To my love drink, O my Pacha, drink amain!” To the soul add life her ways and charms so dear, Surely thus is it a mistress should appear. E’en the old misogynist would conquered be, Saw he yonder maid, uxorious were he. So symmetrical the line her body shows, One would it a balanced hemistich suppose. Other women seek to imitate her grace, As their pride and frontispiece she holds her place. What that figure tall, and what that graceful mien! Fair-proportioned is her body ever seen. Moving lithely, she from side to side will turn, That the hearts of all her lovers she may burn. That cap which on one side she gayly wears; That jaunty step; those joyous heedless airs; Those motions--they are just what me delight; And her tripping on two toes--how fair a sight! ’Twere as though with fire her pathway were inlaid, That would burn the feet of yonder moon-like maid. Thou wouldst deem her lovers’ hearts upon her way, Burning with their love for her, all scattered lay. * * * * * Is’t herself they call “Qoqona” let us see? Or her locks?--how wondrous sweet their odors be! As the sash trails on the ground beneath thy feet, So will she thy feet salute with kisses sweet. Misbeliever, thou dost sense steal from the heart; Torment thou--I know not what a Woe thou art; Know not I if thou be _hūrī_ or _perī_, Know not I of Mary what is found in thee; Art thou Mary’s, child of ‘Imrān’s, rosebud bright? Of the dwelling of the monks art thou the light? Envy bearing to her hinna-crimsoned hand, Doth the red egg covered o’er with blushes stand. With the Greek cannot thy genus e’er compare, Deem I, be thou genius or _hūrī_ fair! _Fāzil Beg._ ON THE DEFEAT OF THE FRENCH IN EGYPT BY THE QAPUDAN HUSEYN PACHA O thou Nīrem, battle-waging, of the world’s fierce field of fight! O thou Sām, fell dragon-visaged, of the age’s plain of might! Thou art he in whom the favors of the Lord Most High unite; Earth and ocean thou hast conquered, waging war on left and right! Gold, in Islām’s cause, thou pouredst like to water down a height; Legions like the Nile on Egypt’s shore thou madest to alight. With thy sabre’s blow right fiercely thou the foeman’s head didst smite; Giddy made thy sword the misbelievers’ chieftains with affright. Midst the earth’s oak-grove a valiant lion like to thee in might, Since the days of Rustem, ne’er hath passed beneath the Heavens’ sight. “Bravo! Champion of the Epoch! rending ranks in serried fight! O’er the ‘Arsh hang now thy sabre, sparkling like the Pleiads bright!”