Page:The Sacred Books and Early Literature of the East, Volume 08.djvu/45



Here in this palace, where Bahram held sway,

The wild roes drop their young, and tigers stray;

And that great hunter king---ah! well-a-day!

Now to the hunter death is fallen a prey.

Down fall the tears from skies enwrapt in gloom,

Without this drink, the flowers could never bloom!

As now these flowerets yield delight to me,

So shall my dust yield flowers---God knows for whom.

To-day is Friday, as the Muslim says,

Drink then from bowls served up in quick relays;

Suppose on common days you drink one bowl,

To-day drink two, for 'tis the prince of days.

The very wine a myriad forms sustains,

And to take shapes of plants and creatures deigns

But deem not that its essence ever dies,

Its forms may perish, but its self remains.

'Tis naught but smoke this people's fire doth bear,

For my well-being not a soul doth care;

With hands fate makes me lift up in despair,

I grasp men's skirts, but find no succor there.

This bosom friend, on whom you so rely,

Seems to clear wisdom's eyes an enemy;

Choose not your friends from this rude multitude,

Their converse is a plague 'tis best to fly.