness a sign

that else surpasseth human eye.

Before Thy countenance so fair

my tongue is halt, and cannot tell

what grace divine and beauty rare

my loving heart hath known full well.

O Tyrant proud, I gladly die for Thy sweet sake, both night and day: no power of patience more have apart from Thy dear face to stay.

(58)    

VERSE.

The shadow of each hair upon Thy head is melancholic vitriol of brain, yet of attainment to Thy stature, Love, no sign Thy servant hath, but this glad lock. It is not possible to see as twain the fineness of Thy hair and of Thy waist: my heart, since I became Thy prisoner, yearns for Thy tangled ringlets. Draw those hairs that veil Thy cheek, and have consumed my heart   as wax in fire is burned. Thy gleaming brow hath robbed my heart—account this too a prize: is it the moon I see, or Pleiades, a moth-consuming candle, or the ray of Thy white forehead ? Taking shaft from quiver Thy murderous lashes pierce my hapless heart: I stand, and marvel at their sudden glance so languorous, so lovelorn, and so dread. Thy countenance the weary soul can see: how comes it that so dim an eye hath sight ?

  By the soft texture of Thy ruby lip the petal of the rose is put to shame. Thy lovers stake their lives upon a throw, and royal falcons are Thy passion’s prey.

(59)

STORY.

That elder of the faith, Imam Ghazzali, holy of spirit, spiritual of speech, madly enflamed with every beauteous face upon love’s path the Darling ever sought. So stirred his soul a sweetheart’s loveliness (his eye was chaste, as was his spirit pure) that swiftly in a cavalcade he rode from Ray, a hundred learners at his stirrup. He saw the darling, like a risen moon,

  forth from the bath emerging, with a grace divinely shaped, and lovely radiance illumining the world. When he beheld, forthwith he saw the form of the Beloved, and standing fast with heart and soul he gazed, descrying every moment a new face.

So gazed they all that with the elder were, himself bewildered by that lovely fay, and all were much affected by the sight, and suffered him, and passed: save one old man,  by trade a saddler, who unto the saint exclaimed, “Enough, pass on! It is not meet for thee to worship form: art thou not shamed before this multitude ? ” The saint replied:

“ Say naught: the sight of beauty cheers the eye. Had I not fallen victim unto form

I might be Gabriel, saddler of the skies.” All lovers who intoxicated are drink wine of passion’s goblet. Of the soul he heedeth not, who seeth but outward things:

  with Majnun’s eye behold the face of Layla. If thou hast manly strength, behold, a horse, arms, and the field! When loveliness of form becomes thy weapon, since thou hast a weapon, thou canst engage. Behold within the skin the hidden kernel: see its flashing ray in the Friend’s light. Though thou dost bear the name of skin, not having kernel, yet to love thou dost belong, thou hast the Darling’s face.

Who seeks of the Beloved but Himself   no attribute his essence can destroy.

His love is my soul’s rest, my gain and loss, my heart’s desire His beauty to attain: the eye hath seen, yet seeks the heart to see. My heart is held within His snare, and I am drunk with wine of longing: naught He cares though I am yearning to behold His face, and in my passion meditate this lay.

(60 )

POEM.

Again my mad heart takes the cup, of love, upon love’s breast reclining: again my soul is yielded up, to love’s enfolding might resigning.

The wine hath filled my weary brain with vapours from love’s censer blowing: give wine, for sorrow once again its melancholy head is shewing.

The loveliness of Thy fair face     my mind doth haunt, my heart is stealing,

else love had never found a place

within the heart, such joy revealing.

Love’s pigeon to my heart doth fly

a message from my Lover giving,

and gladly for His sake I die,

with Him forever to be living.

(61)

VERSE.

Thou, Who art my spirit’s whole desire, if I behold Thee as Thou truly art free from the bondage of this flesh I’ll rise with Thee alone concerned, the world forgot. If haply Thou dost deign to speak a word, a single word, one day, to such as me, when to mine ear Thy gentle discourse comes my mind will break in ecstasy of joy.

The eye must needs behold Thee, though beholding   augments my longing: fettered mind and thought, no more I heed but Thy enchanting mole, Thy mirthful eye, that every moment tries new blandishments to steal the lover’s heart.

