LEYLA and MEJNUN                                

Translated by Sofi Nuri

III
Herein is recounted the Structure of the Building of Misfortune, 
and the Antecede

nts to the Pain and Affliction that follow.

Gay was our child with his constant companion
With angel-like beauties he passed all his time.
In rows sat the pupils, all facing the teacher,
The first one of girls, the second of boys.
Together were gathered these nymphs in their glory
And soon became friends. No surprise is in this,
The market of love with occasion grows brisker
For languishing maids can enchant with their eyes.
And how can a lad bid his spirit be patient
When amorous glances and coquettish airs
Surround him and tease him and quicken his manhood?
Were patience his portion, what word could he say?

Among all the girls was one bright as a fairy,
Who aimed all her glances directly at Qays.
So beautiful she, with her ways and her graces,
That many an elder, forgetful of vows,
Might find all his virtue caught up in her curls.
Calamitous chain for the neck was the garland
Of ringleted locks that fell down in a cloud:
Affliction for lovers was spelled by her eyebrows,
As lovely as twins, and, as twins, forming one.
Each eyelash that curved from her lids was an arrow
That pierced to heart and that stirred all the blood:
Her eyes from their shelter poured forth fiery glances
That, piercing the soul, spread the fever of love.
Her brow, like an ocean, far spread and smooth rolling
Like the ocean had many a peril in check.
The black of her eyes shamed collyrium's darkness
And made it a captive in chains to her mole.
Her cheeks flushing red, paled her rouge to a whiteness,
No rouge ever sullied their delicate blush.
Should her eyes lose their pupils, no blindness would follow,
Her mole would become a black pupil of sight.
Her teeth, pearly white, from between her lips'redness
Gleamed forth as bright pearls in the heart of a rose:
When the doors of her speech were full opened, one fancied
The dead must spring forth from their mouldering tombs.
From her round dimpled chin her neck curved to her bosom;
Her stature and form were creation divine.
The falcon itself, a bird sacred to kingship,
Unhooded, can gaze in the eye of the sun,
But the eyes of this child, with their antelope softness,
Could flash forth a look that the falcon outshone.
Her motion was graceful, her words sugared honey,
No act but had grace, every movement a joy-
But why count her beauties? Put all in a sentence:
The whole world itself, in a passion of terror
Clung fast to her hair, as she went on her way.
Beloved of all the world was this maiden.
Qays looked and he perished, for Leyla her name.
As he with a sorrowful passion of yearning
With sighs fed the fire that her beauty awoke,
So she in a thousand sweet joys lost her reason
For him without whom she knew living was death.
She saw how the world gave its ultimate wonder,
She saw how he held all her world in his hands.

IV
Herein is set forth the Attributes and Characteristics of Mejnun, 
and the Affliction of the One who sorrowed.

A beauty with a stately figure, cypress statured, like a rose,
Rosy cheeked and sweet as jasmine, as a statue in repose;
Sweet his Ups. the source of speaking, bring to life the thoughts that
charm.
His graceful carriage and his motion, joy to him, to others harm.
To tell his attributes o'er simply many words would endless flow,
To count his kindness, sing his praises, needs more than may Fuzuli know.
Like the narcissus enchanting, gleaming forth to tell of love.
So his eyes gleam forth entrancing, 'neath the noon high arched above.
The tulip, dewy in the morning, with its curling fall, the lam,
Mirrors forth his curling ringlets, nature's splendid epigram.
No words can tell with shadowed justice of the secrets of his mouth,
How describe his many charms, mystery's chain'd link uncurl?
To sing his beauties is to warble sweetly sad of sorrow's joy.
His mouth the fount where murmured ever subtle words of coquetry.
His face, fuU round, a smiling mom, outshone by far the Queen of Night:
The dust from off his feet may darken more than painted huris' eyes.
To make an end, to reach conclusion, when her beauty he beheld,
Had he gazed upon his mirror, then himself, not her had loved,
And Leyla, fairest of the fairest, had not stirred his heart at all.

But these two, tall, fair as jasmine, straight and slender as a dart
Were bound and tied, the one to other, firmly fast by loving art.
Drinking deep the wing of pleasure, drinking deeply of desire,
Drowned in unity of sadness, all engulfed in passion's fire.
Were Qays addressed with posing riddle, Leyla's treble answered clear;
Were Leyla questioned, Qays would answer in a voice that knew no fear.
They learned loyalty of purpose, abnegation born of love
When Leyla cast her books beside her, Qays became her textbook dear.
When Qays essayed the art of writing, Leyla's brow was his design
O'er their writing, o'er their reading, artistry to love lent aid;
A thousand sweet disputes were born and ended in a thousand charms.
Disputes were friendship's sweet advances, arguments but fed their love.
And so these two. long happy days together spent their childhood hours.
Two things are sure; love ne'er is secret: he who loves may have no rest.
The sign of love's sweet fire is noted when the gossips first begin
Calamity of love is beauty; sorrows strengthen love's cement.

And thus they came in rapid stages, plainly marked and fully known,
With reason trodden down, forgotten, when they found the voice alone
But a faulty instrument to carry tone and overtone.
Then the eye and then the eyebrow slow usurped the place of speech:
Question gained reply from eyebrow, brow and eye played each to each.
Yet all talk with eye and eyebrow would not still suspicious tongue.
People live within the eye and from the eye the truth will flow.
Then the next sweet stage they entered; leam'd the value of neglect,
Learned the joy that came pretending each had wanted in respect.
Like the Men of Melamet, of Dervishes the strictest sect,
Courting public reprobation by a public abstinence
From the outward forms of duty, yet with inner continence.
Yet the guiles devised by Leyla did not 'scape Mejnun's quick eye,
Neither did Mejnun's devices leave the eye of Leyla dry.

Now o'er mirror of their pleasure grievously vexation fell:
Now lest all should know their secret, care took caution as a guide,
Finding clear pretext of reason ere they talked upon their way,
Waiting till the moment offered through the weary livelong day.
Qays would thus forget his lesson, say to Leyla: 'O, my friend,
Learning brings me deep depression, hear my lesson till its end.
For exceeding mine thy knowledge, let me of thy wisdom share,
Let me read my lesson to thee, listen thou with every care.'
Then, while on his slate he scribbled, many faults would Leyla find,
While he timed his artless questions so that, peeping, quite unkind,
Leyla's rosebud lips were parted in a smile that warmed his heart,
Smiling undeceived ever, understanding all his art.
Skilled he grew to prompt her sallies, to provoke her into song-
For song it was to hear her saying: 'This is right', and 'That is wrong'.
Then again, when in a circle, all the children meekly ranged
Chanted o'er the barren lesson, he and Leyla soft exchanged
Whispered sweetings 'neath the droning of the lessons idly conned,
Each to other went their phrases, never travelling beyond.
When, at last, the day was ended, Qays would find his books forgot;
Hide his books and seem in anguish, misty eyed, face flushing hot:
Stop her on the homeward path, ask if she had seen his books,
And, on this excuse, a moment stop and feast him on her looks.
And on his copybook he'd scribble 'lam' and 'ye' repeatedly:
'These', he said, 'must be my lesson: these my task unendingly.'

V
Herein is related, how Leyla's Mother reproached her, and 
How the Springtime of her Meeting with her Beloved turned to Autumn.

Thus pondering dolefully, Qays the unfortunate
Passed many hours, many sorrowful days.
No pleasure is found where Lover the importunate
Seeks for precautions and secretive ways.
Secrecy cannot exist where affection
On two loving heads its soft finger-tips lays;
Hypocrisy leads but to lovers' dejection-
Ignominy pressed on the shoulders of Qays.

From tongue to tongue the tale went forth
That Qays and Leyla, both,
Were gall'n in love: her mother's wrath
Did tax her with her troth.
The mother's face became inflamed,
It shone as liquid fire,
As Leyla, utterly unshamed
Withstood her mother's ire.

'Thou bold and saucy shameless one, what naughty tale is this?
What wicked secrets do I hear censorious neighbours hiss?
These wicked tongues will blacken fast the proudest maiden's name,
And once thy name is gossipp'd o'er, 'twill never be the same
Thou like a tender rose-leaf art, and like a petal sweet
Art bruised and damaged with a look, then crushed beneath the feet
Of him who loved. But what avail this censure harsh of mine?
Enough of censure; Listen, now, and in thy heart entwine
These simple words that wanton's fate shall ne'er be fate of mine.

