«Священные книги и ранняя литература Востока, Том 6: Средневековая арабская, мавританская и турецкая литература»

How shall I my love disclose to thee who tyrant dread art?

How shall I hold straight upon my road, when yonder Torment

Smitten hath my breast with deadly wounds by her eyelash dart?

Face, a rose; and mouth, a rosebud; form, a slender sapling—

How shall I not be the slave of Princess such as thou art?

Ne'er hath heart a beauty seen like her of graceful figure;

Joyous would I for yon charmer's eyebrow with my life part.

Farisi, what can I do but love that peerless beauty?

Ah! this aged Sphere hath made me lover of yon sweetheart.

—Sultan Osman II. (1617-1623).

СУЛТАНУ МУРАДУ IV.

Round us foes throng, host to aid us here in sad plight, is there none?

In the cause of God to combat, chief of tried might, is there none?

None who will checkmate the foe, Castle to Castle, face to face

In the battle who will Queen-like guide the brave Knight, is there none?

Midst a fearful whirlpool we are fallen helpless, send us aid!

Us to rescue, a strong swimmer in our friends' sight, is there none?

Midst the fight to be our comrade, head to give or heads to take,

On the field of earth a hero of renown bright, is there none?

Know we not wherefore in turning off our woes ye thus delay;

Day of Reckoning, aye, and question of the poor's plight, is there none?

With us 'midst the foeman's flaming streams of scorching fire to plunge,

Salamander with experience of Fate dight, is there none?

This our letter, to the court of Sultan Murad, quick to bear,

Pigeon, rapid as the storm-wind in its swift flight, is there none?

—Hafiz Pacha.

В ОТВЕТ НА ПРЕДЫДУЩЕЕ

To relieve Bagdad, O Hafiz, man of tried might, is there none?

Aid from us thou seek'st, then with thee host of fame bright, is there none?

"I'm the Queen the foe who'll checkmate," thus it was that thou didst say;

Room for action now against him with the brave Knight, is there none?

Though we know thou hast no rival in vainglorious, empty boasts,

Yet to take dread vengeance on thee, say, a Judge right, is there none?

While thou layest claim to manhood, whence this cowardice of thine?

Thou art frightened, yet beside thee fearing no fight, is there none?

Heedless of thy duty thou, the Rafizis have ta'en Bagdad;

Shall not God thy foe be? Day of Reckoning, sure, right, is there none?

They have wrecked Ebu-Hanifa's city through thy lack of care;

Oh, in thee of Islam's and the Prophet's zeal, light, is there none?

God, who favored us, whilst yet we knew not, with the Sultanate,

Shall again accord Bagdad, decreed of God's might, is there none?

Thou hast brought on Islam's army direful ruin with thy bribes;

Have we not heard how thou say'st, "Word of this foul blight, is there none?"

With the aid of God, fell vengeance on the enemy to take,

By me skilled and aged, vizier, pious, zeal-dight, is there none?

Now shall I appoint commander a vizier of high emprise,

Will not Khizar and the Prophet aid him? guide right, is there none?

Is it that thou dost the whole world void and empty now conceive?

Of the Seven Climes, Muradi, King of high might, is there none?

—Sultan Murad IV. (1623-1640).

ЛУГАЗ

There's an o'erhanging castle in which there flows a main,

And there within that castle a fish its home hath ta'en;

The fish within its mouth doth hold a shining gem,

Which wastes the fish as long as it therein doth remain.

This puzzle to the poets is offered by Murad;

Let him reply who office or place desires to gain.

—Sultan Murad IV.

МУНАДЖАТ

Allah! Lord who liv'st for aye! O Sole! O King of Glory's Bay!

Monarch who ne'er shalt pass away! show thou to us thy bounties fair.

In early morning shall our cry, our wail, mount to thy Throne on high:

"Error and sin our wont," we sigh: show thou to us thy bounties fair.

If cometh not from thee thy grace, evil shall all our works deface;

O Lord of Being and of Space! show thou to us thy bounties fair.

Creator of security! to thy Beloved greetings be!

These fair words are in sincerity: show thou to us thy bounties fair

Iqbali sinnèd hath indeed, yet unto him thy grace concede;

Eternal, Answerer in need! show thou to us thy bounties fair.

—Sultan Mustafa II. (1695-1703).

ТУРЕЦКИЕ ПОЭТЕССЫ

ГАЗЕЛЬ ЗЕЙНЕБ

Cast off thy veil, and heaven and earth in dazzling light array!

As radiant Paradise, this poor demented world display!

Move thou thy lips, make play the ripples light of Kevser's pool!

Let loose thy scented locks, and odors sweet through earth convey!

A musky warrant by thy down was traced, and zephyr charged:

"Speed, with this scent subdue the realms of China and Cathay!"

O heart! should not thy portion be the Water bright of Life,

A thousand times mayst thou pursue Iskender's darksome way.

O Zeyneb, woman's love of earthly show leave thou behind;

Go manly forth, with single heart, forsake adornment gay!

ГАЗЕЛЬ МИХРИ

Once from sleep I oped my eyes, I raised my head, when full in sight

There before me stood a moon-faced beauty, lovely, shining, bright.

Thought I: "In th' ascendant's now my star, or I my fate have reached,

For within my chamber sure is risen Jupiter this night."

Radiance from his beauty streaming saw I, though to outward view

(While himself a Moslem) he in garb of infidel is dight.

Though I oped my eyes or closed them, still the form was ever there;

Thus I fancied to myself: "A fairy this or angel bright?"

Till the Resurrection ne'er shall Mihri gain the Stream of Life;

Yet in Night's deep gloom Iskender gleamed before her wond'ring sight.

ГАЗЕЛЬ МИХРИ

Faithful and kind a friend I hoped that thou wouldst prove to me;

Who would have thought so cruel and fierce a tyrant in thee to see?

Thou who the newly oped rose art of the Garden of Paradise,

That every thorn and thistle thou lov'st—how can it fitting be?

I curse thee not, but of God Most High, Our Lord, I make this prayer—

That thou may'st love a pitiless one in tyranny like to thee.

In such a plight am I now, alack! that the curser saith to his foe:

"Be thy fortune dark and thy portion black, even as those of Mihri!"

СТИХИ НЕДЖАТИ

ИЗ ЕГО ВЕСЕННЕЙ КАСЫДЫ

The early springtide now hath made earth smiling bright again,

E'en as doth union with his mistress soothe the lover's pain.

They say: "'Tis now the goblet's turn, the time of mirth 'tis now";

Beware that to the winds thou castest not this hour in vain.

Theriaca within their ruby pots the tulips lay:

See in the mead the running streamlet's glistening, snake-like train.

Onward, beneath some cypress-tree's loved foot its face to rub,

With turn and turn, and singing sweet, the brook goes through the plain.

Lord! may this happy union of felicity and earth,

Like turn of sun of Love, or Jesu's life, standfast remain!

