To relieve Bagdad, O Hāfiz, man of tried might, is there none? Aid from us thou seek’st, then with thee host of fame bright, is there none? “I’m the Queen the foe who’ll checkmate,” thus it was that thou didst say; Room for action now against him with the brave Knight, is there none? Though we know thou hast no rival in vainglorious, empty boasts, Yet to take dread vengeance on thee, say, a Judge right, is there none? While thou layest claim to manhood, whence this cowardice of thine? Thou art frightened, yet beside thee fearing no fight, is there none? Heedless of thy duty thou, the Rāfizīs have ta’en Bagdad; Shall not God thy foe be? Day of Reckoning, sure, right, is there none? They have wrecked Ebū-Hanīfa’s city through thy lack of care; Oh, in thee of Islām’s and the Prophet’s zeal, light, is there none? God who favored us, whilst yet we knew not, with the Sultanate, Shall again accord Bagdad, decreed of God’s might, is there none? Thou hast brought on Islām’s army direful ruin with thy bribes; Have we not heard how thou say’st, “Word of this foul blight, is there none?” With the aid of God, fell vengeance on the enemy to take, By me skilled and aged, vezīr, pious, zeal-dight, is there none? Now shall I appoint commander a vezīr of high emprise, Will not Khizar and the Prophet aid him? guide right, is there none? Is it that thou dost the whole world void and empty now conceive? Of the Seven Climes, Murādī, King of high might, is there none? _Murādī._ LUGAZ There’s an o’erhanging castle in which there flows a main, And there within that castle a fish its home hath ta’en; The fish within its mouth doth hold a shining gem, Which wastes the fish as long as it therein doth remain. This puzzle to the poets is offered by Murād; Let him reply who office or place desires to gain. _Murādī._ SACHLI ZEMĀN (FORTUNE THE LONG-HAIRED) Zemān the Long-haired, ’midst these lovely ones see, A wayward, wanton Torment of the world she. Like Fortune, she nor clemency nor grace knows; The number of her hairs her lovers’ tale shows. The tribute from the realm of hearts her curls bore, Seduced me have these locks that hang her neck o’er. _‘Azīzī._ JIHĀN BĀNŪ (LADY WORLD) She whom they call Jihān ’s a damsel moon-faced, Who, like the World, is faithless, and doth hearts waste. Save faithlessness, though comes not from the World aught; The heart from that love of the soul can pass not. Let but her mind contented be with poor me, Then may the World divorced from me for aye be. _‘Azīzī._ LĀ’L-PARA (RUBY-CHIP)