The Lament Of The Vizier Abu Ismael

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No kind supporting hand I meet,

But Fortitude shall stay my feet;

No borrowed splendors round me shine,

But Virtue's luster all is mine;

A Fame unsullied still I boast,

Obscured, concealed, but never los

The same bright orb that led the day

Pours from the West his mellowed ray.

Zaura, farewell! No more I see

Within thy walls, a home for me;

Deserted, spurned, aside I'm tossed,

As an old sword whose scabbard's lost:

Around thy walls I seek in vain

Some bosom that will soothe my pain

No friend is near to breathe relief,

Or brother to partake my grief.

For many a melancholy day

Through desert vales I've wound my way;

The faithful beast, whose back I press,

In groans laments her lord's distress;

In every quivering of my spear

A sympathetic sigh I hear;

The camel bending with his load,

And struggling through the thorny road,

'Midst the fatigues that bear him down,

In Hassan's woes forgets his own;

Yet cruel friends my wand'rings chide,

My sufferings slight, my toils deride.

Once wealth, I own, engrossed each thought,

There was a moment when I sought

The glitt'ring stores Ambition claims

To feed the wants his fancy frames;

But now 'tis past---the changing day

Has snatched my high-built hopes away,

And bade this wish my labors close

Give me not riches, but repose.

'Tis he that mien my friend declares,

That stature, like the lance he bears;

I see that breast which ne'er contained

A thought by fear or folly stained,

Whose powers can every change obey,

In business grave, in trifles gay,

And, formed each varying taste to please,

Can mingle dignity with ease.

What, though with magic influence, sleep,

O'er every closing eyelid creep:

Though drunk with its oblivious wine

Our comrades on their bales recline,

My Selim's trance I sure can break

Selim, 'tis I, 'tis I who speak.

Dangers on every side impend,

And sleep'st thou, careless of thy friend

Thou sleep'st while every star on high,

Beholds me with a wakeful eye

Thou changest, ere the changeful night

Hath streak'd her fleeting robe with white.

'Tis love that hurries me along

I'm deaf to fear's repressive song

The rocks of Idham I'll ascend,

Though adverse darts each path defend,

And hostile sabers glitter there,

To guard the tresses of the fair.

Come, Selim, let us pierce the grove,

While night befriends, to seek my love.

The clouds of fragrance as they rise

Shall mark the place where Abla lies.

Around her tent my jealous foes,

Like lions, spread their watchful rows;

Amidst their bands, her bow'r appears

Embosomed in a wood of spears

A wood still nourished by the dews,

Which smiles, and softest looks diffuse.

Thrice happy youths! who midst yon shades

Sweet converse hold with Idham's maids,

What bliss, to view them gild the hours,

And brighten wit and fancy's powers,

While every foible they disclose

New transport gives, new graces shows.

'Tis theirs to raise with conscious art

The flames of love in every heart; '

Tis yours to raise with festive glee

The flames of hospitality:

Smit by their glances lovers lie,

And helpless sink and hopeless die;

While slain by you the stately steed

To crown the feast, is doomed to bleed,

To crown the feast, where copious flows

The sparkling juice that soothes your woes,

That lulls each care and heals each wound,

As the enliv'ning bowl goes round.

Amidst those vales my eager feet

Shall trace my Abla's dear retreat,

A gale of health may hover there,

To breathe some solace to my care.

I fear not love I bless the dart

Sent in a glance to pierce the heart:

With willing breast the sword I hail

That wounds me through an half-closed veil:

Though lions howling round the shade,

My footsteps haunt, my walks invade,

No fears shall drive me from the grove,

If Abla listen to my love.

Ah, Selim! shall the spells of ease

Thy friendship chain, thine ardor freeze!

Wilt thou enchanted thus, decline

Each gen'rous thought, each bold design?

Then far from men some cell prepare;

Or build a mansion in the air

But yield to us, ambition's tide,

Who fearless on its waves can ride;

Enough for thee if thou receive

The scattered spray the billows leave.