May glee and mirth, e'en as desired, continuous abide

Like to a mighty Key-Khusrev's, or Jemshid's, glorious reign!

Sultan Mohammed! Murad's son! the Pride of Princes all;

He, the Darius, who to all earth's kings doth crowns ordain!

Monarch of stars! whose flag's the sun, whose stirrup is the moon!

Prince dread as Doom, and strong as Fate, and bounteous as main!

ИЗ ЕГО КАСЫДЫ НА ВОЦАРЕНИЕ СУЛТАНА БАЯЗИДА II.

One eve, when had the Sun before her radiant beauty bright

Let down the veil of ambergris, the musky locks of night;

(Off had the royal hawk, the Sun, flown from the Orient's hand,

And lighted in the West; flocked after him the crows in flight;)

To catch the gloomy raven, Night, the fowler skilled, the Sphere,

Had shaped the new-moon like the claw of eagle, sharp to smite;

In pity at the doleful sight of sunset's crimson blood,

Its veil across the heaven's eye had drawn the dusky Night.

Sultan of Rome! Khusrev of the Horizons! Bayezid!

King of the Epoch! Sovereign! and Center of all Eight!

The tablet of his heart doth all th' affairs of earth disclose;

And eloquent as page of book the words he doth indite.

O Shah! I'm he who, 'midst th' assembly where thy praise is sung,

Will, rebec-like, a thousand notes upon one cord recite.

'Tis meet perfection through thy name to my poor words should come,

As to rose-water perfume sweet is brought by sunbeam's light.

ГАЗЕЛЬ

Truth this: a lasting home hath yielded ne'er earth's spreading plain;

Scarce e'en an inn where may the caravan for rest remain.

Though every leaf of every tree is verily a book,

For those who understanding lack doth earth no leaf contain.

E'en though the Loved One be from thee as far as East from West,

"Bagdad to lovers is not far," O heart, then strive and strain.

One moment opened were her ebriate, strife-causing eyne,

By us as scimitars, not merely daggers, were they ta'en.

Yearneth Nejati for the court of thy fair Paradise,

Though this a wish which he while here on earth can ne'er attain.

РУБАИ

O Handkerchief! I send thee—off to yonder maid of grace;

Around thee I my eyelashes will make the fringe of lace;

I will the black point of my eye ruh up to paint therewith;

To yon coquettish beauty go—go look thou in her face.

O Handkerchief! the loved one's hand take, kiss her lip so sweet,

Her chin, which mocks at apple and at orange, kissing greet;

If sudden any dust should light upon her blessed heart,

Fall down before her, kiss her sandal's sole, beneath her feet.

A sample of my tears of blood thou, Handkerchief, wilt show,

Through these within a moment would a thousand crimson grow;

Thou'lt be in company with her, while I am sad with grief;

To me no longer life may be, if things continue so.

СТИХИ ЛАМИИ

ОБ ОСЕНИ

O sad heart, come, distraction's hour is now high,

The air's cool, 'midst the elds to sit the time nigh.

The Sun hath to the Balance, Joseph-like, past,

The year's Zuleykha hath her gold hoard wide cast.

By winds bronzed, like the Sun, the quince's face glows;

Its Pleiads-clusters, hanging forth, the vine shows.

In saffron flow'rets have the meads themselves dight;

The trees, all scorched, to gold have turned, and shine bright.

The gilded leaves in showers falling to earth gleam;

With goldfish filled doth glisten brightly each stream.

Ablaze each tree, and blent are all in one glare,

And therefore charged with glistening fire the still air.

Amidst the yellow foliage perched the black crows—

As tulip, saffron-hued, that spotted cup shows.

A yellow-plumaged bird now every tree stands,

Which shakes itself and feathers sheds on all hands.

Each vine-leaf paints its face, bride-like, with gold ink;

The brook doth silver anklets round the vine link.

The plane-tree hath its hands, with henna, red-dyed,

And stands there of the parterre's court the fair bride.

The erst green tree now like the starry sky shows,

And hurling meteors at the fiend, Earth, stones throws.

О ВЕСНЕ

From the pleasure, joy, and rapture of this hour,

In its frame to hold its soul earth scarce hath power.

Pent its collar, like the dawning, hath the rose;

From its heart the nightingale sighs forth its woes.

Dance the juniper and cypress like the sphere;

Filled with melody through joy all lands appear.

Gently sing the running brooks in murmurs soft;

While the birds with tuneful voices soar aloft.

Play the green and tender branches with delight,

And they shed with one accord gold, silver, bright.

Like to couriers fleet, the zephyrs speed away,

Resting ne'er a moment either night or day.

In that raid the rosebud filled with gold its hoard,

And the tulip with fresh musk its casket stored.

There the moon a purse of silver coin did seize;

Filled with ambergris its skirt the morning breeze;

Won the sun a golden disk of ruby dye,

And with glistening pearls its pocket filled the sky:

Those who poor were fruit and foliage attained;

All the people of the land some trophy gained.

ВРЕМЯ РОЗ

O heart, come, wail, as nightingale thy woes show;

'Tis Pleasure's moment this, come, then, as rose blow.

In burning notes make thou thy tuneful song rise;

These iron hearts soft render with thy sad sighs.

Within thy soul place not, like tulip, dark brand;

When opportunity doth come, then firm stand.

From earth take justice ere yet are these times left,

And ere yet from the soul's harp is breath's song reft.

They call thee—view the joys that sense would yield thee;

But, ere thou canst say "Hie!" the bird is flown, see.

Give ear, rose-like, because in truth the night-bird

From break of dawn its bitter wail hath made heard.

Their chorus all around the gleeful birds raise;

The streamlets sing, the nightingale the flute plays.

The jasmines with their fresh leaves tambourines ply;

The streams, hard pressed, raise up their glistening foam high

Of junipers and cypresses two ranks 'tween,

The zephyr sports and dances o'er the flower-green.

The streamlets 'midst the vineyard hide-and-seek play

The flowerlets with, among the verdant leaves gay.

Away the morning's breeze the jasmine's crown tears,

As pearls most costly scatters it the plucked hairs.

The leader of the play's the breeze of swift pace;

Like children, each the other all the flowers chase.

With green leaves dressed, the trees each other's hands take;

The flowers and nightingales each other's robes shake.

Like pigeon, there, before the gale that soft blows,

Doth turn in many a somersault the young rose.

As blaze up with gay flowerlets all the red plains,

The wind each passes, and the vineyard next gains.

The clouds, pearl-raining, from the meteors sparks seize;

And flowers are all around strewn by the dawn-breeze.

The waters, eddying, in circles bright play,

Like shining swords the green leaves toss about they.

With bated breath the Judas-trees there stand by;

And each for other running brook and breeze sigh.

The gales tag with the basil play in high glee;

To dance with cypress gives its hand the plane-tree.

The soft winds have adorned the wanton bough fair,

The leader of the frolics 'midst the parterre.

