skill Fails of the life, but draws the death and ill.

THE EXILE. FROM THE PERSIAN OF KERMANI.

In Farsistan the violet spreads Its leaves to the rival sky; I ask how far is the Tigris flood, And the vine that grows thereby?

Except the amber morning wind, Not one salutes me here; There is no lover in all Bagdat To offer the exile cheer.

I know that thou, O morning wind! O’er Kernan’s meadow blowest, And thou, heart-warming nightingale! My father’s orchard knowest.

The merchant hath stuffs of price, And gems from the sea-washed strand, And princes offer me grace To stay in the Syrian land;

But what is gold for, but for gifts? And dark, without love, is the day; And all that I see in Bagdat Is the Tigris to float me away.

FROM HAFIZ.

I said to heaven that glowed above, O hide yon sun-filled zone, Hide all the stars you boast; For, in the world of love And estimation true, The heaped-up harvest of the moon Is worth one barley-corn at most, The Pleiads’ sheaf but two.

* * * * *

If my darling should depart, And search the skies for prouder friends, God forbid my angry heart In other love should seek amends.

When the blue horizon’s hoop Me a little pinches here, Instant to my grave I stoop, And go to find thee in the sphere.

EPITAPH.

Bethink, poor heart, what bitter kind of jest Mad Destiny this tender stripling played; For a warm breast of maiden to his breast, She laid a slab of marble on his head.

They say, through patience, chalk Becomes a ruby stone; Ah, yes! but by the true heart’s blood The chalk is crimson grown.

FRIENDSHIP.

Thou foolish Hafiz! Say, do churls Know the worth of Oman’s pearls? Give the gem which dims the moon To the noblest, or to none.

* * * * *

Dearest, where thy shadow falls, Beauty sits, and Music calls; Where thy form and favour come, All good creatures have their home.

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