Thy lip the Fountain is of Life to me: my outward yearning proves an inward grief. Now, since Thy lip gives life unto the soul, the Fount of Life hath little merit more.

No longer break my heart, as Thou wast wont: my heart is but the treasury of Thy love. 

  Hast Thou not leisure to inquire my case, have I no chance to listen to Thy word ? If but a single time in all the year I may behold Thee, that were life to me. I see a spy is with Thee, and pass on, mine eyes averted, but with watchful heart. This bond that links my spirit unto Thee was fashioned first upon creation’s day. Whate’er the heart desireth not, the eye cares not to look upon again: the heart   wills not the eye to see, the eye, distraught, knoweth not whither it may look. Who go upon this path, and seek a sign therein, yield up their hearts, and bid farewell to life.

(62)

POEM.

It is not hard to yield the heart: ne’er from my Sweetheart can I part.

To Farhad life, though sad, was sweet, yet could he give it up complete.

I love Thee: shout it far and wide; how long must I conceal and hide ?

Thou only canst Thy beauty tell, not every tongue describes it well.

So fine Thy mouth is, and so small, it surely cannot speak at all;

were not Thy loins with girdle graced, I could not say Thou hast a waist.

But now I yearn Thy lips to press, and. all my soul’s desire confess.

(63)

VERSE.

No other voice but Thine is known to me, else know I not silence from speech to tell; my foot is fastened in Thy sorrow’s noose, with passion’s wine I am intoxicate.

Though in mine eye no Light is, yet can I behold each distant object as at hand.

Though we were never men to win Thy love, yet seek we all Thy love’s discomfiture.

Fling wide the gate to us who seek, and shew

  the path to our desire. To see Thy face

I yield my all, in this world and the next: grant me, 0 Lord, this boon, that I may see the face of my Beloved, and rejoice.

(64)

10. CHAPTER  .

CONCLUSION.

Welcome, thrice welcome to thee, breeze of dawn! What tidings bearest thou of the Beloved ?

Behold my sore distraction, and reply: what knowest thou ? Doth He neglect me now, since thus I am, or hath He mind to pass along this way ? Say, doth He sow the seed of love for us, or cares He not at all ?

Remembers He the words of the distressed, or counts He not these numbers ? Is there yet

  some longing, some desire within His heart for us, or is our friendship quite forgotten ?

Keeps He yet trust in heart, or minds He now to do us wrong ? Thinks He on us a little or makes He never mention of our name ?

Knows He at all what is our present case, or has He other thoughts of us ? Seeks He to be remote ? Says He no word of us ? Though I may never win His loveliness, do what He will, I shall not raise a hand:   naught else I seek, but what is His desire, this is my only thought and memory. So wholly is my soul engaged with Him, I know not parting from reunion.

What is my case with Him ? I know it not:

I cannot say, except that I am caught a prisoner in His noose, and have no will to be delivered. Though He never bears my name on lip, since He hath parted, all my peace is gone. Whatever man draws life   in the Beloved's odour, all his yearning

is after the Beloved: if the eye desires to see Thy beauty, it was moved by the incitement of the thought of Thee.

(65)

POEM.

When in love’s snare the soul doth lie it is no sin for eye to see:

though far Thy face from outward eye, with inward sight I gaze on Thee.

My soul is drunken with the wine quaffed on that first, primaeval day when Thou wast mine, and I was Thine, and promised so to be for eye.

I cannot let my Lover go,   though I am doomed to banishment:

the spark betrays the ember’s glow, this blush, my soul’s bewilderment.

Thy languorous eye is lover’s bane,

the earth Thou treadest, China’s throne:

whate’er Thou wiliest, Thou dost reign,

and humbly I obedience Own.

(66)

VERSE.

Since on my soul Thy seal is, who am I to have a will at all i Whoever sets his heart to suffer in the quest of Thee, all his desires are Thy desires. The soul no longing has, save what Thy purpose is, the heart’s sole joy Thy visitation is. My refuge is the dust before Thy door, Thy threshold is my place of worshipping;

I cannot quit Thy street, and leave Thy door,   for whither shall I go, if thence I rove

Knowest Thou, then, the purport of these words ? That, being far from Thee, I cannot live, though many thousands such as me Thou hast: so let my discourse with this saying close.