Charge not thy dignity serene with crazed and maddened mirth,
Nor cheapen all your many charms. Be proud, girl, know your worth.
Look not at every face you meet as if therein to find
Thine own reflection. Never flow like water unconfined.
Though wine gives gladness to the brain as upward yet it mounts,
It climbs'so quickly, falls as fast; its height but little counts.
Shameless and cold, the mirror shows a bold and brazen face:
Be not thou, like Narcissus," so saucy-eyed. Thy place
All masked from the eye should be, in quiet seclusion hid,
That all should call thee precious, child. Go not to all that bid.
Though like the candle giving light, seek not each idle breath.
Lest, like the wind upon the flame, words blow with icy death.
Seek not, with colours gay, to be a doll for all ye meet,
Nor look abroad with eager gaze like windows on the street.
Be not the wine cup passed around from hand to hand in glee,
But be like cunning music, set all steady, in one key.
Be not the shadow that the sun moves on from place to place,
Stand not nor sit with anyone, nor yet unveil thy face.
Be simple thou; let others tricksters seek to fascinate,
Let not sad deception woo thee from thy strictly maiden state.
The gossips say thou art in love, and with a stranger's comely face:
Whence cometh this desire for love? Go child, and know thy place.
A boy may fall in love full oft and drink his pleasures deep,
But little suits it for a maiden thus to hold herself so cheap.
O thou, my eye's clear shining light, shame not our honour so,
For honour's bloom is quickly spoiled by all the winds that blow.
Our name is good, it stands secure with all both high and low,
Let not thy conduct start a spring from which reproach may flow.
Thou knowest well that were I soft and idle in my care,
Nor sought to stop thy foolishness, thy father would not spare
Thy modesty, but in his rage, forgetting childhood's state,
Would punishment severe inflict, would grievously berate.
Come, leave thy school, and playmates fond, and teachers so revered,
Thy parents both thy teachers are, to see this scandal cleared.
Talk not henceforth of penman's art, nor read a musty tome,
Observe my word, embroider here, and keep thee fast at home.
Seek not thy friends: companionship with them from now must go,
Seek thou thy doll, my little one. Come, take thy needle, sew,
And make this house thy dwelling place. Be proud, accept its joys,
And, like the Unco," live apart. Be happy with thy toys.
And living thus, unseen, thy name will earn respect of all,
No more be tossed from mouth to mouth as boys may toss a ball.
Remember, child, that they who hide their daughter from the eyes
Of all the questing, greedy throng, enhance by far the prize,
And gain respect, esteem and awe. Come, now, this realize.

VII
Herein is set forth the Ode or Gazel sung by Leyla in her distress.

A cruel Fate now drags apart
To live in lonely grief
The fondness of a loving heart
That loved a moment brief.
Were Fate a sentient, living thing,
Or bred to fear its victim's sighs,
Then, with a fear that passed all fears of man
Or woman sad,
Would Fate, a-tremble, dread the curse I sing:
My sighs, spark-clad,
Outpouring fast make Fate in flames to rise-
Yet flames my heart more fierce with sighs to fan.

My grief, though secret, grew apace,
And killed my soul so gay:
Now en ded ere half run my race
Like summer gone with May.
My flushing cheeks were unaware
What cause I had to sorrow deep,
Each breath as tortured, twisted sigh escapes
Its prison breast:
'Twas thus when first ray lungs drew living air.
Till all's at rest
This House of Grief may no more safely keep
Its treasures where its every wall wide gapes.

What need express in dismal tones
A secret all must know?
For, as I cry, the very stones
With pity are aglow.
My garments rent, in tatters torn
Make evident my state,
Yet think not that my love's dear seal shall leave
My aching soul
Nor that of love I'm left alone, forlorn,
Alone, not whole:
No image in my weeping eye is born
Within my heart he lives while yet I grieve.

O wind, that blowest freely, by thy art
Bring tidings sweet of him I yearn to see.
'Tis thou alone Fuzuli, know'st my heart,
'Tis thou, alone of poets, know'st the ill
That is my portion: choose what words ye will,
But with thy verses set my spirit free.

VIII
Herein is concluded the first Part of the Story of Leyla and Mejnun, 
wherein the Poet comments on the sad condition of these unhappy Lovers.

O Saki, hear me yet, and bring the cup
Full brimmed with wine, to drink and to forget
The cares that mar the world. Ope now thy heart
To pity for grief of this my tale,
Now just begun; drain forth my heart's dear blood.
With cruelty of care my breast is pierced.
Come, bring me wine, for I would deeply drink,
And numb my mind, till, heedless of the wheel
Of slow revolving Fate inexorable,
I know not of its torture or its pains.
Tis clear that, blindly thus revolving Fate
No constancy nor value may acclaim.
Were this revolving world, thus rudely flung
In Time's eternal round; to work for good,
And bring sweet union to lovers twain,
Or fire and water magically join,
Why then, these two, on whom our pity flows,
Could hope for reason for their captive state.

But O, what danger and what pain is found
In Friendship, when, with separation dread,
Friend loses friend. The Gardener of Speech
So loves his words, so decorates his land,
That Qays becomes the cypress of the field,
Full nurtured by affliction and by pain.

IX
Herein are set forth the Mesnevi, or Couplets, which tell of Mejnun's Distress.

1. Now every mom Mejnun went forth to school
Where, freed of care, he mastered every rule.

2. With studied ease he followed all the lines
Of Leyla: never book marked love's confines.

3. His heart with pleasure sang when'er the day
He, like the son, pursued his constant way.

4. At school a happiness he looked to find
The happiness of love, not yet unkind.

5. When passed the day that Leyla cameth not
The sun was darkened, tho' its rays were hot.

6. All sunless sped the day, and school, as night,
Fell dark and gloomy, darkened, without light.

7. He guessed that Fortune's cunning trickster hand
Had turned from him the pleasure he had planned.

8. The jealous gossips, so the thought was born,
Upon her petalled rose had cast a thorn.

9. With grief at heart and sorrow in his mind
He railed at Fortune, calling it unkind.

1O.'What evil have I done? What left undone,
To kill my soul by banishing the sun?

11.'What sin mine, that now, in sad eclipse,
Thou dashest wine of pleasure from my lips?

12.'Thy favourite once was I, and happy, glad,
Beneath my idol's look in pleasure clad.

13.'O Fortune! Now thy wheel to torture turns,
And now the graces of content it spurns.

14.'Didst thou then fear that with a single sigh
That from my burning heart should reach the sky,

15.'I might thy heaven into ashes turn,
And teach thee how these separations bum?

16.'Were this achieved, then Separation's pain
Thou, too, might'st know.
But, teacher, turn again,

17.'Nor think alone that dreary grief is mine:
The grief that tears my heart is also thine.

18.'O, elif, straight, unbending as a rod,
Be shamed, and fall, to moulder 'neath the sod.

19.'Still now thy boastful voice, seek not her height,
For she is gone* Why standest thou upright?

2O.O, noon, thou joy on beauty's eyebrow set,
Go, hide thyself} Seek not my soul to fret.

21.'O, mim, thy crooked shape no purpose holds
Now Destiny her smiling mouth withholds.

22. 'Corrosion seize thee, inkstand,may thy heart
Rust in thy bosom. Feel its angry smart!

23. 'Turn now thy ink that tender love expressed,
To pale and sickly water in thy breast.

24. 'And thou, O pen, as blots thy sorrow prove,
All restless, kissing not the hand of love,

25. Yet still cry on, pretend no day were here-
There is no day if Leyla be not near.

26. And as for thee, O hard and ashen slate,
Talk of her hand and blackly grave thy fate.'

27. The days moved on and still to school he went
But passed his days in blackest discontent.

28. From mom till eve his lamentations deep
Disturbed instruction, and at night no sleep

29. Its solace brought to ease his weary mind:
Always to Leyla were his words inclined.

3O. 'O, thou, the joy of heart, the light of eye,
Now, lacking thee, afar all light does fly.

31. 'Thy sweet companionship is sadly changed,
Give but a reason why thy soul has ranged?

32. 'Why thus intoxicate my giddy mind?
Why, making me a captive, be unkind?

33. 'If all thy purpose was to fling me out,
Why give me darkness and tormenting doubt?

34. 'My heart the flame of parting hourly sears,
My eyes are wet with longing's bitter tears.

35. 'My heart, aflame, glows like the morning bright,
An angry dawn, with crimson clouds alight.

36. 'My tears, a mighty ocean without shore
Well up, each asking more and more.

37. 'No friend I seek, thy friendship to replace:
Alone, take thou the image from my face.

38. 'Remove it, lest upon my heart, a crown
It bums, or else among my tears should drown.

39. 'With heady wine of longing I am drunk,
And deep in pain's bewilderment am sunk.

4O. 'Let not these pains accompany my day
Lest grieving deep, my secret I betray.

41. 'A drunkard fully masters not his will.
No heed can have bewilderment of ill.
42. 'My soul is lost upon this road of pain
I ne'er shall feel afraid of death again.

43. 'One gift I have: this grief for thee has taught
A gladness that was joy with passion fraught.

44. 'At times I wonder: what if Death should come?
No soul is left to seize; pain were its only sum.

45. 'A candle am I, burning in the night
Of pain and suff'ring, stirr'd by breezes light.

46. 'Yet though my heart in torment forces tears
And, 'gainst my head, grief's fiery sword appears,

47. 'This agony of pain I would not yield,
But, suff'ring all, make suffering my shield,

48. 'And keep these days of misery's deep despair
When restlessly I wander, full of care.

49. 'Should Destiny the Book of Life indite
'Gainst thee these days of suffering, or write

5O. 'The record of my life, I'd scorn the page
And tear the note to fragments in my rage.

51. 'They say the sun translates dark time to day:
Resolve this subtlety, all ye who may.

52. 'The day whereon my sun declines to shine
I cannot call a day, however fine

53. 'The skies above. Alas, that there is none
To whom in pity is my sorrow known.

54. 'With every thought my grief grows mountain high,
Each gusty sigh brings fiercer flames more nigh.'

55. His mind then on his early meetings bent,
Upon this poem all his forces spent.

X
Herein is set forth the Poem composed by Mejnun as he sorrowed in his Lowliness.

