Torn and pierced my heart has been by thy scorn and tyranny's blade; Rent by the scissors of grief for thee is the robe that my patience arrayed. Like the _mihrab_ of the Kaaba, as shrine where in worship to turn, Thy ward would an angel take, if thy footprint there he surveyed. They are pearls, O mine eye! thou sheddest her day-bright face before; Not a tear is left—these all are dried by the beams by her cheek displayed. —_Mohammed II._ GAZEL To obey, Eight hard for Allah, is my aim and my desire; 'Tis but zeal for Faith, for Islam, that my ardor doth inspire. Through the grace of Allah, and th' assistance of the Band Unseen, Is my earnest hope the Infidels to crush with ruin dire. On the Saints and on the Prophets surely doth my trust repose; Through the love of God, to triumph and to conquest I aspire. What if I with soul and gold strive here to wage the Holy War? Praise is God's! ten thousand sighs for battle in my breast suspire. O Mohammed! through the chosen Ahmed Mukhtar's glorious aid, Hope I that my might may triumph over Islam's foes acquire! —_Mohammed II._ GAZEL Ah, thine eyes lay waste the heart, they 'gainst the soul bare daggers dread; See how sanguinary gleam they—blood aye upon blood they shed. Come, the picture of thy down bear unto this my scorched breast— It is customary fresh greens over the broiled flesh to spread. Said I: "O Life! since thy lip is life, to me vouchsafe a kiss." Smiling rose-like, "Surely, surely, by my life," she answered. As I weep sore, of my stained eyebrow and my tears of blood, "'Tis the rainbow o'er the shower stretched," were by all beholders said. While within my heart thine eye's shaft, send not to my breast despair; Idol mine! guest after guest must not to one same house be led. Through its grieving for thy hyacinth down, thus feeble grown Is the basil, that the gardeners nightly o'er it water shed. Quoth I: "O Life! do not shun Jem, he a pilgrim here hath come"; "Though a pilgrim, yet his life doth on a child's face hang," she said. —_Prince Jem_ (1481). FRAGMENT Lo! there the torrent, dashing 'gainst the rocks, doth wildly roll; The whole wide realm of Space and Being ruth hath on my soul. Through bitterness of grief and woe the morn hath rent its robe; See! O in dawning's place, the sky weeps blood, without control! Tears shedding, o'er the mountain-tops the clouds of heaven pass; Hear, deep the bursting thunder sobs and moans through stress of dole. —_Prince Jem._ GAZEL