The narcisse toward the almond-tree its glance throws;

With vineyard-love the pink upbraids the dog-rose.

The water's mirror clear doth as the Sphere gleam;

Its stars, the flowers, reflected, fair and bright beam.

The meads are skies; their stars, the drops of dew, glow;

The jasmine is the moon; the stream, the halo.

In short, each spot as resurrection-plane seems;

None who beholds of everlasting pain dreams.

Those who it view, and ponder well with thought's eye,

It's strange, if they be mazed and wildered thereby?

Up! breeze-like, Lami'i, thy hermitage leave!

The roses' days in sooth no time for fasts give!

СТИХИ ГАЗАЛИ

ИЗ ЭЛЕГИИ НА ИСКЕНДЕРА ЧЕЛЕБИ

High honored once was the noble Iskender;

O heart, from his destiny warning obtain.

Ah! do thou see what at length hath befall'n him!

What all this glory and panoply gain!

Drinking the poison of doom, ne'er a remnant

Of sweetness's taste in his mouth did remain.

Retrograde, sank down his star, erst ascendant,

From perfect conjunction, alas, did it wane.

Dust on the face of his honor aye stainless

Strewn hath the blast of betrayal profane.

The Lofty Decree for his high exaltation

Did Equity's Court, all unlooked for, ordain;

Forthwith to the Regions of Eden they bore him,

They raised him from earth's abject baseness and stain.

Circling and soaring, he went on his journey,

From the land of his exile to Home back again.

Neck-bounden he stood as a slave at the palace,

Freed is he now from affliction's hard chain.

Joyous he flew on his journey to Heaven,

Rescued forever from earth gross and vain.

In life or in death from him never, ay, never

Was honor most lofty, most glorious, ta'en!

ФРАГМЕНТ

Come is the autumn of my life, alas, it thus should pass away!

I have not reached the dawn of joy, to sorrow's night there is no day.

Time after time the image of her cheek falls on my tear-filled eye;

Ah! no pretension to esteem can shadows in the water lay!

Oh! whither will these winds of Fate impel the frail bark of the heart?

Nor bound nor shore confining girds Time's dreary ocean of dismay!

СТИХИ ФУЗУЛИ

ГАЗЕЛЬ

O breeze, thou'rt kind, of balm to those whom pangs affright, thou news hast brought,

To wounded frame of life, to life of life's delight thou news hast brought.

Thou'st seen the mourning nightingale's despair in sorrow's autumn drear,

Like springtide days, of smiling roseleaf fresh and bright, thou news hast brought.

If I should say thy words are heaven-inspired, in truth, blaspheme I not;

Of Faith, whilst unbelief doth earth hold fast and tight, thou news hast brought.

They say the loved one comes to soothe the hearts of all her lovers true;

If that the case, to yon fair maid of lovers' plight thou news hast brought.

Of rebel demon thou hast cut the hope Suleiman's throne to gain;

That in the sea secure doth lie his Ring of might, thou news hast brought.

Fuzuli, through the parting night, alas, how dark my fortune grew!

Like zephyr of the dawn, of shining sun's fair light thou news hast brought.

ГАЗЕЛЬ

O thou Perfect Being, Source whence wisdom's mysteries arise;

Things, the issue of thine essence, show wherein thy nature lies.

Manifester of all wisdom, thou art he whose pen of might

Hath with rays of stars illumined yonder gleaming page, the skies.

That a happy star, indeed, the essence clear of whose bright self

Truly knoweth how the blessings from thy word that flow to prize.

But a jewel flawed am faulty I: alas, forever stands

Blank the page of my heart's journal from thought of thy writing wise.

In the journal of my actions Evil's lines are black indeed;

When I think of Day of Gathering's terrors, blood flows from my eyes.

Gathering of my tears will form a torrent on the Reckoning Day,

If the pearls, my tears, rejecting, he but view them to despise:

Pearls my tears are, O Fuzuli, from the ocean deep of love;

But they're pearls these, oh! most surely, that the Love of Allah buys!

ГАЗЕЛЬ

Is't strange if beauties' hearts turn blood through envy of thy cheek most fair?

For that which stone to ruby turns is but the radiant sunlight's glare.

Or strange is't if thine eyelash conquer all the stony-hearted ones?

For meet an ebon shaft like that a barb of adamant should bear!

Thy cheek's sun-love hath on the hard, hard hearts of fairy beauties fall'n,

And many a steely-eyed one hath received thy bright reflection fair.

The casket, thy sweet mouth, doth hold spellbound the huri-faced ones all;

The virtue of Suleiman's Ring was that fays thereto fealty sware.

Is't strange if, seeing thee, they rub their faces lowly midst the dust?

That down to Adam bowed the angel throng doth the Koran declare!

On many and many a heart of stone have fall'n the pangs of love for thee!

A fire that lies in stone concealed is thy heart-burning love's dread glare!

Within her ward, with garments rent, on all sides rosy-cheeked ones stray;

Fuzuli, through those radiant hues, that quarter beams a garden fair.

ГАЗЕЛЬ

From the turning of the Sphere my luck hath seen reverse and woe;

Blood I've drunk, for from my banquet wine arose and forth did go.

With the flame, my burning sighs, I've lit the wand'ring wildered heart;

I'm a fire, doth not all that which turns about me roasted glow?

With thy rubies wine contended—oh! how it hath lost its wits!

Need 'tis yon ill-mannered wretch's company that we forego.

Yonder moon saw not my burning's flame upon the parting day—

How can e'er the sun about the taper all night burning know?

Every eye that all around tears scatters, thinking of thy shaft,

Is an oyster-shell that causeth rain-drops into pearls to grow.

Forms my sighing's smoke a cloud that veils the bright cheek of the moon;

Ah! that yon fair moon will ne'er the veil from off her beauty throw!

Ne'er hath ceased the rival e'en within her ward to vex me sore;

How say they, Fuzuli, "There's in Paradise nor grief nor woe"?

МУСЕДДЕС

A stately Cypress yesterday her shade threw o'er my head;

Her form was heart-ensnaring, heart-delighting her light tread;

When speaking, sudden opened she her smiling rubies red,

There a pistachio I beheld that drops of candy shed.

"This casket can it be a mouth? Ah! deign!" I said; said she:

"Nay, nay, 'tis balm to cure thy hidden smart; aye, truly thine!"

Down o'er her crescents she had pressed the turban she did wear,

By which, from many broken hearts, sighs raised she of despair;

She loosed her tresses—hid within the cloud her moon so fair,

And o'er her visage I beheld the curls of her black hair.

"Those curling locks, say, are they then a chain?" I said; said she:

"That round my cheek, a noose to take thy heart; aye, truly thine!"

The taper bright, her cheek, illumined day's lamp in the sky;

The rose's branch was bent before her figure, cypress-high;

She, cypress-like, her foot set down upon the fount, my eye,

But many a thorn did pierce her foot she suffered pain thereby.

