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FIRDAUSI'S SATIRE ON MÁHMÚD

From the Shāh Nāmah'

NOW, tyrant as thou art, this earthly state
is not eternal, but of transient date;

Fear God, then, and afflict not humankind;
To merit Heaven, be thou to Heaven resigned.
Afflict not even the ant: though weak and small,
It breathes and lives, and life is sweet to all.
Knowing my temper, firm and stern and bold,
Didst thou not, tyrant, tremble to behold

My sword blood-dropping? Hadst thou not the sense
To shrink from giving man like me offense?
What could impel thee to an act so base?

What, but to earn and prove thy own disgrace?

Why was I sentenced to be trod upon

And crushed to death by elephants, by one

Whose power I scorn? Couldst thou presume that I Would be appalled by thee, whom I defy?

I am the lion, I, inured to blood,

And make the impious and the base my food;
And I could grind thy limbs, and spread them far
As Nile's dark waters their rich treasures bear.
Fear thee! I fear not man, but God alone;

I only bow to his Almighty throne.
Inspired by him, my ready numbers flow;
Guarded by him, I dread no earthly foe.
Thus in the pride of song I pass my days,
Offering to Heaven my gratitude and praise.

From every trace of sense and feeling free,
When thou art dead, what will become of thee?
If thou shouldst tear me limb from limb, and cast
My dust and ashes to the angry blast,

Firdausī still would live, since on thy name,
Máhmúd, I did not rest my hopes of fame

In the bright page of my heroic song,
But on the God of heaven, to whom belong
Boundless thanksgivings, and on him whose love
Supports the faithful in the realms above,
The mighty Prophet! None who e'er reposed
On him, existence without hope has closed.

And thou wouldst hurl me underneath the tread

Of the wild elephant, till I were dead!

Dead! by that insult roused I should become
An elephant in power, and seal thy doom-
Máhmúd! if fear of man hath never awed
Thy heart, at least fear thy creator God.
Full many a warrior of illustrious worth,
Full many of humble, of imperial birth,-
Túr, Selím, Jemshíd, Minúchihr the brave,
Have died; for nothing had the power to save
These mighty monarchs from the common doom;
They died, but blest in memory still they bloom.
Thus kings too perish,-none on earth remain,
Since all things human see the dust again.
Oh, had thy father graced a kingly throne,
Thy mother been for royal virtues known,
A different fate the poet then had shared,—
Honors and wealth had been his just reward;
But how remote from thee a glorious line!
No high, ennobling ancestry is thine;
From a vile stock thy bold career began,—
A blacksmith was thy sire, of Isfahan.
Alas! from vice can goodness ever spring?
Is mercy hoped for in a tyrant king?
Can water wash the Ethiopian white?
Can we remove the darkness from the night?
The tree to which a bitter fruit is given
Would still be bitter in the bowers of heaven;
And a bad heart keeps on its vicious course,-
Or if it changes, changes for the worse;
Whilst streams of milk, where Eden's flow'rets blow,
Acquire more honeyed sweetness as they flow.
The reckless king who grinds the poor like thee

Must ever be consigned to infamy!

Now mark Firdausī's strain; his Book of Kings

Will ever soar upon triumphant wings.

All who have listened to its various lore
Rejoice; the wise grow wiser than before;
Heroes of other times, of ancient days,
Forever flourish in my sounding lays:
Have I not sung of Káús, Tús and Giw;
Of matchless Rustem, faithful still and true.
Of the great Demon-binder, who could throw
His kamund to the heavens, and seize his foe!
Of Húsheng, Feridún, and Sám Suwár,
Lohurásp, Kai-khosráu, and Isfendiyár;

Gushtásp, Arjásp, and him of mighty name,-
Gúdarz, with eighty sons of martial fame!

The toil of thirty years is now complete,
Record sublime of many a warlike feat,
Written 'midst toil and trouble; but the strain
Awakens every heart, and will remain

A lasting stimulus to glorious deeds;

For even the bashful maid, who kindling reads,
Becomes a warrior. Thirty years of care,
Urged on by royal promise, did I bear,

And now, deceived and scorned, the aged bard
Is basely cheated of his pledged reward!

Version by J. Atkinson.

