It must come back by day from roaming where it wills, The cares of life to bear;--a burthen that soon kills. O! Would, O God, Thou’d keep my soul in Thy own hand, As Sleepers in the Grotto;[91] Noah’s ark once to land! Then had I ’scaped the tempest waking thoughts aye raise; My mind, eyes, ears, had rested; all my task Thy praise! 85 Sev’n Sleepers?--Many are there of them in this world, Before, behind me, right and left; they’re round me hurl’d! My “Cave”[92] art Thou; my “Mate” art Thou; O God, my friend! Men’s eyes and ears are sealed; they know not where they wend. A Caliph asked of Laylà: “Art thou really she For whom poor Majnūn went distracted? For I see, Than other beauties thou art not so passing fair.” Said she: “Be silent! Thou’rt not Majnūn; nor his pair.” A man awake is sound asleep; more, he can’t be. His watchfulness is worse than sleep; how should he see? 90 Our souls, if not awake to God’s most holy truth, Are not awake. We’re slaves to them. The greater ruth! The soul all day is buffeted by fancy’s whims; Of loss or profit, life or death, as frenzy swims. No peace enjoyed; no dignity remains in hand; No vigour to attempt a flight to heaven’s strand. Asleep is he who’s slave to every sordid wish; Who begs of fancy; parleys with it, even. Pish! A demon in his sleep he sees; an angel deems.[93] Through lust he swoons with sensual pleasure as he dreams. 95 His seed he sows in sandy, salt, and desert land; And wakes to find no harvest’s ripened to his hand. A headache, with a beating heart, is all he feels; “Alas!” he sobs, “that treach’rous gnome! My whole frame reels!” A bird flies in the air; its shadow flits on earth; A second bird it seems to be, though nothing worth. Some simpleton runs after it; to catch it tries; Himself tires out; meanwhile the creature safely flies. The fool still knows not ’tis a shadow he pursues, Its substance where to seek he has no power to muse. 100 He shoots his arrows at the fleeting, mocking shade; His quiver emptied, he returns; no booty made.