"What thorn unto the roseleaf-foot gives pain?" I said; said she:

"The lash of thy wet eye doth it impart; aye, truly thine!"

Promenading, to the garden did that jasmine-cheeked one go;

With many a bright adornment in the early springtide's glow;

The hyacinths their musky locks did o'er the roses throw;

That Picture had tattooed her lovely feet rose-red to show.

"The tulip's hue whence doth the dog-rose gain?" I said; said she:

"From Hood of thine shed 'neath my glance's dart; aye, truly thine!"

To earth within her ward my tears in torrents rolled apace;

The accents of her ruby lips my soul crazed by their grace;

My heart was taken in the snare her musky locks did trace,

That very moment when my eyes fell on her curls and face.

"Doth Scorpio the bright Moon's House contain?" I said; said she:

"Fear! threatening this Conjunction dread, thy part; aye, truly thine!"

Her hair with ambergris perfumed was waving o'er her cheek,

On many grieving, passioned souls it cruel woe did wreak;

Her graceful form and many charms my wildered heart made weak;

The eye beheld her figure fair, then heart and soul did seek.

"Ah! what bright thing this cypress of the plain?" I said; said she:

"'Tis that which thy fixed gaze beholds apart; aye, truly thine!"

When their veil her tulip and dog-rose had let down yesterday,

The morning breeze tore off that screen which o'er these flow'rets lay;

Came forth that Envy of the sun in garden fair to stray,

Like lustrous pearls the dewdrops shone, a bright and glistening spray.

"Pearls, say, are these, aye pearls from 'Aden's main?" I said; said she:

"Tears, these, of poor Fuzuli, sad of heart; aye, truly thine!"

МУХАММЕС

Attar within vase of crystal, such thy fair form silken-gowned;

And thy breast is gleaming water, where the bubbles clear abound;

Thou so bright none who may gaze upon thee on the earth is found;

Bold wert thou to cast the veil off, standing forth with garland crowned:

Not a doubt but woe and ruin all the wide world must confound!

Lures the heart thy gilded palace, points it to thy lips the way;

Eagerly the ear doth listen for the words thy rubies say;

Near thy hair the comb remaineth, I despairing far away;

Bites the comb, each curling ringlet, when it through thy locks doth stray:

Jealous at its sight, my heart's thread agonized goes curling round.

Ah! her face the rose, her shift rose-hued, her trousers red their shade;

With its flame burns us the fiery garb in which thou are arrayed.

Ne'er was born of Adam's children one like thee, O cruel maid!

Moon and Sun, in beauty's circle, at thy fairness stand dismayed:

Seems it thou the Sun for mother and the Moon for sire hast owned.

Captive bound in thy red fillet, grieve I through thy musky hair;

Prone I 'neath those golden anklets which thy silvern limbs do wear;

Think not I am like thy fillet, empty of thy grace, O fair!

Rather to the golden chain, which hangs thy cheek round, me compare:

In my sad heart pangs a thousand from thy glance's shafts are found.

Eyes with antimony darkened, hands with henna crimson dyed;

Through these beauties vain and wanton like to thee was ne'er a bride.

Bows of poplar green, thy painted brows; thy glances shafts provide.

Poor Fuzuli for thine eyes and eyebrows aye hath longing cried:

That the bird from bow and arrow flees not, well may all astound.

ИЗ «ЛЕЙЛИ И МЕДЖНУН»

Yield not the soul to pang of Love, for Love's the soul's fierce glow;

That Love's the torment of the soul doth all the wide world know.

Seek not for gain from fancy wild of pang of Love at all;

For all that comes from fancy wild of Love's pang is griefs throe.

Each curving eyebrow is a blood-stained saber thee to slay;

Each dusky curl, a deadly venomed snake to work thee woe.

Lovely, indeed, the forms of moon-like maidens are to see—

Lovely to see, but ah! the end doth bitter anguish show.

From this I know full well that torment dire in love abides,

That all who lovers are, engrossed with sighs, rove to and fro.

Call not to mind the pupils of the black-eyed damsels bright,

With thought, "I'm man"; be not deceived, 'tis blood they drink, I trow.

E'en if Fuzuli should declare, "In fair ones there is troth,"

Be not deceived—"A poet's words are falsehoods all men know."

МЕДЖНУН ОБРАЩАЕТСЯ К НЕВФИЛЮ

Quoth Mejnun: "O sole friend of true plight!

With counsel many have tried me to guide right;

Many with wisdom gifted have advice shown,

But yet this fiend hath been by no one o'erthrown;

Much gold has on the earth been strewn round,

But yet this Stone of Alchemist by none's found.

Collyrium I know that doth increase light,

What use though is it if the eye doth lack sight?

I know that greatest kindliness in thee lies,

What use, though, when my fate doth ever dark rise?

Upon my gloomy fortune I no faith lay,

Impossible my hope appeareth alway.

Ah! though in this thou shouldest ever hard toil,

The end at length will surely all thy plans foil.

No kindliness to me my closest friends show;

Who is a friend to him whom he doth deem foe?

I know my fortune evil is and woe-fraught;

The search for solace is to me, save pain, naught.

There is a gazel that doth well my lot show,

Which constant I repeat where'er my steps go."

ГАЗЕЛЬ МЕДЖНУНА

From whomsoe'er I've sought for troth but bitterest disdain I've seen;

Whome'er within this faithless world I've trusted, all most vain I've seen.

To whomsoe'er I've told my woes, in hope to find some balm therefor,

Than e'en myself o'erwhelmed and sunk in deeper, sadder pain I've seen.

From out mine aching heart no one hath driven cruel grief away,

That those my friends of pleasure's hour affection did but feign I've seen.

Although I've clutched its mantle, life hath turned away its face from me;

And though I faith from mirror hoped, there persecuted swain I've seen.

At gate of hope I set my foot, bewilderment held forth its hand,

Alas! whene'er hope's thread I've seized, in hand the serpent's train I've seen.

A hundred times the Sphere hath shown to me my darksome fortune's star;

Whene'er my horoscope I've cast, but blackest, deepest stain I've seen.

Fuzuli, blush not then, should I from mankind turn my face away;

For why? From all to whom I've looked, but reason sad too plain I've seen.

ВИДЕНИЕ ЗЕЙДА

His grief and mourning Zeyd renewed alway,

From bitter wailing ceased he not, he wept aye.

That faithful, loving, ever-constant friend dear.

One night, when was the rise of the True Dawn near,

Feeling that in his wasted frame no strength stayed,

Had gone, and down upon that grave himself laid.

There, in his sleep, he saw a wondrous fair sight,

A lovely garden, and two beauties, moon-bright;

Through transport rapturous, their cheeks with light glow;

Far distant now, all fear of anguish, pain, woe;

With happiness and ecstasy and joy blest,

From rivals' persecutions these have found rest;

A thousand angel-forms to each fair beauty,

With single heart, perform the servant's duty.

He, wondering, question made: "What Moons so bright these?

