“O light of morn, that beautifies the world, By force of truth and of sincerity, Thy heart is lit by the pure light of truth, And open to the world as day itself. Let thy pure joy illuminate my heart, Make thyself known to yonder moon of heaven; ’Tis she that sheds her rays upon this world, When thou hast flashed thy beams upon her disk; Oh, tear away this veil of gloom from me, And call to me the mistress of my heart. Say to her: ‘Sore is yonder poor man’s heart; He journeys o’er the world with silent lips. To this poor wanderer in the way of love Must thou show pity and compassion due, For want has torn the mantle from his back, And love has laid him prostrate on the earth. He sees before him nothing but the grave, And never turns his glance aside from it. Oh, do not tread the helpless in the dust, Dam up the flood of wrath that threatens him! When this poor man the needed morsel wants, The beggar still can boast a wallet full. He has nor wealth nor influence, my queen, Yet lacks he not accomplishment, my queen; And gold and silver failing, ’tis enough To see thy tears and sympathetic glance. Be gentle, then, to this accomplished man, And give assistance to a bard inspired. The prince who acts with kindness to the poor Proves by his deeds his loving gentleness.’” While in this wise the nightingale discoursed, The sun stood beaming in the arch of heaven, And as he marked it, from the moon he turned And fixed his contemplation on the sun. XXIII THE DESPONDING NIGHTINGALE ADDRESSES THE WORLD-ADORNING SUN, WHILE HIS INMOST HEART GLOWS WITH ARDENT DESIRE