O Love’s Narcissus! sleep the sleep of peace! Fall at the skirt of Fate and beg surcease; Thy soul’s eye ope--and, lo! thy fears increase! Guard thee against the end of woe, nor cease. Thou’lt be as plaything by Misfortune ta’en! Come, in the cradle of repose thee rest A few short nights, by sorrow undistrest; Bid care and all it brings leave thee unprest; In place of milk, blood shall be thy bequest. Thou’lt need the goblet of despite to drain! O Jasmine-breast! within the cradle lie; Thus will not long remain the rolling Sky: The stars do not aye in one circle hie; See what they’ll do to thee, Love, by and by. Thou’lt be the mill on sorrow’s torrent’s train! From slumber do not thou thine eyelids keep, If aid can reach thee, it will come through sleep; The Sphere will give a draught of poison deep, Then will thy work, like Gālib’s, be to weep. Thou’lt be the _rebec_ at the feast of pain! _Gālib._ LOVE’S SONG Sweet were those moments when the heart was gay, And the soul’s realm, the court of joy’s array; Thoughts of those times now o’er my spirit stray, For love of God! O Heavens! mercy! pray! The pride of both the day and night was I. A garden fair was that my soul’s repose; Like those in Eden’s bower, its every rose; But parting comes and all of that o’erthrows, Now in my heart naught but its mem’ry glows. With honor’s wine then drunken quite was I. Then to the Sphere I never uttered prayer; Feast, music, and delight--all mine--were there; Moved ever by my side my Cypress fair; Unopened then my secret and despair. The envy of the springtide bright was I. Now before grief and woe I’m fallen prone; Like nightingale in early spring, I moan. Through fire I’ve past and to the shore have flown, And, like the shattered glass, to earth am thrown. Sipping the wine, the fair’s despite, was I. Ah me! alas! those happy hours are past; The spring is past; the rose, the flowers, are past; The smiles of her who graced the bowers are past; The thirsty soul remains, the showers are past. Drinking with her the wine so bright was I. I with my loved one feast and banquet made, Wild as the whirlpool then I romped and played; At wine-feasts I myself in light arrayed, And with my songs the nightingales dismayed. Like Gālib, blest with all delight was I. _Gālib._ GAZEL