Sultan Muhammed! Murād’s son! the Pride of Princes all; He, the Darius, who to all earth’s Kings doth crowns ordain! Monarch of stars! whose flag’s the sun, whose stirrup is the moon! Prince dread as Doom, and strong as Fate, and bounteous as main! _Nejātī._ FROM THE QASĪDA ON THE ACCESSION OF SULTAN BĀYEZĪD II One eve, when had the Sun before her radiant beauty bright Let down the veil of ambergris, the musky locks of night; (Off had the royal hawk, the Sun, flown from the Orient’s hand, And lighted in the West; flocked after him the crows in flight;) To catch the gloomy raven, Night, the fowler skilled, the Sphere, Had shaped the new-moon like the claw of eagle, sharp to smite; In pity at the doleful sight of sunset’s crimson blood, Its veil across the heaven’s eye had drawn the dusky Night. * * * * * Sultan of Rome! Khusrev of the Horizons! Bāyezīd! King of the Epoch! Sovereign! and Centre of all Right! The tablet of his heart doth all th’ affairs of earth disclose; And eloquent as page of book the words he doth indite. O Shāh! I’m he who, ’midst th’ assembly where thy praise is sung, Will, rebec-like, a thousand notes upon one cord recite. ’Tis meet perfection through thy name to my poor words should come, As to rose-water perfume sweet is brought by sunbeam’s light. _Nejātī._ GAZEL Truth this: a lasting home hath yielded ne’er earth’s spreading plain; Scarce e’en an inn where may the caravan for rest remain. Though every leaf of every tree is verily a book, For those who understanding lack doth earth no leaf contain. E’en though the Loved One be from thee as far as East from West, “Bagdad to lovers is not far,” O heart, then strive and strain. One moment opened were her ebriate, strife-causing eyne. By us as scimitars, not merely daggers, were they ta’en. Yearneth Nejātī for the court of thy fair Paradise, Though this a wish which he while here on earth can ne’er attain. _Nejātī._ RUBĀ’ĪS O Handkerchief! I send thee--off to yonder maid of grace; Around thee I my eyelashes will make the fringe of lace; I will the black point of my eye rub up to paint therewith; To yon coquettish beauty go--go look thou in her face. O Handkerchief! the loved one’s hand take, kiss her lip so sweet, Her chin, which mocks at apple and at orange, kissing greet; If sudden any dust should light upon her blessèd heart, Fall down before her, kiss her sandal’s sole, beneath her feet. A sample of my tears of blood thou, Handkerchief, wilt show, Through these within a moment would a thousand crimson grow; Thou’lt be in company with her, while I am sad with grief; To me no longer life may be, if things continue so. _Nejātī._ FROM THE SPRING QASĪDA