What lofty, honored Sovereigns of might these?

What garden, most exalted, is this parterre?

What throng so bright and beautiful, the throng there?"

They answer gave: "Lo! Eden's shining bowers these;

That radiant throng, the Heaven-born Youths and Houris;

These two resplendent forms, bright as the fair moon,

These are the ever-faithful—Leyli, Mejnun!

Since pure within the vale of love they sojourned,

And kept that purity till they to dust turned,

Are Eden's everlasting bowers their home now,

To them the Houris and the Youths as slaves bow:

Since these, while on the earth, all woe resigned met,

And patience aye before them in each grief set,

When forth they fled from this false, faithless world's bound,

From all those pangs and sorrows they release found!"

СТИХИ НАБИ

МУХАММЕС

Alas! nor dew nor smiling rose within this mead is mine;

Within this market-place nor trade nor coin for need is mine;

Nor more nor less; nor power nor strength for act or deed is mine;

Nor might nor eminence; nor balm the cure to speed is mine.

Oh, that I knew what here I am, that which indeed is mine!

Being's the bounty of the Lord; and Life, the gift Divine;

The Breath, the present of his love; and Speech his Grace's sign;

The Body is the pile of God; the Soul, his Breath benign;

The Powers thereof, his Glory's trust; the Senses, his design.

Oh, that I knew what here I am, that which indeed is mine!

No work, no business of my own within this mart have I;

All Being is of him alone—no life apart have I;

No choice of entering this world, or hence of start have I;

To cry, "I am! I am!" in truth, no power of heart have I.

Oh, that I knew what here I am, that which indeed is mine!

The Earth the carpet is of Power; the Sphere, the tent of Might;

The Stars, both fixed and wandering, are Glory's lamps of light;

The World's the issue of the grace of Mercy's treasures bright;

With forms of beings is the page of Wisdom's volume dight.

Oh, that I knew what here I am, that which indeed is mine!

Being is but a loan to us, and Life in trust we hold:

In slaves a claim to Power's pretension arrogant and bold;

The servant's part is by submission and obedience told;

Should He, "My slave," address to me, 'twere favors manifold.

Oh, that I knew what here I am, that which indeed is mine!

I'm poor and empty-handed, but grace free is of the Lord;

Nonentity's my attribute: to Be is of the Lord;

For Being or Non-being's rise, decree is of the Lord;

The surging of the Seen and Unseen's sea is of the Lord.

Oh, that I knew what here I am, that which indeed is mine!

Of gifts from table of his Bounty is my daily bread;

My breath is from the Breath of God's benignant Mercy fed;

My portion from the favors of Almighty Power is shed;

And my provision is from Providence's kitchen spread.

Oh, that I knew what here I am, that which indeed is mine!

I can not, unallotted, take my share from wet or dry;

From land or from the ocean, from earth or from the sky;

The silver or the gold will come, by Providence laid by;

I can not grasp aught other than my fortune doth supply.

Oh, that I knew what here I am, that which indeed is mine!

Creation's Pen the lines of billows of events hath traced;

Th' illumined scroll of the Two Worlds, Creation's Pencil graced;

Their garments upon earth and sky, Creation's woof hath placed;

Men's forms are pictures in Creation's great Shah-Nama traced.

Oh, that I knew what here I am, that which indeed is mine!

I can not make the morning eve, or the dark night the day;

I can not turn the air to fire, or dust to water's spray;

I can not bid the Sphere stand still, or mountain region stray;

I can not Autumn turn by will of mine to lovely May.

Oh, that I knew what here I am, that which indeed is mine!

From out of Nothingness his mighty Power made me appear;

Whilst in the womb I lay, saw he to all I need for here;

With kindness concealed and manifest did he me rear;

With me he drew a curtain o'er Distinction's beauty dear.

Oh, that I knew what here I am, that which indeed is mine!

God's Revelation is Discernment's Eye, if't oped remain;

The picturings of worlds are all things changing aye amain;

The showing of the Hidden Treasure is this raging main,

This work, this business of the Lord, this Majesty made plain.

Oh, that I knew what here I am, that which indeed is mine!

Now void, now full, are Possibility's storehouses vast;

This glass-lined world's the mirror where Lights Twain their phases cast;

The blinded thing—in scattering strange fruits its hours are past;

Ruined hath this old Vineyard been by autumn's sullen blast.

Oh, that I knew what here I am, that which indeed is mine!

ГАЗЕЛЬ

Ne'er a corner for the plaintive bulbul's nest remaineth now;

Ne'er a palm-tree 'neath whose kindly shade is rest remaineth now.

Day and night some balm I've sought for, to relieve my wounded heart;

Ne'er a cure within the heavens' turquoise chest remaineth now.

From its source, through every country, searched have I, but all in vain—

Ne'er a single drop, in mercy's fountain blest, remaineth now.

Empty earthen pots are reckoned one with jewels rich and rare;

Ne'er a scale in value's mart the worth to test remaineth now.

'Neath the earth may now the needy hide themselves, Nabi, away;

Ne'er a turret on the fort of interest remaineth now.

СТИХИ БАКИ

КАСЫДА О СУЛТАНЕ СУЛЕЙМАНЕ

One night when all the battlements Heaven's castle doth display,

Illumed and decked were, with the shining lamps, the stars' array,

Amidst the host of gleaming stars the Moon lit up his torch;

Athwart the field of Heaven with radiance beamed the Milky Way.

The Secretary of the Spheres had ta'en his meteor-pen,

That writer of his signature whom men and jinns obey.

There, at the banquet of the sky, had Venus struck her lyre,

In mirth and happiness, delighted, joyed and smiling gay.

Taking the keynote for her tune 'neath in the vaulted sphere,

The tambourinist Sun her visage bright had hid away.

Armed with a brand of gleaming gold had leapt into the plain

The Swordsman of the sky's expanse, of heaven's field of fray.

To give direction to the weighty matters of the earth

Had Jupiter, the wise, lit up reflection's taper's ray.

There raised aloft old Saturn high upon the Seventh Sphere

Sitting like Indian elephant-conductor on did stray.

"What means this decking of the universe?" I wond'ring said;

When, lo! with meditation's gaze e'en whilst I it survey,

Casting its beams on every side, o'er all earth rose the Sun,

O'er the horizons, e'en as Seal of Suleiman's display.

The eye of understanding looked upon this wondrous sight;

At length the soul's ear learned the secret hid in this which lay:

What is it that hath decked earth's hall with splendors such as this,

Saving the might and fortune of the King who earth doth sway?

He who sits high upon the throne above all crowned kings,

The Hero of the battlefield of dread Keyani fray,

Jemshid of happiness and joy, Darius of the fight,

Khusrev of right and clemency, Iskender of his day!

Lord of the East and West! King whom the kings of earth obey!

Prince of the Epoch! Sultan Suleiman! Triumphant Aye!

Meet 'tis before the steed of yonder Monarch of the realms

Of right and equity, should march earth's rulers' bright array.

