No translation in verse can convey to the mere English reader any just impression of the whole poem of the Shâh-nâmeh. The idiom in which it is written, and the allusions and metaphors with which it abounds, are too foreign to our language and taste to admit of success in such an undertaking; but a prose translation of this great work is a desideratum, and select passages might bear a poetical form. He, however, who attempts such a task, will not be successful unless possessed of a genius that raises him above the mechanical effort of a versifier. If ever such a translator devote himself to the beauties of this poem, he will find much to gratify himself and others. I have before given a specimen of Firdousee's power in describing a battle; but though this is a species of composition in which the Persians consider him to excel, I have been more pleased with him when he strikes a softer and more harmonious note. His tales of love are often delightful, and nothing can exceed some of his descriptions of scenery. I had long entertained this opinion, but was confirmed in it by a passage which Khan Sâhib recited to me, after concluding the story of Soohrâb. It was an account of the events which took place when Siyâvesh was nominated by Afrâsiâb to govern the empire of Cheen. The young prince, anxious to enjoy with his beautiful bride Feeringheesh every luxury which this world could afford, sent persons in every direction over his extensive territories, to select the most agreeable and salubrious spot, that he might there fix his residence. The choice fell upon the city of Kung, which is represented to be a perfect terrestrial paradise. One line in the description of this favoured spot struck me as an instance of the power of a poet to seize the finest shades of distinction that belong to language, and to convey by such terms the most correct idea to the mind. Speaking of the climate of Kung, Firdousee says, "Its warmth was not heat, and its coolness was not cold."[107] I expressed to Khan Sâhib my admiration of this line, adding my regret that a poet who could write with such simplicity and beauty should indulge so often in forced metaphor, and hyperbolical phrases. "Why," said my little friend, "I really think your quarrelling with Firdousee, because he wrote according to the taste of the nation to which he belonged, is something like finding fault with the Persians because they do not wear cocked hats and tight pantaloons, instead of lamb's-wool caps and loose trowsers. They delight, and ever have done, in those conceits and images which offend you." "But yet," said I, "Sâdee is a great favourite, and he is almost always simple and clear in his style."