As well thou know’st, through fire of love for thee how sad my plight of woe, My smiling Rosebud, wilt thou ne’er a glance of pity toward me throw? My sighs and wailings thou dost see, Oh, but for once compassion show: Through gazing on the rose and bower, my heart repose shall never know, The ward where doth my loved one dwell alone can yield my soul repose. Oh, how I think upon thy box-tree form in sorrow’s night so drear! My story would Mejnūn’s and Ferhād’s tales from mind make disappear. My groans and sighs and wails thus high do I unto the Heavens uprear, By reason of the sparks my sighings raise that steely bowl, the Sphere, Revolves each night, my gold-enamelled beaker at the feast of woes. From thought of yonder witching eye my heart is ne’er a moment free; When flow thy tears recall not thou to mind, O Leylā, ‘Omān’s Sea. Beneath thy shade my own heart’s blood is all that hath been gained by me: My tears, an ocean vast; my lashes, coral branches, O Bāqī! The mem’ry, ’tis of thy palm-form that as my Judas-tree bright glows. _Leylā Khānim._ SHARQĪ Our hopes, our thoughts, are for the weal of our dear native land; Our bodies form the rampart strong to guard our frontier strand: We’re Ottomans--a gory shroud our robe of honor grand. “God is Most Great!” we shout in rush and charge on field of fight; We’re Ottomans! our lives we give, our gain is glory bright. The name of Ottoman with terror doth the hearer thrill; The glories of our valiant fathers all the wide world fill; Think not that nature changeth--nay, this blood is yon blood still. “God is Most Great!” we shout in rush and charge on field of fight; We’re Ottomans! our lives we give, our gain is glory bright. A sabre on a blood-red field--our banner famed behold! Fear in our country dwelleth not, in mountain or in wold: In every corner of our land croucheth a lion bold. “God is Most Great!” we shout in rush and charge on field of fight; We’re Ottomans! our lives we give, our gain is glory bright. Then let the cannon roar, and shower its flames on every side! For those our brothers brave let Heaven ope its portals wide! What have we found on earth that one from death should flee or hide? “God is Most Great!” we shout in rush and charge on field of fight; We’re Ottomans! our lives we give, our gain is glory bright. _Ref’et Beg._ GAZEL