Letters and Literary Remains of Edward Fitzgerald Edited by William Aldis Wright: In seven volumes |
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 | Letters and Literary Remains of Edward Fitzgerald |  |
And first The Sháh:—‘Salámán, Oh my Soul
‘Light of the eyes of my Prosperity,
‘And making bloom the court of Hope with rose;
‘Year after year, Salámán, like a bud
‘That cannot blow, my own blood I devour'd,
‘Till, by the seasonable breath of God,
‘At last I blossom'd into thee, my Son;
‘Oh, do not wound me with a dagger thorn;
‘Let not the full-blown rose of Royalty
‘Be left to wither in a hand unclean.
‘For what thy proper pastime? Bat in hand
‘To mount and manage Rakhsh along the Field;
‘Not, with no weapon but a wanton curl
‘Idly reposing on a silver breast.
‘Go, fly thine arrow at the antelope
‘And lion—let me not My lion see
Slain by the arrow eyes of a ghazál.
Go, challenge Zál or Rustam to the Field,
‘And smite the warriors' neck; not, flying them,
‘Beneath a woman's foot submit thine own.
‘Oh wipe the woman's henna from thy hand,
‘Withdraw thee from the minion who from thee
‘Dominion draws, and draws me with thee down;
‘Years have I held my head aloft, and all
‘For Thee—Oh shame if thou prepare my Fall!’
‘Light of the eyes of my Prosperity,
‘And making bloom the court of Hope with rose;
‘Year after year, Salámán, like a bud
‘That cannot blow, my own blood I devour'd,
‘Till, by the seasonable breath of God,
‘At last I blossom'd into thee, my Son;
‘Oh, do not wound me with a dagger thorn;
‘Let not the full-blown rose of Royalty
‘Be left to wither in a hand unclean.
‘For what thy proper pastime? Bat in hand
‘To mount and manage Rakhsh along the Field;
‘Not, with no weapon but a wanton curl
‘Idly reposing on a silver breast.
‘Go, fly thine arrow at the antelope
‘And lion—let me not My lion see
Slain by the arrow eyes of a ghazál.
Go, challenge Zál or Rustam to the Field,
‘And smite the warriors' neck; not, flying them,
‘Beneath a woman's foot submit thine own.
‘Oh wipe the woman's henna from thy hand,
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‘Dominion draws, and draws me with thee down;
‘Years have I held my head aloft, and all
‘For Thee—Oh shame if thou prepare my Fall!’
| Letters and Literary Remains of Edward Fitzgerald | |