PRINCE SOHRÁB LEARNS OF HIS BIRTH, AND RESOLVES TO FIND RUSTEM

WHE

From the Shāh Nāmah ›

HEN nine slow-circling months had rolled away,
Sweet-smiling pleasure hailed the brightening day,
A wondrous boy Tahmíneh's tears suppressed,

And lulled the sorrows of her heart to rest;"
To him, predestined to be great and brave,
The name Sohráb his tender mother gave;
And as he grew, amazed the gathering throng
Viewed his large limbs, his sinews firm and strong.
His infant years no soft endearment claimed;
Athletic sports his eager soul inflamed;
Broad at the chest and taper round the loins,
Where to the rising hip the body joins;
Hunter and wrestler; and so great his speed,
He could o'ertake and hold the swiftest steed,
His noble aspect and majestic grace
Betrayed the offspring of a glorious race.
How, with a mother's ever-anxious love,
Still to retain him near her heart she strove!
For when the father's fond inquiry came,
Cautious she still concealed his birth and name,
And feigned a daughter born, the evil fraught
With misery to avert-but vain the thought:
Not many years had passed with downy flight,
Ere he, Tahmineh's wonder and delight,

With glistening eye, and youthful ardor warm,
Filled her foreboding bosom with alarm.

"Oh, now relieve my heart!" he said; "declare
From whom I sprang, and breathe the vital air,
Since from my childhood I have ever been,
Amidst my playmates, of superior mien.

Should friend or foe demand my father's name,
Let not my silence testify my shame!

If still concealed, you falter, still delay,

A mother's blood shall wash the crime away."

"This wrath forego," the mother answering cried, "And joyful hear to whom thou art allied. A glorious line precedes thy destined birth,The mightiest heroes of the sons of earth. The deeds of Sám remotest realms admire, And Zál, and Rustem thy illustrious sire!»

In private, then, she Rustem's letter placed Before his view, and brought with eager haste Three sparkling rubies, wedges three of gold, From Persia sent. “Behold,” she said, "behold Thy father's gifts - will these thy doubts remove? The costly pledges of paternal love!

Behold this bracelet charm, of sovereign power

To baffle fate in danger's awful hour:
But thou must still the perilous secret keep,
Nor ask the harvest of renown to reap;
For when, by this peculiar signet known,
Thy glorious father shall demand his son,
Doomed from her only joy in life to part,

O think what pangs will rend thy mother's heart!
Seek not the fame which only teems with woe:
Afrásiyáb is Rustem's deadliest foe!

And if by him discovered, him I dread,
Revenge will fall upon thy guiltless head."

The youth replied:-"In vain thy sighs and tears;
The secret breathes, and mocks thy idle fears.
No human power can fate's decrees control,
Or check the kindled ardor of my soul.
Then why from me the bursting truth conceal?
My father's foes even now my vengeance feel;
Even now in wrath my native legions rise,
And sounds of desolation strike the skies;

Káús himself, hurled from his ivory throne,
Shall yield to Rustem the imperial crown,
And thou my mother, still in triumph seen,
Of lovely Persia hailed the honored queen!
Then shall Túrán unite beneath my band,
And drive this proud oppressor from the land!
Father and son in virtuous league combined,
No savage despot shall enslave mankind;
When sun and moon o'er heaven refulgent blaze,
Shall little stars obtrude their feeble rays?"

He paused, and then: "O mother, I must now
My father seek, and see his lofty brow;
Be mine a horse, such as a prince demands,
Fit for the dusty field, a warrior's hands;
Strong as an elephant his form should be,
And chested like the stag, in motion free,
And swift as bird, or fish; it would disgrace
A warrior bold on foot to show his face."

The mother, seeing how his heart was bent,
His day-star rising in the firmament,

Commands the stables to be searched to find
Among the steeds one suited to his mind;

Pressing their backs, he tries their strength and nerve:
Bent double to the ground their bellies curve:

Not one, from neighboring plain and mountain brought,
Equals the wish with which his soul is fraught;
Fruitless on every side he anxious turns,
Fruitless, his brain with wild impatience burns:
But when at length they bring the destined steed,
From Rakush bred, of lightning's wingèd speed,
Fleet as the arrow from the bowstring flies,
Fleet as the eagle darting through the skies,
Rejoiced he springs, and with a nimble bound.
Vaults in his seat and wheels the courser round:
"With such a horse, thus mounted, what remains?
Káús the Persian King no longer reigns!"
High-flushed he speaks, with youthful pride elate,
Eager to crush the monarch's glittering state;
He grasps his javelin with a hero's might,
And pants with ardor for the field of fight.
Soon o'er the realm his fame expanding spread,
And gathering thousands hastened to his aid.

Version by J. Atkinson.