How sweet were the moments I spent as a friend
And intimate partner of Love!
Feasting on pleasures I thought would ne'er end
How gleefully then did the slow days unbend,
How gladly the roses blew!
My life, a glad springtime, before Autumn's hue
Fell dread, like a bolt from above.
But now comes the night time, for love, it has sped,
And hidden far out of my sight.
My fault, if a fault, is a memory dead.
Unaware of my fault is my head.
Yet though sweet lament
Reaching up to the dome of the sky's arching tent
No grieving turns wrong into right.
Tho' wilful my tears, yet the all-avid throng
On roy sorrow shall ne'er feast its eye.
Attached to the Book of my Life as a song,
Was a preface of joy, then along
Came Fate with its ghastly knife.
Fuzuli! 'Twas written that never my life
Be twain with that bright Moon on high.

XI
Herein are set forth the Couplets that mark the end of the 
First Stage of Mejnun's unhappy Story.

Thus Qays pined, lonely and sad,
While quickly abroad spread the news of his state:
The world thought it shameful, and renamed the lad
From Qays unto Mejnun, with Sorrow as mate.

XII
Herein is set forth the Manner in which Mejnun encountered Leyla, and how,
 from this Meeting, the Crescent of his Love waxed to a Full Moon.

The world's bright candle, early Spring, came new
And brought the bounteous gift of life restored,
And spread afar its veil of pearly blue,
And urged the nightingale to trill its song;
Spread far the limped wine of morning dew,
And filled the open'd tulip's crimson cup;
Inflamed the rose that in the garden blew
Agleam with turquoise and the ruby's glow

His friends about Mejnun now crowded thick
And urged a change of life, well knowing he was sick.
'Mejnun, come, look around and see the rose,
That in the springtime now so gaily blows.
Now is the time when hope is born anew.
Come! Gather now thy friends! Thou hast a few!

No cloud art thou; rain not these salty tears:
Thou art no torrent; moan not; banish fears?
Let not the rose's thorn thy bosom rend,
Nor for a pillow to the earth descend.
Come out to fields and woods, where grows the vine,
With all thy friends, come, sing and quaff the wine!
Come with thy friends, a-seeking out new ways;
Leave grief behind with winter's chilly days.

'Come, seek the vineyard where the age-long art
May banish grief. Take heed lest others smart.
Thou art the cypress of the age, the rose;
Wed not thyself to sorrow's grief: seek those
Of joyous soul, for care is body's woe,
And constant grief distils a poison slow.
Remember too, the rose of thy desire
May yet come forth. Feed not despair's dull fire.
Come! Walk abroad, for these glad days of spring
May unsuspected joys and pleasure bring.'

Now Mejnun slowly rose and took his way
Across the hills and through the valleys gay,
But ne'er a lightsome song could pass his lips,
But lamentations deep at love's eclipse.
He told his secret to the spreading trees,
Imploring all the tulips of the leas
To tell his love in Leyla's pearly ear
If e'er it chanced that Leyla should be near.
The timid violet his secret heard,
That she in Leyla's ear could pass the word.
He pressed the tulip's petals to his eyes
And kissed its feet with lover's heavy sighs.
Upon the narcissus he sadly gazed
Remembering the eyes of love amazed-
The nightingales, full throated in the brake
Were told his secret, ordered then to make
A song of all his sorrow, while his love
He sang to every silver throated dove.
With each new flower he saw a heavy sigh
Burst forth to join the yeasty clouds on high.
One day it chanced, for Fate was still unkind,
(Though seeming fair to those of simple mind)
That in his path the broken Mejnun saw
His love, still peerless, lovely without flaw.
Before him Leyla and her maidens passed
And o'er the rose and tulip shadow cast.
For pitched within a meadow was her tent;
Her presence safe within, refulgence sent,
And cast a halo o'er the favour'd spot-
A rose within a rosebud, wilting not.

The candle that lights an assemblage is Leyla,
Mejnun the heat of a fierce burning fire.
The huri that roams over Paradise, Leyla,
Mejnun the King of the Land of Desire.
Unique in all ages and beauty is Leyla,
For Mejnun the poets still pluck at the lyre.
The saping of Sorrow's green Meadow is Leyla,
Mejnun ever faithful her love to inspire.
The Moon in the sky ruling heaven is Leyla,
Mejnun but the sport of the evil below.
The chief in the line of the beauties is Leyla,
Mejnun keeps the gate whence all sorrows do flow.
Sweetly entrancing, enticing is Leyla,
Mejnun but the fountain where tears ever grow.
Desirous of beauty and happiness, Leyla,
Mejnun unto Melamet ever inclines.
The pearl in the mother of pearl, this is Leyla,
Mejnun in the pride of her radiance shines.
Perfection of beauty and modesty, Leyla,
Mejnun for her lovesomeness ever repines.
Desiring and yearning to see him was Leyla,
Mejnun in desire for her sadly reclines.

Now these two tall and slender creatures, graceful as the jasmine flower,
Bosom friends grew each with other, firmer with each passing hour.
Tempered steel struck hard on granite as they came each face to face,
Self control and will both vanished in this fiery meeting place.

Two strings on a single saz, they played a moaning melody,
The market of their passions ardent gave a mournful prosody.
The one gazed sweetly at the other, found a joy all unconfined,
The other looked and found a beauty, knew that love his soul entwined.
In Mejnun reason had no basis, no foundation could be found.
Sanity departed from him, all his senses fled the ground.
Unable for an instant's briefness on her face to fix his eyes,
At her feet (a living shadow) fell, nor had the power to rise.
And Leyla, too, felt all her senses reel and swoon in dizzy rout,
Could not see him for an instant: love had put her candles out.
Down she fell of all bewilder'd, till her maidens o'er her face
Sweet rose scented essence sprinkled, while she slow returned from space.

'O brightst Moon, this sure is madness,'
Thus they told her in distress,
'Should thy father learn the sadness
That thy swooning here doth show,
That familiar with a stranger;
Or that he thy love doth know-
Full of harm were this, and danger
On our heads will sorrow press.

'Nothing good thy course presages,
Unworthy is this conduct bold,
Learn the wisdom of the ages,
Heed the lessons taught of old.'

Then bringing forth the carpet of the tent
They took the girl, still dazed, but obstinate,
To her own zodiac: eclipsed the Moon,
Lest that her father or her mother guess
The shame that she had heaped upon their name.
Nor of the dragon countered in their path,
Nor of their treasure's sickness spoke a word.
Now Mejnun, raining blood from out his eyes
Was soon recovered from his sad collapse,
His tears alone refreshing, sought the place
Where Leyla looked upon him face to face.
But not a soul was there to meet his gaze.
The dry and arid earth stretched lonely round.
'Twas clear, he thought, that, having driv'n him mad
The youth who loved her, having scorched his soul,
She had withdrawn and left him to his fate.
He rent his garments, one by one, and moaned
Aloud his sorrow; changing thus his state,
Put off the vestments of a moral man,
Becoming mad and clothed in bloody tears.
About his head, as ringed reed pen, wound
A jet black turban, but the fiery sighs
Exhaled beneath its rim, fast burned it off
And left behind but dreary, blackened ash.
In self disgust he tore away his shirt
Ashamed to be a martyr in a shroud.
This trouble seeker cast his sandals off
That were but fetters to the feet of love.
And then to his companions, all amazed
And standing round, he made apology.
'My love's sweet attack like a torrent did flow,
My friends and companions, this truth ye must know.
'Tis time that we part for my dangerous state
Unfits any living to stay as my mate.
I burn in a torment of passion intense
Take heed lest I scorch ye and shrivel your sense.
No doubt can exist that this fire in my heart
Can send forth keen arrows with death poison'd dart.
O friends and companions, approach not my pyre,
Nor share my affliction: burn not with my fire.
No good have ye gained from my company sad,
Take heed that no evil from me turns ye mad,
For love crossed my path and made my life dark,
And left of my own free will never a spark.
A wandering bird am I, flown from the nest,
From home and the love of home, gone without rest
Or tranquility, always to roam,
Alone without friendship, and now without home.'

'Should my father address ye, and ask of my state,
Or question the sorrow that dwells at my gate,
Explain with decorum my woeful estate,
Explain all my Destiny, blackened by Fate,'
'O Father, my Father, thou sad, broken Chief,
Complain not, nor mourn for thy fatherhood brief.
Nor idly and peevishly marvel what care
Has descended on Mejnun to make him despair.
I knew not the cares of the world, or their worth,
Confusion of heaven, disorder of earth.

'In those far happy days when I knew not of cares,
When hours of sweet youth with dear innocence shares,
So happy in ignorance lingered my days,
No dreams had of Beauty, or Love's tearful ways.

I perish: my prayer is that thou should'st live long.
And hope my successor to greet with a song.
Forgive and excuse. Father dear, what has chanced,
'Tis sickness in me that has left me entranc'd.
With faithful endeavour all effort I made
To turn me to thee and to dwell in thy shade.
Yet every endeavour was futile and vain
Each started in sorrow and ended in pain.
My garment the thorn of affliction still caught
Still flooding roy path came the tears I ne'er sought.'
Then, painfully, with cunning rhymes enwrought,
He sent this poem to his father's court.
'Twas thou, thou alone, gave. me being and life,
'Twas thou madest obstacles; pledg'd me "to strife.
Thy blessings were sorrows, no hope in my breast
Sprang high that thy autumn of days would be blessed.

XIII
Herein is set forth the Poem sent by Mejnun to his Father.