Rebelled one 'gainst his word, secure he'd bind him in his bonds,

E'en like the dappled pard, the sky, chained with the Milky Way.

Lord of the land of graciousness and bounty, on whose board

Of favors, spread is all the wealth that sea and mine display;

Longs the perfumer, Early Spring, for th' odor of his grace;

Need hath the merchant, Autumn, of his bounteous hand alway.

Through tyrant's hard oppression no one groaneth in his reign,

And though may wail the flute and lute, the law they disobey.

Beside thy justice, tyranny's the code of Key-Qubad;

Beside thy wrath, but mildness Qahraman's most deadly fray.

Thy scimitar's the gleaming guide empires to overthrow,

No foe of Islam can abide before thy saber's ray.

Saw it thy wrath, through dread of thee would trembling seize the pine;

The falling stars a chain around the heaven's neck would lay.

Amidst thy sea-like armies vast, thy flags and standards fair,

The sails are which the ship of splendid triumph doth display.

Thrust it its beak into the Sphere, 'twould seize it as a grain,

The 'anqa strong, thy power, to which 'twere but a seed-like prey.

In past eternity the hand, thy might, it struck with bat,

That time is this time, for the Sky's Ball spins upon its way.

Within the rosy garden of thy praise the bird, the heart,

Singeth this soul-bestowing, smooth-as-water-running lay.

If yonder mouth be not the soul, O heart-enslaver gay,

Then wherefore is it like the soul, hid from our eyes away?

Since in the casket of our mind thy ruby's picture lies,

The mine is now no fitting home for gem of lustrous ray.

Thy tresses fall across thy cheek in many a twisting curl,

"To dance to Hijaz have the Shamis tucked their skirts," we'd say.

Let both the youthful pine and cypress view thy motions fair;

The gardener now to rear the willow need no more assay.

The dark and cloudy-brained of men thine eyebrows black depict,

While those of keen, discerning wit thy glistening teeth portray.

Before thy cheek the rose and jasmine bowed in sujud,

The cypress to thy figure in qiyam did homage pay.

The heart's throne is the seat of that great monarch, love for thee;

The soul, the secret court, where doth thy ruby's picture stay.

The radiance of thy beauty bright hath filled earth like the sun,

The hall, "Be! and it is," resounds with love of thee for aye.

The cries of those on plain of earth have risen to the skies,

The shouts of those who dwell above have found to earth their way.

Nor can the nightingale with songs as sweet as Baqi's sing,

Nor happy as thy star can beam the garden's bright array.

The mead, the world, blooms through thy beauty's rose, like Irem's bower;

On every side are nightingales of sweet, melodious lay.

Now let us pray at Allah's court: "May this for aye endure,

The might and glory of this prospered King's resplendent sway;

Until the lamp, the world-illuming sun, at break of dawn,

A silver candelabrum on the circling skies display,

Oh! may the Ruler of the world with skirt of aid and grace

Protect the taper of his life from blast of doom, we pray!"

Glory's the comrade; Fortune, the cup-bearer at our feast;

The beaker is the Sphere; the bowl, the Steel of gold-inlay!

ГАЗЕЛЬ

'Tis love's wild sea, my sighs' fierce wind doth lash those waves my tears uprear;

My head, the bark of sad despite; mine eyebrows twain, the anchors here.

Mine unkempt hair, the den of yonder tiger dread, the fair one's love;

My head, dismay and sorrow's realm's deserted mountain region drear.

At whatsoever feast I drain the cup thy rubies' mem'ry to,

Amidst all those who grace that feast, except the dregs, I've no friend near.

Thou know'st, O Light of my poor eyes, with tutya mixed are gems full bright,

What then if weep on thy path's dust mine eyes that scatter pearls most clear!

The Sphere, old hag, with witchcraft's spell hath parted me from my fond love,

O Baqi, see, by God, how vile a trick yon jade hath played me here!

ГАЗЕЛЬ

Years trodden under foot have I lain on that path of thine;

Thy musky locks are noose-like cast, around my feet to twine.

O Princess mine! boast not thyself through loveliness of face,

For that, alas, is but a sun which must full soon decline!

The loved one's stature tall, her form as fair as juniper,

Bright 'midst the rosy bowers of grace a slender tree doth shine.

Her figure, fair-proportioned as my poesy sublime,

Her slender waist is like its subtle thought—hard to divine.

Then yearn not, Baqi, for the load of love's misfortune dire;

For that to bear mayhap thy soul no power doth enshrine.

ГАЗЕЛЬ

With her graceful-moving form, a Cypress jasmine-faced is she?

Or in Eden's bower a branch upon the Lote or Tuba-tree?

That thy blood-stained shaft which rankles in my wounded breast, my love,

In the rosebud hid a lovely rose-leaf, sweetheart, can it be?

To the dead of pain of anguish doth its draught fresh life impart;

O cupbearer, is the red wine Jesu's breath? tell, tell to me!

Are they teeth those in thy mouth, or on the rosebud drops of dew?

Are they sparkling stars, or are they gleaming pearls, that there I see?

Through the many woes thou wreakest upon Baqi, sick of heart,

Is't thy will to slay him, or is it but sweet disdain in thee?

ГАЗЕЛЬ

Before thy form, the box-tree's lissom figure dwarfed would show;

Those locks of thine the pride of ambergris would overthrow.

Who, seeing thy cheek's glow, recalls the ruby is deceived;

He who hath drunken deep of wine inebriate doth grow.

Should she move forth with figure like the juniper in grace,

The garden's cypress to the loved one's form must bend right low.

Beware, give not the mirror bright to yonder paynim maid,

Lest she idolater become, when there her face doth show.

Baqi, doth he not drink the wine of obligation's grape,

Who drunken with A-lestu's cup's overwhelming draught doth go?

ГАЗЕЛЬ

Thy cheek, like limpid water, clear doth gleam;

Thy pouting mouth a bubble round doth seem.

The radiance of thy cheek's sun on the heart

Like moonlight on the water's face doth beam.

The heart's page, through the tracings of thy down,

A volume all illumined one would deem.

That fair Moon's sunny love the earth have burned,

It warm as rays of summer sun doth stream.

At woful sorrow's feast my bloodshot eyes,

Two beakers of red wine would one esteem.

Baqi, her mole dark-hued like ambergris,

A fragrant musk-pod all the world would deem.

ГАЗЕЛЬ

All sick the heart with love for her, sad at the feast of woe;

Bent form, the harp; low wail, the flute; heart's blood for wine doth flow.

Prone lies the frame her path's dust 'neath, in union's stream the eye,

In air the mind, the soul 'midst separation's fiery glow.

Oh, ever shall it be my lot, zone-like, thy waist to clasp!

'Twixt us, O love, the dagger blade of severance doth show!

Thou art the Queen of earth, thy cheeks are Towers of might, this day,

Before thy Horse, like Pawns, the Kings of grace and beauty go.

