Past the moments when with sickness were the ailing herbs opprest, When the garden’s care, the rose-bud, hid its sad head in its breast; Come is now the time when hill and rock with tulips dense are drest: Drink, be gay, for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring. While each dawn the clouds are shedding jewels o’er the rosy land, And the breath of morning’s zephyr, fraught with Tātār musk is bland; While the world’s fair time is present, do not thou unheeding stand: Drink, be gay, for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring. With the fragrance of the garden, so imbued the musky air, Every dew-drop, ere it reaches earth, is turned to attar rare; O’er the parterre spread the incense-clouds a canopy right fair: Drink, be gay, for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring. Whatsoe’er the garden boasted smote the black autumnal blast; But, to each one justice bringing, back hath come Earth’s King at last; In his reign joyed the cup-bearer, round the call for wine is past: Drink, be gay, for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring. Ah! I fondly hope, Mesīhī, fame may to these quatrains cling; May the worthy these four-eyebrowed beauties oft to mem’ry bring; Stray among the rosy faces, Bulbul, who so sweet dost sing: Drink, be gay, for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring. _Mesīhī._ FRAGMENT Both crown and robe forsake shall I, I’ll roam, by these unprest, a while; ’Midst foreign lands, far off from here, I’ll dwell a wayworn guest, a while. O minstrel fair, both harp and lute’s sweet music hushed must now remain; Woe’s feast is spread, ah! there the flute:--my sighs by grief opprest, a while. Sometimes I’ll fall, sometimes I’ll rise, sometimes I’ll laugh, sometimes I’ll weep, Blood drinking now, woe tasting then, distracted sore I’ll rest, a while. _Harīmī._ GAZEL Once from sleep I oped my eyes, I raised my head, when full in sight There before me stood a moon-faced beauty, lovely, shining, bright. Thought I: “In th’ ascendant’s now my star, or I my fate have reached, For within my chamber sure is risen Jupiter this night.” Radiance from his beauty streaming saw I, though to outward view (While himself a Muslim) he in garb of infidel is dight. Though I oped my eyes or closed them, still the form was ever there; Thus I fancied to myself: “A fairy this or angel bright?” Till the Resurrection ne’er shall Mihrī gain the Stream of Life; Yet in Night’s deep gloom Iskender gleamed before her wond’ring sight. _Mihrī._ GAZEL