When I saw the vast meadows of love. I abandoned all soundness of
mind
That is sent by the gods up above, of all their sweet gifts most unkind.
Seek not now to look on my face. alone let me stay with disgrace,
Blame not, o advisor of youth, good excuse can be found for my place.
Seek not to prevent if my collar is rent, No garment of shame my dress:
The desert's hot sand I now understand
Is the home where I hide my distress.
No slave of the dark from now on, for, hark!
A seeker am I after light,
To sickness of mind should my thoughts be inclin'd
The choice never mine for my plight.

Affliction in love, and the care of my love, I ne'er will surrender: my
needs
Encompass not Paradise, ascetic soul, or huris that dance o'er the
meads.
Observe my delight in her ringleted curls, the curve of her brow gives
me pleasure,
With China's great Emperor, Fagfur, vie, or Chosroes,*3 rejoicing
at leisure.
The aim of all life is to make a great name: mine shall last till the
mountains dissolve:
Fuzuli! Rejoice? I am famous, but mad! To be mad, drunk with love
my resolve.

XX
Herein is related how Mejnun's Father sought Leyla in Marriage for his Son,
 and how the Father of Leyla would have none of it
while Mejnun remained uncured of his Madness.

Now Saki, bring the clear and limpid wine.
For now has come the requisite degree
Of passion fierce and Love's dear rapture fine:
Bring now the wine and set the victim free.
For thus the Poet, culling gems of words
From out the market of Mejnun's mad mind
Had shown his father that of all his herds
And wealth and riches, never would he find
That comfort that would soothe his scattered wits
Till Leyla sat beside him. Thus the Chief
To Mejnun's madness bound himself, as fits
The father of a son sunk deep in grief.

To win for Mejnun Leyla's precious hand
His heart firm set and hope about him wrapped,
He journeyed to the Kaaba of Desire
And Leyla's father, not to be entrapped
In show of less civility, nor tire
His guest with hasty comfort, gathered too,
The greatest of his land, and journeyed forth
To greet the coming party. Well he knew
That honour must be met with honour's worth.
With welcome many times repeated o'er,
With hopes that happy auspices attend
Their visit, and that blessings pour
Upon them, they attained their journey's end.
A cypress tree in stature, tall and grand
He stood before them. They erect and straight
As candles sat, while near at hand
Refreshment waiteth-many a cunning plate
Of roasted meat, the lamb and tender kid-
It seemed that Aries and Capricorn
Had left their places in the sky to bid
A welcome to the guests so travel worn.
(How strange it is to say these furnished trays
Were like the sky's plann'd zodiac on high;
As if the trav'llers thought, all in a maze,
That these conceits should fall from out the sky!)
Then, courtesy observed, the ancient Chief
Restored in body, still distressed in mind,
Set fort his errand, told of all the grief
His son endureth with soul to Love entwin'd.
'O, thou, thyself the Father of a Host
Of Tribes, the Fount, the Spring, the Corner-post-
My race and lineage thou knowest well,
Effective is my power with all who dwell
Within a thousand homes: my fame is spread
Many a thousand tribes. By all 'tis said
That much and freely to them all I give.
Within my friendship many peoples live.
My enmity is fierce: I spread it not;
No man am I of ruthless anger hot.
The leading name mine of all the days
Whereof men write-all join to sing my praise,
Know also that, beside my lineage old
Possessions have I, more a hundred fold
Than I can count. But still the brightest gem
That God has granted for my diadem
Is he for whom I seek a valued pearl
To balance with a ruby: boy and girl.
In many mines that richest treasure yield
I've dug, exploring; roamed a vasty field.
In every mine a precious stone is hid,
But not the ruby that my mind may rid
Of need for seeking. But a breath I hear
That thou, within thy tent, a ruby clear
Hast strictly kept, that well may match my pearl.
And thus I ask thee. in the dizzy whirl
Of all that comes and goes, by gracious now,
Respecting pearl and ruby, thinking how
The one to other joined, may, each to each,
Protection give, as cypress boughs o'er-reach
The blowing rose, and give it needed shade.
So should a youth protect a lovely maid.
Be not unmindful, comprehend my word,
A good affair is this, be not deterred,
And ask of me whate'er thou wilt in change.
O'er all thy great desires thy mind may range
Should treasure be thine aim, thy ruby's worth
Shall draw such treasures as may hide the earth;
If jewels bright thy goal, then jewels I'll send
To fill thy treasure chests without an end.'

To this address the father answered slow
As well befitted parent of the gem
That had no peer, the jasmine breasted dove,
The hidden treasure, guarded with the care
That comes when dragons guard the secret door:

'O, wise and gentle friend, who, like myself,
Art captive to a child loved more than pelf,
Full welcome art thou, bringing pleasure deep
To him who speaks, and yet in dust must creep.
'Tis hard to answer, yet response is due
To what thou sayest: let my words be few.
Much honour is enshrined in thy speech;
'Twixt thee and me were honour each to each.
Yet hear me now and take not deep offence
They say that Mejnun is bereft of sense:
The people ill bespeak him, call him mad.
No marriage this to make my daughter glad.
'Tis not for me to sing my daughter's praise,
But 'tis my child, and will be all her days.
A daughter is the pupil of the eye,
Full helpless, hurt by aH the motes that fly.
This cannot be: 'twere more than all unkind
A maddened giant and fairy child to bind
In marriage. Talk not thus my worthy friend.
Be silent on this matter. Let it end.
Tis ruin needs thy madman, why expend
On madmen all thy treasure? Seek a cure
For this thy son, then shall my word endure,
That Mejnun, healed of all his mad disease
Shall wed with Leyla for his sick heart's ease.'

XXIX
Herein is set forth Leyla's Conversation with the Candle and the Manner
of her Asking for the Remedy for the Pain in her Heart.

O, thou, with eyes securely tied, whose heart is branded sore,
Who, ages passed, as now, the crown of blackened mourning wore,
Whose foot is constant in one place: come, let us, thou and I
Be one in soul, make manifest the reason thou dost cry.
What trouble makes thee slender, then; and so distress'd and pale,
Say why this burning head to foot, the garb of sorrow's wail?
Say why the blackness of thy heart escapes as sooty smoke
Sad sufferer of calamity, whose tears thy passion choke?
Of what sort is thy origin, that this hot, burning flame
Is water sweet that gives thee life, explain this eye of shame
That weeps about thy burning heart, reveal the secret clue
That followed will unveil thy heart, and all thy secret rue.
O, early riser, tell me now, what is thy magic sweet
That gives to water potency to swell thy passion's heat?
Tho' vexed I be, and sadly torn, yet leave me not alone,
Neglect me not for in my heart, I, too, a sorrow own.
I, too. like thee, in loyalty, am sorrow's slave, but stay,
Thy sorrow troubles thee at night; mine burns both night and day.
The lightest wind disturbs thy poise and bends thee to its will,
A grievous pain, but how much less than all my monstrous ill?
Thy habit 'tis to drip thy tears for all the world to see,
To tell the sorrow of thy heart with naught of secrecy
Where e'er the crowds are thronging, and from thy saddened breast
Thy tongue gives out the loyalty that in thy breast should rest.
But I am firmly anchored in the land of sorrow deep,
And like the flute a treasure that the air may safely keep.
No comrade mine, no chance found friend: I would not willing be
To tell my secret though my head should fall upon my knee.
I thought to tell my anguish deep to thee, O fickle flame,
But now no firmness stays in thee! Why, then, invoke thy name?
No satisfaction could I bring! Bethink thee how a .sigh
That breathes the secret from my heart would make thee melt and die!
To one alone have I disclosed what in my heart abides
And that friend. Love, now left behind, that now no longer rides
Along the lonely road with me, but treads the mountain high
And ranges o'er the stony ways, all scorched beneath the sky.
I will not this discuss with thee, O, Candle, lest thou flee
Far, far away and disappear, for clearly do I see
Thou hast no tongue for language dear, sweet comfort to accord,
Nor yet a soul, whose holy words could solace sweet afford.

XLVI
Herein is set forth the Song composed by Leyla in which she set forth the Troubles of her Heart.

Love must had compassion on our weeping and our grieving
That he set his foot today in the cottage of our sorrow,
That this reward our falling tears are blessed in achieving
This shoot that springs upon the rose today and not tomorrow.

Full well we know, for as the fire of passion'd sighing born
Becomes the smoky flame, the torch of Separation's Night.
If only we could claim that here a nightmare dream were born,
If but the weeping eye could sleep, not weep till day is bright!

This we behold must be a ghost, or else an Idol plain,
Unthinkable that Love should come so nigh without a fear.
Come, Heart and Soul! 'Tis true, and Love our guest will now remain,
Expend our treasures, riches all, the joyous day to mark.

The aim of Beauty and its purpose is to kill us, to destroy! Fuzuli!
Come and help us to surrender dear of life,
Giving Life to sacred Beauty, turning Soul into a toy
That satisfied with toying, playing, lives for ever without strife.

XLVII
Herein is set forth the Manner in which Mejnun met Leyla, and new he took Advantage of his Opportunity to make manifest his hidden Secret.

The eye of Mejnun, fallen on his Queen
At once the secret of his heart laid bare.
All sighing did he mourn his bitter lot
And prayed, as suitor, justice from his Queen.