Him hinder not, beside thee let him creep, O Shade-like stay!

Baqi, thy servant, O my Queen, before thee lieth low.

ОБ ОСЕНИ

Lo, ne'er a trace or sign of springtide's beauty doth remain;

Fall'n 'midst the garden lie the leaves, now all their glory vain.

Bleak stand the orchard trees, all clad in tattered dervish rags;

Dark Autumn's blast hath torn away the hands from off the plane.

From each hill-side they come and cast their gold low at the feet,

Of garden trees, as hoped the streams from these some boon to gain.

Stay not within the parterre, let it tremble with its shame:

Bare every shrub, this day doth naught of leaf or fruit retain.

Baqi, within the garden lies full many a fallen leaf;

Low lying there, it seems they 'gainst the winds of Fate complain.

ГАЗЕЛЬ

Tulip-cheeked ones over rosy field and plain stray all around;

Mead and garden cross they, looking wistful each way, all around.

These the lovers true of radiant faces, aye, but who the fair?

Lissom Cypress, thou it is whom eager seek they all around.

Band on band Woe's legions camped before the City of the Heart,

There, together league, sat Sorrow, Pain, Strife, Dismay, all around.

From my weeping flows the river of my tears on every side,

Like an ocean 'tis again, a sea that casts spray all around.

Forth through all the Seven Climates have the words of Baqi gone;

This refulgent verse recited shall be alway, all around.

ГАЗЕЛЬ

From thine own beauty's radiant sun doth light flow;

How lustrously doth now the crystal glass show!

Thy friend's the beaker, and the cup's thy comrade;

Like to the dregs why dost thou me aside throw?

Hearts longing for thy beauty can resist not;

Hold, none can bear the dazzling vision's bright glow!

United now the lover, and now parted;

This world is sometimes pleasure and sometimes woe.

Bound in the spell of thy locks' chain is Baqi,

Mad he, my Liege, and to the mad they grace show.

ГАЗЕЛЬ

The goblet as affliction's Khusrev's bright Keyani crown doth shine;

And surely doth the wine-jar love's King's Khusrevani hoard enshrine.

Whene'er the feast recalls Jemshid, down from its eyes the red blood rolls;

The rosy-tinted wine its tears, the beakers its blood-weeping eyne.

At parting's banquet should the cup, the heart, with blood brim o'er were't strange?

A bowl that, to the fair we'll drain, a goblet filled full high with wine.

O Moon, if by thy door one day the foe should sudden me o'ertake—

A woe by Heaven decreed, a fate to which I must myself resign!

The fume of beauty's and of grace's censer is thy cheek's sweet mole,

The smoke thereof thy musky locks that spreading fragrant curl and twine;

Thy cheek rose-hued doth light its taper at the moon that shines most bright,

Its candlestick at grace's feast is yonder collar fair of thine.

Of love and passion is the lustrous sheen of Baqi's verse the cause;

As Life's Stream brightly this doth shine; but that, th' Eternal Life Divine.

ДРЕВНЯЯ ЦЕРКОВЬ СВЯТОЙ СОФИИ.

Бывший христианский собор Древнего Константинополя, ныне превращенный в главную мусульманскую мечеть.

© UNDERWOOD & UNDERWOOD, N.Y.

ГАЗЕЛЬ

When the sheets have yonder Torment to their bosom ta'en to rest,

Think I, "Hides the night-adorning Moon within the cloudlet's breast."

In the dawning, O thou turtle, mourn not with those senseless plaints;

In the bosom of some stately cypress thou'rt a nightly guest.

Why thou weepest from the heavens, never can I think, O dew;

Every night some lovely rose's bosom fair thou enterest.

Hath the pearl seen in the story of thy teeth its tale of shame,

Since the sea hath hid the album of the shell within its breast?

Longing for thy cheeks, hath Baqi all his bosom marked with scars,

Like as though he'd cast of rose-leaves fresh a handful o'er his chest.

ЭЛЕГИЯ НА СУЛТАНА СУЛЕЙМАНА I.

O thou! foot-bounden in the mesh of fame and glory's snare!

Till when shall last the lust of faithless earth's pursuits and care?

At that first moment, which of life's fair springtide is the last,

'Tis need the tulip cheek the tint of autumn leaf should wear;

'Tis need that thy last home should be, e'en like the dregs', the dust;

'Tis need the stone from hand of Fate should be joy's beaker's share.

He is a man indeed whose heart is as a mirror clear;

Man art thou? why then doth thy breast the tiger's fierceness bear?

In understanding's eye how long shall heedless slumber bide?

Will not war's Lion-Monarch's fate suffice to make thee ware?

He, Prince of Fortune's Cavaliers! he to whose charger bold,

Whene'er he caracoled or pranced, cramped was earth's tourney square!

He, to the luster of whose sword the Magyar bowed his head!

He, the dread gleaming of whose brand the Frank can well declare!

Like tender rose-leaf, gently laid he in the dust his face,

And Earth, the Treasurer, him placed like jewel in his case.

In truth, he was the radiance of rank high and glory great,

A Shah, Iskender-diademed, of Dara's armied state;

Before the dust beneath his feet the Sphere bent low its head;

Earth's shrine of adoration was his royal pavilion's gate.

The smallest of his gifts the meanest beggar made a prince;

Exceeding bounteous, exceeding kind a Potentate!

The court of glory of his kingly majesty most high

Was aye the center where would hopes of sage and poet wait.

Although he yielded to Eternal Destiny's command,

A King was he in might as Doom and puissant as Fate!

Weary and worn by this sad, changeful Sphere, deem not thou him:

Near God to be, did he his rank and glory abdicate.

What wonder if our eyes no more life and the world behold!

His beauty fair, as sun and moon, did earth irradiate!

If folk upon the bright sun look, with tears are filled their eyes;

For seeing it, doth yon moon-face before their minds arise!

Now let the cloud blood drop on drop weep, and its form bend low!

And let the Judas-tree anew in blossoms gore-hued blow!

With this sad anguish let the stars' eyes rain down bitter tears!

And let the smoke from hearts on fire the heavens all darkened show!

Their azure garments let the skies change into deepest black!

Let the whole world attire itself in robes of princely woe!

In breasts of fairies and of men still let the flame burn on—

Of parting from the blest King Suleiman the fiery glow!

His home above the highest heaven's ramparts he hath made;

This world was all unworthy of his majesty, I trow.

The bird, his soul, hath, huma-like, aloft flown to the skies,

And naught remaineth save a few bones on the earth below.

The speeding Horseman of the plain of Time and Space was he;

Fortune and Fame aye as his friends and bridle-guides did go.

The wayward courser, cruel Fate, was wild and fierce of pace,

And fell to earth the Shade of God the Lord's benignant Grace.

Through grief for thee, bereft of rest and tearful e'en as I,

Sore weeping let the cloud of spring go wand'ring through the sky!

And let the wailing of the birds of dawn the whole world fill!