Contempt and want the wretch await

Who slumbers in an abject state

'Midst rushing crowds, by toil and pain

The meed of Honor we must gain;

At Honor's call, the camel hastes

Through trackless wilds and dreary wastes,

'Till in the glorious race she find

The fleetest coursers left behind:

By toils like these alone, he cries,

Th' adventurous youths to greatness rise;

If bloated indolence were fame,

And pompous ease our noblest aim,

The orb that regulates the day

Would ne'er from Aries' mansion stray.

I've bent at Fortune's shrine too long

Too oft she heard my suppliant tongue

Too oft has mocked my idle prayers,

While fools and knaves engrossed her cares,

Awake for them, asleep to me,

Heedless of worth she scorned each plea.

Ah! had her eyes more just surveyed

The diff'rent claims which each displayed,

Those eyes from partial fondness free

Had slept to them, and waked for me.

But, 'midst my sorrows and my toils,

Hope ever soothed my breast with smiles;

The hand removed each gathering ill,

And oped life's closing prospects still.

Yet spite of all her friendly art

The specious scene ne'er gained my heart;

I loved it not although the day

Met my approach, and cheered my way;

I loath it now the hours retreat,

And fly me with reverted feet.

My soul from every tarnish free

May boldly vaunt her purity,

But ah, how keen, however bright,

The saber glitter to the sight,

Its splendor's lost, its polish vain,

'Till some bold hand the steel sustain.

Why have my days been stretched by fate,

To see the vile and vicious great

While I, who led the race so long,

Am last and meanest of the throng?

Ah, why has death so long delayed

To wrap me in his friendly shade,

Left me to wander thus alone,

When all my heart held dear is gone!

But let me check these fretful sighs

Well may the base above me rise,

When yonder planets as they run

Mount in the sky above the sun.

Resigned I bow to Fate's decree,

Nor hope his laws will change for me;

Each shifting scene, each varying hour,

But proves the ruthless tyrant's power.

But though with ills unnumbered curst,

We owe to faithless man the worst;

For man can smile with specious art,

And plant a dagger in the heart.

He only's fitted for the strife

Which fills the boist'rous paths of life,

Who, as he treads the crowded scenes,

Upon no kindred bosom leans.

Too long my foolish heart had deemed

Mankind as virtuous as they seemed;

The spell is broke, their faults are bare,

And now I see them as they are;

Truth from each tainted breast has flown,

And falsehood marks them all her own.

Incredulous I listen now

To every tongue, and every vow,

For still there yawns a gulf between

Those honeyed words, and what they mean;

With honest pride elate, I see

The sons of falsehood shrink from me,

As from the right line's even way

The biassed curves deflecting stray

But what avails it to complain?

With souls like theirs reproof is vain;

If honor e'er such bosoms share

The saber's point must fix it there.

But why exhaust life's rapid bowl,

And suck the dregs with sorrow foul,

When long ere this my mouth has drained

Whatever zest the cup contained?

Why should we mount upon the wave,

And ocean's yawning horrows brave,

When we may swallow from the flask

Whate'er the wants of mortals ask?

Contentment's realms no fears invade,

No cares annoy, no sorrows shade,

There placed secure, in peace we rest,

Nor aught demand to make us blest.

While pleasure's gay fantastic bower,

The splendid pageant of an hour,

Like yonder meteor in the skies,

Flits with a breath no more to rise.

As through life's various walks we're led,

May prudence hover o'er our head!

May she our words, our actions guide,

Our faults correct, our secrets hide!

May she, where'er our footsteps stray,

Direct our paths, and clear the way!

"Till, every scene of tumult past,

She bring us to repose at last,

Teach us to love that peaceful shore,

And roam through folly's wilds no more!

-Abu Ismael-

Source:

From: Charles F. Horne, ed., The Sacred Books and Early Literature of the East,

(New York: Parke, Austin, & Lipscomb, 1917), Vol. VI: Medieval Arabia, pp. 205-234.

Scanned by Jerome S. Arkenberg, Cal. State Fullerton. The text has been modernized by Prof. Arkenberg.