'O greatly prized and highly valued maid,
Uncover where my guilt lies all concealed.
In what remotest detail have I left
Thy finnan unfulfilled, what traffic base
Have I concocted with thine enemies?
This sad disfavour of wicked spite
Of my detractors, bearing idle tales
All false and fraudulent. Believer true
Am I, and now upon thy threshold dear

XLVI
Herein is set forth the Song composed by Leyla in which she set forth the
Troubles of her Heart.

Love must had compassion on our weeping and our grieving
That he set his foot today in the cottage of our sorrow,
That this reward our falling tears are blessed in achieving
This shoot that springs upon the rose today and not tomorrow.

Full well we know, for as the fire of passion'd sighing born
Becomes the smoky flame, the torch of Separation's Night.
If only we could claim that here a nightmare dream were born,
If but the weeping eye could sleep, not weep till day is bright!

This we behold must be a ghost, or else an Idol plain,
Unthinkable that Love should come so nigh without a fear.
Come, Heart and Soul! 'Tis true, and Love our guest will now remain,
Expend our treasures, riches all, the joyous day to mark.

The aim of Beauty and its purpose is to kill us, to destroy!
Fuzuli! Come and help us to surrender dear of life,
Giving Life to sacred Beauty, turning Soul into a toy
That satisfied with toying, playing, lives for ever without strife.

XLVII
Herein is set forth the Manner in which Mejnun met Leyla, and new he
took Advantage of his Opportunity to make manifest his hidden Secret.

The eye of Mejnun, fallen on his Queen
At once the secret of his heart laid bare.
All sighing did he mourn his bitter lot
And prayed, as suitor, justice from his Queen.

'O greatly prized and highly valued maid,
Uncover where my guilt lies all concealed.
In what remotest detail have I left
Thy finnan unfulfilled, what traffic base
Have I concocted with thine enemies?
This sad disfavour of wicked spite
Of my detractors, bearing idle tales
All false and fraudulent. Believer true
Am I, and now upon thy threshold dear
I stand demanding who the instrument
And schemer of this malice and despite?
Far, far away, bemused, with broken heart
Far off I keep me from the very dust
That lies about thy porch; tormented still,
My only friend my sorrows: loneliness
The sole companion to my wretched life,
With never friend nor lover in the wild.
And even thou, my only heart's desire,
Thou grievest not me, nor wond'ring ask:
"Where, now, in lonely sorrow dwells my love?"
'Tis strange to find thee thus unmindful still.
Full sure thy anger is betokcned here.'

It well may be that, innocent of guilt,
I yet remain a sinner: other cause
Or reason for this heavy misery
I cannot find, and yet, upon the ground
The chain about my neck, I bend my head,
Bismillah chanting, 'In the Name of God!'
And if excuse be none, acceptance find
And swift obedience to thy decree.
But be not vexed, my angel, nor despise
What here I bring. Stab thou with lashes sharp,
Or of the curled lock a dagger make:
Stab if thou wilt, or hang me till I die,
Do as thou wilt, but let annoyance fade
From off thy lovely face, and gladden me
Nor leave me blushing in an angry shame.
Know, too, that if a reason should be sought
For all my blame, know that indifference
And thy unmindfulness brings speedy death.
O, thou, of tulip cheek and fragrant hair,
Thou treasure house of every beauty known
Or dreamed of, always am I tightly bound
By every curling lock that sweetly bangs
Upon thy lovely neck, and maddened thus,
I seek and cherish all my fetters dear,
And keep my foot for ever chained to grief.
Aloft, above all others do I soar
In madness of an all-consuming love,
And find that loss becomes my dearest gain.
Hear, now! My constant passion prompts a song!

LI
Herein is set forth the Desire of Ibni Salam for Leyli, and the Manner
in which the Dawn of his Hope proved to be but a False Dawn.

Now, Saki, give tranquillity of soul,
Be gracious, animate the lifeless core.
Give wine in plenty, pass the brimming cup
That all may taste of joy: let sorrow come
When joy and constancy are sped. Then ask
Why sad sweet sorrows follow hard on joy
This sorry business of this sickened world
No value holds; the wheel, unstable, turns
While Fortune offers now a treasure house
Of pain and suff 'ring piled mountain high
To one so bless'd, and then unfairly deals
A pack of troubles to his neighbour near.
See, now, O, Saki, how the sapling wild
First born of water, now to fire gives birth!
'Tis Destiny that orders every day
And if her blind ordaining chance to fit
The suitor's needs then happiness may come.

Short time elapsed ere Ibni Salam learned
The prize was unfulfilled for which he yearned.
He sent abroad his messengers to find
The greatest of his land in name and kind,
And wealth unbounded for the Nikah* sent
And all, nay, more than all he promised, spent.
Iran and Egypt, Hicaz, famed of old,
Sent forth a thousand horses shod in gold:
A thousand handsome youths and lovely lads
Embellished all in silk and fine brocades:
A thousand camel cows with rosy skin
And softest fur that all might revel in,
A thousand loads of candied sweetmeats bore,
While from the treasure came forth a store
Of ambergris, and musk a thousand trays
And sparkling jewels that blinded every gaze.
With unalloyed gold and abir sweet
The contract of the marriage to greet,
And thus each requisite was gladly sent
The dower fixed: each party was content.

Few moments passed ere Leyla heard the tale
And o'er her blooming Spring fell Autumn pale.
Her eyes were filled with dust of heavy grief,
The sapling of her wish shed every leaf.
A backward turn took all that she desired;
She felt her fortune by Misfortune hired;
That she, desirous of the blushing rose
Was given but a thorn: desiring those
Bright beams of Love's dear light, was burned with fire
That of the light was bom. Her keen desire
Turned all her wedding feast to mourning drear,
And mourning spread to wedding quarters near.
For, when the women came to dress her hair
And thus with bright adornment swell her share
Of beauty rare, the child her maid did shock,
And smudged the mole and ravelled up the lock.
From off her crescent eyebrow rasttk fled,
The surme from her eyes in tears was shed.
The comb forbidden now her hair to deck;
Her very gems lay heavy on her neck.
The mirror wept, confronted with her sigh;
No inky line would crescent eyebrow try.
The henna found no hand to kiss her foot,
Her walking made the dismal, drumming ut
Vibrate in accents low, while flushing face
Burned off the milky lotion from its place.
The sweetest perfume seemed a vulgar smell,
She feared no thorn from out of slander's well.
She, like the rose tree, tore her clothes apart,
And sighed and moaned with sadly breaking heart.

'O, Fortune, now observe my sad estate,
Was this the boon I asked of thee but late?
My faith was placed on thy revolving wheel,
I hoped that thou would'st all my sorrows heal.
Make no mistake, the love for which I prayed
Is not the love for which I am arrayed.
Think'st thou 'twas this I asked with anxious care?
That this I prayed for with a heart laid bare?
The one I love on Loyalty's page is graved,
While here are pages of extinction craved.
The one I love is drowned beneath the sea
Of all the soul's sad pleasure, while to me
Thou bring'st the acme of a leisured ease
And thinkest thus my aching heart to please.
The one I love owns but a single claim
To life: that I may wear his name.
While he thou bringest has but one desire-
That I should feed his passion's hungry fire.
The one I love stands forth a signpost clear
The one thou bringest starts the road of fear.
The one I love is mine: as he to me
In single fervour cleaves, so Fortune, see
How I cleave unto him. From Time's first day
This bond existed. Here me as I pray:
Keep this dear servitude from every harm
For haply it existed ere thy charm
Was born. So, Fortune, throw aside reproach,
Give up this mastery that would encroach
On human lives, seek God and gracious be,
And to the strong give not the property
Of being weak, nor give as lawful friend
A woman who loves elsewhere till her end.
Think not that Mejnun brave is lacking state,
Or that, now maddened, he were sorry mate
For any maid. Who treads disaster's road
As he, in loneliness, has courage showed.
For Ibni Salam, poor unhappy wight,
Knows little yet of cheating Fortune's spite:
From Leyla Mejnun takes an added fame-
For him contentment stays but in her name.
Yet should it be thou wishest joy of heart,
Know that I with deep affliction smart,
And am the fabled whale in legend told,
And thou the treasure chest of sorrows old.
Much more thy love than mine that rescues me
From parents grim and leaves me but with thee.
For I, offending, ask a pardon clear
For greater wrong and greater passion dear.
So, Fortune, save me now from Father near,
And Mother whom I now begin to fear,
And thus, with one sad grief, the record close,
Lest two calamities the record shows.'
Thus murmured Leyla, sighing as she wept,
And hating all who round about her crept
With bright adornment, moaning loud and long,
Till finally she burst forth into song.

LII
Herein is set forth the Song sung by Leyla on the
Occasion of her Marriage with Ibni Salam.

The wheel, O fickle Fortune, is spun in a way
That opposes my every desire;
I ask for the rose, but thy heartless display
Gives no rose but the thorn's burning fire.

Though years to my score I may count but a few,
Not once hast thou met my desire;
But turning and turning, revolving anew,
Thou still bringest unslaked fire.

No reason I know to humiliate so
A maiden whom many desire:
Time was when all loved me as well thou dost know
Till thy dust came to smother my fire.

My hope was to find ere I passed all my prime,
The soul of my heart's one desire;
But now do I find thou hast used all thy time
To build tortures to set me on fire.

Thy blasphemous hands have in sacrilege torn
The curtain that hid my desire;
The sorrows I hid in my breast all forlorn
Thou hast published and thus fed my fire.