Be roses torn! and let the nightingale distressful cry!

Their hyacinths as weeds of woe displaying, let them weep

Down o'er their skirts their flowing tears let pour—the mountains high!

The odor of thy kindliness recalling, tulip-like,

Within the Tartar musk-deer's heart let fire of anguish lie!

Through yearning for thee let the rose its ear lay on the path,

And, narcisse-like, till the last day the watchman's calling ply!

Although the pearl-diffusing eye to oceans turned the world,

Ne'er into being should there come a pearl with thee to vie!

O heart! this hour 'tis thou that sympathizer art with me;

Come, let us like the flute bewail, and moan, and plaintive sigh!

The notes of mourning and of dole aloud let us rehearse;

And let all those who grieve be moved by this our seven-fold verse.

Will earth's King ne'er awake from sleep?—broke hath the dawn of day:

Will ne'er he move forth from his tent, adorned as heaven's display?

Long have our eyes dwelt on the road, and yet no news hath come

From yonder land, the threshold of his majesty's array:

The color of his cheek hath paled, dry-lipped he lieth there,

E'en like that rose which from the vase of flowers hath fall'n away.

Goes now the Khusrev of the skies behind the cloudy veil,

For shame, remembering thy love and kindness, one would say.

My prayer is ever, "May the babes, his tears, go 'neath the sod,

Or old or young be he who weeps not thee in sad dismay."

With flame of parting from thee let the sun burn and consume;

And o'er the wastes through grief let darkness of the clouds hold sway.

Thy talents and thy feats let it recall and weep in blood,

Yea, let thy saber from its sheath plunge in the darksome clay.

Its collar, through its grief and anguish, let the reed-pen tear!

And let the earth its vestment rend through sorrow and despair!

Thy saber made the foe the anguish dire of wounds to drain;

Their tongues are silenced, none who dares to gainsay doth remain.

The youthful cypress, head-exalted, looked upon thy lance,

And ne'er its lissom twigs their haughty airs displayed again.

Where'er thy stately charger placed his hoof, from far and near

Flocked nobles, all upon thy path their lives to offer fain.

In desert of mortality the bird, desire, rests ne'er;

Thy sword in cause of God did lives as sacrifice ordain.

As sweeps a scimitar, across earth's face on every side,

Of iron-girded heroes of the world thou threw'st a chain.

Thou took'st a thousand idol temples, turnèdst all to mosques;

Where jangled bells thou mad'st be sung the Call to Prayers' strain.

At length is struck the signal drum, and thou hast journeyed hence;

Lo! thy first resting-place is Eden's flowery, verdant plain.

Praise is to God! for he in the Two Worlds hath blessed thee,

And caused thy glorious name, Hero and Martyr both to be.

Baqi, the beauty of the King, the heart's delight, behold!

The mirror of the work of God, the Lord of Eight, behold!

The dear old man hath passed away from th' Egypt sad, the world;

The youthful Prince, alert and fair as Joseph bright, behold!

The Sun hath risen, and the Dawning gray hath touched its bourne;

The lovely face of yon Khusrev, whose soul is light, behold!

This chase now to the grave hath sent the Behram of the Age;

Go, at his threshold serve, King Erdeshir aright, behold!

The blast of Fate to all the winds hath blown Suleiman's throne;

Sultan Selim Khan on Iskender's couch of might, behold!

The Tiger of the mount of war to rest in sleep hath gone;

The Lion who doth now keep watch on glory's height, behold!

The Peacock fair of Eden's mead hath soared to Heaven's parterre;

The luster of the huma of high, happy flight, behold!

Eternal may the glory of the heaven-high Khusrev dwell!

Blessings be on the Monarch's soul and spirit—and farewell!

ТУРЕЦКАЯ ЛИТЕРАТУРА

ЗЕРКАЛО СТРАН ИЛИ ПРИКЛЮЧЕНИЯ СИДИ АЛИ РЕИСА

"We roam the waters far and wide,

And bring confusion to our enemies;

Revenge and hatred is our motto."

TURKISH SEA SONG OF SIDI.

ЗЕРКАЛО СТРАН

(Введение профессора Арминия Вамбери)

Книга турецкого адмирала Сиди Али Реиса под названием «Мират аль-Мемалик» («Зеркало стран») во многих отношениях интересна. Во-первых, из-за личности автора, в котором мы видим человека многих разнообразных талантов; подлинный тип исламской культуры своего времени и представитель того класса официальных и военных сановников, влиянию которых главным образом обязана Османская империя, простиравшаяся на три континента, достижением той выдающейся высоты культуры, которую она занимала во время правления Сулеймана Великолепного. Сиди Али — потомок прославленного рода, связанного с арсеналом в Галате, в котором любовь к морю, по-видимому, была наследственной, и поэтому, как отмечает турецкий издатель в своем предисловии, Сиди Али, будучи досконально знакомым с морской наукой своего времени, преуспевает как автор по морским вопросам.

Как человек общей культуры, он находился в гармонии с преобладающими представлениями своего времени, будучи математиком, астрономом и географом; а также поэтом, богословом и знатоком всех отраслей общей литературы; иногда берясь за перо для написания лирических или случайных стихов, в другое время вступая в острые полемические споры по поводу определенных тезисов Корана или жгучих раскольнических вопросов.

Помимо всего этого, он был воином, доказавшим свою неустрашимость как в борьбе со стихией, так и в ближнем бою с португальцами, которые по части снаряжения имели над ним большое преимущество. Но что выделяется превыше всех этих достижений, так это его пылкий патриотизм и непоколебимая вера в мощь и величие Османской империи. Он хвастается, что никогда не перестает надеяться увидеть Гуджарат и Ормуз присоединенными к Османскому государству; его единственное желание — видеть своего падишаха правителем мира, и куда бы он ни пошел и что бы ни увидел, Рум (Турция) всегда остается в его глазах самой красивой, самой богатой и самой культурной страной во всем мире. Турецкий адмирал, более того, обладает удивительно счастливым способом выражать себя по этому вопросу своего предпочтения своего собственного падишаха и своей родной земли; и это требовало немалого мужества и такта, когда ему приходилось сталкиваться с гордым Хумаюном или Тахмаспом, не менее тщеславным, чем первый.

Что касается вещей, которые он видел и слышал в немусульманских кругах и районах Индии, его отчеты скудны по сравнению с описаниями Ибн Баттуты и других мусульманских путешественников. Сиди Али почти не имел общения с индусами, и его маршрут пролегал почти полностью через районы, где правящая каста, с которой он в основном имел дело, были приверженцами мусульманской веры. Кажется несколько странным, что он питал такое безграничное почтение к султану Турции и поддерживал его как законного халифа, хотя халифат перешел в руки османских правителей лишь за несколько лет до этого с низложением Туман-бея Селимом II; и это кажется тем более странным, что Азия настолько упорно консервативна, что даже по сей день турецкие притязания на халифат являются спорным моментом.