No chance didst thou bring that alone I might live
Still true to my constant desire;
Thou hast brought me to shame as I true promise give
To Loyalty's ravening fire.

To thou, O Fuzull, thou wisest of men
The Future itself is revealed:
Thy treasures unprized, have merit but when
The Future is safely concealed.

LIII
Herein follows the Epilogue to Leyla's Song and the Conclusion of this
Section of the History of Leyla and Mejnun.

All those who looked saw great uneasiness
Upon the maiden's brow; they next observed
That all adornment, lustre, beauty's aid
Was quite neglected, put aside in pain,
And, thinking o'er the problem, found the cause,
And that a crueller, sadder grief she had.
The sun, they thought must surely make lament
When separated from a mother dear:
To leave a father desolate, alone,
Must trouble still the gently nurtured mind.

'How right thou art, O jasmine breasted maid,'
They spoke in approbation, 'thus to grieve
At breaking here the lifelong habit formed
Of close companionship with parents dear.
Thou see'st now, when separation comes,
The cruelty that absence always brings.
Let still thy sorrowing be unrestrained
Yet never think that but to thee alone
Comes this unbounded grief. This scorching heat
Of separation's fire has burned before.
Remember, too, the custom of thy folk,
Nor thus exaggerate a proper pain.
Within her father's house no girl may stay
Unnumbered years, nor on her mother spend
The total of her love, yet mindful be
And in thy passing to another sphere
Be not neglectful of thy parents dear.'

These words they spoke, and Leyla, hearing them,
Agreed their justice, but she spoke no word
Of other sorrow, for she saw no cause
Why idle tongues should slander her repute.
For ill befitting one of princely blood
To make avowal of a tender love,
And, thus avowing, shame her modesty.
And thus the Moon, assaulted by the spears
Of ignorant acclaim that tore her heart
Submitted, yet unwilling, to be dressed
For well she knew a thousand shouting tongues
Would rob her of volition. Thus adorned
With sweet embellishment and cunning art
Her face shone forth with such a beauty rare
That Fortune, looking on her handiwork
Cried mercy for a perfect patience found
In Mejnun's soul, for unadorned the moon
Was but a blight, but now the nimble zeal
Of busy fingers made her beauty shine
That through her veil her glory glittered bright.
And thus. when Night, with stealthy steps and slow
Drove off to darkness all the light of Day,
When all the stars their countless candles lit
And Night's grim darkness in its turn was shed,
Sweet, rose faced charmers gathered all round
Each charmer took a candle in her hand
And joyously in gay procession passed
Five hundred rosy cheeks and ruby lips.
A hundred moons with tiny rosebud Ups
The sweet rose water sprinkled on the road
A hundred maids, all rosy cheeked and fresh
Each swung the censor of sweet aloes, thus
With sweetest amber scenting all the way.
Another hundred beauties, singing sweet
With sweetly tuned instruments conjoined,
Enchanted all who heard. The wine cup passed
And repassed, offered by the tender bands
Of full a hundred maids whose smoky eyes
Languished and fell as still they served the wine.
Nearby, in charge of near a hundred youths,
All rosy cheeked, a hundred trays of gold
Lay waiting to be scattered all abroad
In joyous celebration.
Mid the pomp
Sat Leyla in a litter, all alone.
Her eye took in that splendour of the scene,
But saw it dully; apathetic still
She sighed in sorrow, moaned in bitter grief.
Perplexed she went, as straws go with the stream.
Unknowing and uncaring, without joy,
Yet moving still as in a dazed dream,
Till, last, the harem of the palace reach'd
And each companion, every friend, withdrew,
And left her in a private room alone.
And there the rose become a garden sweet
Where thorn and straw were banished out of sight.
When Ibni Salam that Fortune kind
To his fond care had brought the gracious Moon,
That seeker after jewel- fine and rare,
Desiring still the greatest gem of all,
With rapid steps made entry in the mine.
And thus, before his almost blinded eyes
He saw a light shine forth behind a veil.
All hidden was her face, but strong desire
Burned fiercely in him and his heart was stirred
By hope of speedy union, as his hand
He raised to lift the still protecting screen
That stayed between himself and his desire.

'O, thou,' said Leyla softly, 'Chief of Tribes,
And now, by chance, the master of my life,
Much talk has passed of all thy attributes,
Of thy intelligence and modesty,
Result of happy breeding. Hear my words,
And merit now the justice that the world
From end to end acclaims thy brightest star.

'Think not that I am rich, for I am poor.
Think not I am thy guest; I am thy slave.
Let not thy slave here suffer cruelty:
Show mercy to this suppliant. See now,
The manner of my suffering in soul
And weakened body, too; and ask my heart
The reason for its sorrowing, and hear
The reason that it gives:
'Long ages past,
In those dim, far off days when forth to school
I daily went to con my lessons o'er,
It chanced that in my sight a fairy stayed,
A youth of merit, full before my eyes;
And quick, this fairy offspring, djinnie born,
Established firm acquaintanceship with me.
And at my side each moment there he stood
Beseeching me to stay, ere yet I make
A spouse of any human being born
In all the world, and swearing, if I should,
His magic sword with but a single blow,
Would slay us both. My parents magic used,
And sought with every remedy to lift
This chain from off my neck, but naught availed.
My father and my mother vainly tried
To banish this sad evil, then, distressed,
Nor finding any remedy prevail,
My magic lave was learned of all the world.
And thus my friends, my sweet companions dear
Turned from me, hating with a sorrowed heart
This maid so ill-bewitched.
'This tale is told
And thou, an honoured stranger to our land,
Must sure have heard it said, and though the pearl
O'erprized of all that in the market place
Are offered forth for sale, is now thine own,
By strongest right of purchase, yet, beware,
For here, before me, hand upon his sword,
Stands yet this jealous djinn. Refrain awhile
Nor force not now this union dangerous
To my frail body and to thy dear soul.
Forbear awhile, and put thy trust in God,
That haply, though delayed, a cure may yet
Be found, and thus the door now closed,
May be wide open, while the evil tongues
Of those our enemies censorious
May be for ever silenced, bringing joy
Of satisfied desire to thee and me.'

This story Ibni Salam, simple soul
Believed, and took the tale of djinns as true.
He hoped that union with his love would come
With steady patience: less of life and rank
He thought to have, while yet his rank and life
An obstacle became to bar the road
O'er which this simpleton desired to pass.

There is a custom, old throughout the world,
That he who wishes gain must first have loss:
Who wants his love must first endure the pain
Of torment, just as he who wants the hoard
Of gathered treasure must the dragon face.
When first the lover manifests his love
He early learns the trials he must endure;
And when she sees endurance standing firm,
She quickly ends his torture with her charm,
Restores his fractured head with sweet caress.
But if of sweet endurance he should lack
No shadow of her union on him falls.
This danger now lay clear before the feet
Of Ibni Salam, turning this his day
Of joyous union, to a low despair
With separation crowned; yet not a look
He showed her of reproach, nor ventured near
The Idol of his soul, but nobly stood
And asked a healing for her discontent,
And swore to find the remedy desired.
And from that moment, when he saw the men
Who dealt in magic and enchantment dread,
He begged a chain to turn his grief to joy.

LVI
Herein are set forth the Quatrains that Mejnun sent to Leyla.

What is this, thy roaming in the Rose Garden with strangers?
Is it generous to ruin thus the structure of thy promise,
Giving privacy convivial, and granting hundred favours?-
But what of the vow that thou madest with us?

Thou hast listened so intently to claimants so importunate,
And drank until repletion of the cup that others held;
Thy love was thrown to others, and forgot for this unfortunate-
But what of the vow that thou madest with us?

Thy love, bestowed on others, while warming them has frozen me;
Thy path, that lay in sunlight, thou hast left for darkness black:
Thy life is treaties, promises and vows to others constantly-
But what of the vow that thou madest with us?

What sin or crime lay at our door, that thou, disgusted turned away
We suffered dismal grief while thou in sympathy inclined:
Can this, thy customed friendship, turn the day to night and right to
day-
But what of the vow that thou madest with us?

Like Fortune's giddy wheel, thou makest custom of a love unfair,
And, changing, like the wheel, thy name, once honoured, sinks in
shame:
To others, oft repeated love thou bast: to me alone the hydra care-
But what of the vow that thou madest with us?

Let not my heart be more dishevelled with the hair lock curling sweet;
Nor my heart bleed on for ever with the passion of thy lip;
No more let tears of sorrow flow a promise-breaker's name to greet-
But what of the vow that thou madest with us?

With hope of sad, sweet union, thou tookst our patience, peace of mind,
But day succeeded day, with every hope left unfulfilled:
My days are passed in greater grief than e'er Fuzuli brought to mind-
But what of the vow that thou madest with us?

LVII
Herein is set forth the Completion of Words, which recounts the Manner
of Zayd's taking of the Letter to Leyla.

The pen now laid aside, its labour o'er,
The loyal Zayd took the letter up
And swiftly, as a pigeon in its flight,
Sped off in haste to Leyla's country dear.
Arriving there, he sought by cunning ruse,
To meet her face to face, by boastful talk
Of magic, charms and ancient alchemy,
And slowly Ibni Salam's side attained.
He heard, with downcast mien the saddened state
That clung to Leyla's Kismet, of her grief
And sadly grieved life. At last he spoke:

'O, Ibni Salam, Prince of noble blood,
I here have written words of magic worth,
A prayer more potent than the doctors' drafts,
That, as I live, will cure the maid forlorn.'
Now Ibni Salam heard, and straight believed,
And close embracing Zayd, entered in
The chamber of Despair's lone privacy.
Thus luck helped skill, and Zayd's skill his luck,
And Leyla's presence saw his journey's end.
Some moments sat he silent, then erect
And firmly planted on his loyal feet,
Stretched forth a hand and held the letter out,
And paying honour, murmured yet a prayer,
Bestowed on it a kiss of love, then gave
The word of Mejnun into Leyla's hand.

The grieving Leyla, holding in her hand
The letter, caught the scent of heart's dear love.
She knew the writing of a stranger hand,
Yet not of Amr," nor the script of Zayd.
She knew that Fortune had a blessing sent,
And quickly to its message turned her eyes.
But as she read the op'ning bitter words,
She tore to shreds the garment of her soul.
Now let the ocean of her tearful eyes
Bring forth a million pearls, her bleeding heart
A million rubies from its treas'ry send,
That o'er the words, augmenting still their worth,
The precious jewels may scatter without end!
She read it all and understood its sense,
No gloss were needed for a single line
No single reference was lacking clue;
And then, with soul all pierced with sweet reproof,
She straightway wrote an answer to Mejnun

LVIII
Herein is set forth the Letter written by Leyla in reply to Mejnun, and
the Manner in which she made her Excuse.

Now flew the reed pen in fair Leyla's hand.
And on the waiting parchment writ her thoughts:

'O, God. Creator, Architect of all,
The Builder of each Treaty, every Vow;
The Giver of the Gifts of Wealth and Child;
Divine Creator out of Nothingness
Of all that has existence, bringing forth
From great Antiquity inventions new;
O, Thou, the Hairdresser of all the World,
Still moulding it to all Thy heart's desire;
Whose Threshold is the far Sublime; O, King,
This letter, written by a wounded soul,
By me, the restive one, must take its way
To him of honour and of noble rank,
To Mejnun, sick of heart, and sorely hurt.
O, thou, whose carpet is the earth, whose bed
Is tearing thorn, O, thou, the one desire
Of this my grieving heart and tearful eye:
Thy slanders and reproaches tear my heart,
Admitting they are just, while black with shame
My face is hung, dishonoured in thy sight.
Yet know that I, all overwhelmed with shame,
Still suffer pain unceasing. For my guilt
I make admission, yet compassion ask
Of thee who, thus accusing, seek'st excuse.

Thou knowest well that I am but the jewel
Within the market, haggled for by all.
Not mine the choice of market for my wares,
For Fortune blindly still the auction holds.
'Tis she, net I, who blindly makes the choice
Of buyer and of seller else, be sure
That none would purchase Leyla, saving thee.
If now an accusation harsh is made,
Let not thy hatred of me mount, nor yet
Grow wearied of me, for no pearl am I
That quickly purchased, quickly is engraved.
If it be true that Ibni Salam's heart,
Is cheered by me, his candle in the night,
And in day his sun, his sole content
Is found in seeing from afar the light,
For he and I are many leagues apart.
And still if he, afar, can see my beam
And revel in it, drawing near its fire
He finds a torment and a scorching pain.

Think not, my soul, that I in cheerfulness
Pursue my path, for, fettered in a net of grief
I find no power to go to market place,
Nor strength to raise my head from off my breast
See now my sorrow: when I wish to cry
I first roust find a reasonable excuse;
And either think of both my parents dear,
Or long association with my friends.
If grief supplies the impulse to destroy
My garments, then the maker of my robes
Must be at hand to furnish the pretext,
And under guise of anger at her faults
I then may rail and rend my dresses. See
I say, "this skirt is wrong, this pocket bad,"
And thus on false pretext, mask honest grief.
And then, those moments when I seek in vain
Sweet union with thee, I must go forth
And seek the fountain, there to take a bath,
And there, alone, I strip my body bare
And ravel up the hair upon my head,
And gaze upon the mirror of the stream,
And in my dissarray, see Mejnun there.

Around my neck no second collar rests,
The rubies of lips set forth no speech;
My neck seeks but the collar of thy arm,
My lips enquire of thine of zephyrs sweet.
From grief of thee I languish in my soul
All martyred by thy soul of cruelty.
Thy bloody curtain is my blood-stained shroud:
Though living still, rest me in my grave.
Think thus, that Leyla rests within a grave,
Think not that with a husband joys her life.

Come thou, and make a candle of thy sigh
To light my tomb; embellish it
With all the dust that lies upon thy road,
For I, though singing as a nightingale,
Sing but the dirge of separation's pain.
Though singing thus within a garden fair,
Know that the bulbul sings within a cage
Where all the future hides beneath a cloud
Of dark and dreary doubt, as thus with broken wing
And ruined pinion, mournfully I sing.

If now I find companionship with beast
And bird upon the wing, seek no reproof,
For rumour whispers that the bird and beast
Are now blood brother with thee. So am I.
O, sad, deserted lover, never blame
This saddened one who writes these saddened lines.
Wait patiently the day when Fortune smiles
And changes dismal days to happy hours.
Think not that only thou, to Sorrow bound
Art thin with dull Despair's bewilderment.
These quatrains con with understanding eye.
And know that with thee, Leyla sorrows too.'

LXVIII
Herein is set forth the Epilogue to this Section of the
Story of Leyla and Mejnun.

With so roach zest and fervour prayed Mejnun
A guerdon asking for his troubles deep,
That darkling night was quickly sped away.
The rose of day's bright garden burst its bud
And brightened all the world with roseate beam,
The nightingale, the bird of dawning sweet,
Uplifted then its chanson of delight,
What time the dusky rook, with sable wings
Flew off, dismayed with glory in the east.
The land o'er all the earth in glory shone,
The stars were harvested and gathered in,
While yet the sky, a vasty dome of blue
Enclosed the magic mirror of the sun
And flung her harvest of the hidden pearls -
Before her feet in selfless ecstasy.
The morning of purity and truth.
The joy of all the world, the op'ning rose
Slow gathered power anew, as in the cup
Of purity, the sky's o'erchanging dome
For Jamshyd made an orgy of delight.
Now like the tulip, Mejnun mounted high
Upon the mountain, and with tearful eye
Beheld the view in grieving ecstasy.
And as he looked, afar upon the plain
He saw his own companion, faithful Zayd,
Approaching his retreat, upon his face
The light of joy shone visibly, his eye
Expressed the heady joy of beauty found.
No sorrow marred his brow, no anxious thought
Was shadowed on his face. Mejnun beheld
And gazed in blank amazement at his friend.

'O friend sincere, what pleasure may be found
To give thee this unwonted air of joy?
Hast thou at last attained the final wish
And found thy union with Love's desire?
What newfound dignity now holds thy head
Erect in pride and happiness achieved?'
And Zayd opened now the secret store
Of treasure found, and thus addressed Mejnun:

'O thou, young bird of paradise supreme,
O, thou, aphelion, exalted high,
Know thou that yesterday, the Land of Love,
The land that knows thy cypress statured joy
So near thy heart, was my abiding place.
Encroaching on her secrecy with aid
Of strongly working charm, the harem strict
I entered, saw the Moon's supremest light
Fast in eclipse, enchained, all lustreless
The mirror of her face, the coral lip
Was blanched to whiteness, none of freshness left,
Nor in her cheek one spark of radiance.
Her tears, sweet pearls of sorrow, sadly fell
And mingled with the pallor of her lips,
Thus casting precious jewels on her face.
She looked and saw me, moaning in her grief,
And oped the secret of her heart and said:

"O, loyal one, O Zayd, loyal friend,
Thy road, perchance has been with gloomy Nejd,
Where haply thou met my Idol dear.
Should this be so, and if indeed Mejnun
Thine eyes have seen, then tell this suppliant
Who Bves in sorrow miserable days
Of his condition, how his months and years
Pursue their wretched course in loneliness.
Say who he knows as his companion dear
And how he bears him in his lonely grief.
And if, by God's good will, thy stony path
Should bring thee near his secret harbourage
I charge thee in the name of God to shed
Thy pity on the lovesick wretched maid
Who sorrows here. My sad estate explain
And ask from me, the sadly sickened one,
How fares the Lord of all my waking days,
And how he bears the torment of his grief,
And overpowers the overpowering loss
Of all he loves. Say to him, sweetly sad,
That Leyla heard that he in mournful rage
Had gone afar from men, and hearing thus,
Her garment tore, and long lamented deep
To hear that from this freshly verdant world
His father, cypress straight, had ta'en his leave.
Tell Mejnun how I share his mighty loss,
A loss he sorrows not alone, for I
Have lost the only friend I had
Who truly wished to see me Mejnun's mate.
'Twas cruel of heaven thus to grudge a friend
The one among a hundred thousand foes
Most prized and cherished, yet, and yet, what cure
What remedy may be for cruelty
So viciously inflicted from on high?
No slender grief is this, its mighty shade
Fast stifles life and kills where e'er it falls.
Yet still is patience left, and patience now
Is all that may remain. Mark now my state,
Within a fortress fettered fast, and bound
To deep humiliation and to shame.
No more the candle's innocence may share
My secret, now my shadow is my foe
'Gainst whom I guard myself with painful care.

"And should I tell my shadow of my pain,
The candle stands a gleaming, spying foe.
No freedom rests, no letter may I write,
No tactful confidant is at my side.
Dishevelled now I rest, a rosebud lone,
Though sweet my tongue to whisper words of joy.
My heart with blood of sorrow quite o'erflows.
But thou, my King, who reignest King of Light,
For choice of friends thy freedom yet remains,
Another's rede o'er thee has little power.
The course is ever left within thy hand.
'Tis thus I ask thee, why, neglectful still,
No news of thy condition comes to me?
Thou sendest not thy heart's outpouring verse; o
No sample of thy sweetly written words
In letter dear enshrined thou sendest here.
'Tis grievous fault, thus, careless, to neglect
The kindly thought that sends a letter forth.
Thou knowest well the fault that herein lies.
Correct it now and, kindly, as of yore,
Set forth in verses all thy troubled mind,
Expression of thy pallid cheek and tears
Blood red from reddened eyes. and send to me,
The soul that sorrows for a kindly word,
That I may store within my treasury
The jewel of thy hand, repeating o'er
In oft repeated ecstasy the words
Thy hand has writ, that in this dreary world
The workshop of the sadly given life
Thy thoughts may always dwell within my mind
As dear embroidery on precious silk.
And so, upon my steadfast, aching soul
Thy words may be embroidered in the thread
Of grief, and my soul at last find ease."
These words spoke Leyla softly, then in pain
Repeated this sad ode to tell to thee.'

LXXI
Herein is related the Manner of the Death of Ibni Salam and of Leyla's
Freedom from that Affliction.

See how the wheel of Fortune still revolves,
O Saki; see the bubbles in the cup
Rise up and burst upon the ruby wine
That mirrors all the world: this alchemy
So quickly changes earth to gleaming gold.
Is not advantage here, and greater found
Than that which frees from trouble of the world?
The world is but a dream, a shadowing
Of all imagination may present.
Think not thy dreams give birth to happiness
Nor in imagination rest content,
For time and its condition? ever change,
And men of wisdom spurn its changing state.

It chanced that, mourning for a sorrow hid,
The wailer** raised a cry, like those who mourn
The dead. lamenting still that Fortune made
A target for the bitter, burning sighs
Of Mejnun, out of Ibni Salam brave.
From Leyla and from Mejnun both fell tears
To wash away the obstacle, the will,
Of Ibni Salam, powerless and sad
Enduring grief of painful longing sweet.
So evil is the pain of emptiness-
An evil guide that leads to Death alone.
His longing sadness and his bitter grief
Soon worked on Ibni Salam's cypress frame,
Till, like a rattan, thin and quickly bent,
He dwindled in despair and 'gan to lose
The charm that kept him company of old.
He sank and weakened in a sad decline
That ways and deeds of yesterday forgot
His name: his couch at last was left his only friend,
And he its frail and feeble ornament.
'Tis sad, indeed, to tell in numbers true
How he, the exquisite, now lay abed
In sickly feebleness that daily grew
From weakness unto weakness: never cure
Was known, for none could know his grief.
No healing could be found to ease his pain.
At last, despairing, knowing life was void
Of all allure and comfort, knowing well
The joys that life had wantonly denied,
He gave his spirit in the hands of God
And entered into Paradise sublime.
A common fate was his, to gain the world
And then to have it pass. Who knows it not?
It is, indeed, the custom of all life
Should rise in Spring and into Autumn sink.
Now Leyla found a newer cause to weep.
His death now gave her openly excuse,
And thus the grieving maid had new lament,
And tore her weeping face with sharpened nails,
And rent her garment in a thousand shreds,
Disclosing unto all apparent cause
For every lamentation, burning now
The house wherein she dwelled: her lovely robes
She gave to pillage and destructive fire.
Her fragrant hair, as soft as musky rose
She soiled and tangled in a frenzy pure.
Her sighs and meanings knocked against the skies,
And, like the sky, of deepest black her garb.
Upon her lovely head were ashes cast
(A custom this, they say, of Arabs old,
That when the husband dies wife laments
If wife be left, a heavy year or two,
Bewailing and lamenting every day.)
This custom matched the Idol's grieving wish:
It gave her cause ostensible to weep,
And made her house the home of mourning wild.
Each day, from dawn till eve, she cried her fate.
At last, when many days had sadly sped
She left her home and took her heavy path
Unto the house wherein her father dwelt,
And there continued still to weep her loss,
With bitter, heartfelt tears in ceaseless flood.
Unending were her tears, both soon and late,
And in her heart the weeping Moon would cry
To God for mercy on the dead man's soul,
On Ibni Salam, he who, unaware
Had made her love to flourish in distress,
Who lifted high dissimulation's veil
And caused her secret sorrow to be known.

Now Zayd, hearing of her sudden loss,
Again across the desert made his way
And saw again the sickened, sad Mejnun
Among the wilderness of savage beasts
Still standing all alone in misery.
Saluting, Zayd let his news be known,
And told how Ibni Salam fell, the prize
Of Time inexorable, and slowly said:

'Thy rival, Ibni Salam, unto Death
Has gone to join his peers: hear now the news
I bring thee gladly of thy rival's death.'

But Mejnun sighed anew, bewailing deep
And mourned aloud the new disaster come
On him who suffered much, that marvelling
Unhappy Zayd gazed long at him and failed
Of understanding of his new found plaint.

'Sure, when a lover hears that Death has slain
His rival to the hand that he adores,
'Tis fitting then to joy, not fall to tears
And weep the fate that makes thy pathway clear.'

So thinking, Zayd sought to find the cause
And asked the reason for his friend's distress.

'O, loyal friend', said Mejnun, 'have I now
No sense of shame and honour in my soul
That I should find an all unhallowed joy
In that which leaves me lesser than before?
Who gives his life attains to his belov'd,
While he who gives it not stays ever lost.
The dead was never foe to me, but friend,
For he and I both loved that Idol pure,
And thus a common love gave common cause.
Now he, in sweet surrender of his life
Attains perfection, holds his right degree,
While I remain deficient still of grace
And needs must weep. Now, therefore, do not blame.'

LXXII
Herein is set forth the Ode recited by
Mejnun upon the Death of Ibni Salam.

Who is the only lover? He who gives
His life and dying, thus for ever lives.
The craven, shunning death and holding fast
To every fleeting breath so quickly past
No goal may claim
Of every lover's aim
Before his love his very soul to cast.

Perfection comes of selflessness divine,
Of immolation at the lover's shrine.
Who keeps his love must stand by all confessed
No lover, though by passion sore oppressed.
No lover he

Who dumbly still may see
With life enduring rage still unsuppressed.
Who is the only lover? He who finds
In death alone the union that binds
His soul and that he loves in perfect peace.
Who thus so wisely gives lest passion cease,
And finds the grief
Of separation, be it long or brief
The one and only way of sweet release.

Observe the moth, ye lovers, understand
Their age-long custom, found in every land;
How, burning in unsatisfied desire
Self immolation seeking at the fire
Of every flame.
Let lovers do the same
And gladly bum on love's own funeral pyre.

So die in love, for, dying fettered, bound
To love a heady joy is found
A death so timed brings forth the perfect ease
Of Hizir's Fountains: living streams that please:
The fount of life
The end of strife
The perfect cure for Love's distressed disease.

No charm or posset holds the sov'ran worth
Of curing Love's sweet passion on the earth.
Abandonment is named the only spell
Abandonment of life and love as well.
Thus losing life
And leaving mortal strife
In death thy love and thee may ever dwell.
Yet cease this idle talk of leaving life
And losing thus thy passion's dearest strife.
"Tis but Fuzuli knows the secret road
"Tis he who sets it forth in happy ode-
This quality
Of winning loses instability
Forgets the tribute that to life is owed.

LXXIII
Herein is set forth the Account of the Adventure that befell Leyla after
the Death of Ibni Salam, and of the Calamity that came upon her in this
Abode of Trouble.

Time passed and Leyla mourned in her distress
While dwelling in her father's open house
She lived, still holding fast her deep set grief,
Renewing still each sigh as sigh she spent.
Whene'er it chanced she heard of sad distress
Afflicting one she knew, she gathered round
The saddened one, with all her grieving friends
And sang aloud the wailing song of grief.
'Twas Ibni Salam furnishing excuse
That Leyla seized to mourn for Mejnun mad.
Her lips pronounced the name of him who died;
Her heart sang loud the name of him she loved.
The name she spoke aloud was diff'rent far
Both in degree and kind from that her heart
Rejoiced in naming secretly, with pride
Lamenting with a true pretence of grief.
And thus the fairy-born, disconsolate,
In grief illicit sat with licit cause.
Her grief was sore; it far o'ershadowed all
The grief of those who wept in company,
And slowly, one by one, they softly strayed
To other brighter paths, till all alone
One night with but a candle Leyla stayed.
And then the candle, with a heaving sigh
She straight extinguished. Darkness fell around
'Tis proper', murmured Leyla, 'thus to dwell
In darkness in the gloom of blackest night
That needs no candle, while my flaming sigh
Suffices.'
Still she stayed alone and wept
Confessing weakness to her pain and grief:
'O Grief and Sorrow, leave me now in peace?
For but this single night be gone from me!
In solitary loneliness my course
I still maintain. Seek ye another mate,
And turn your face to others in distress.'

But seeing grief and sorrow could not end,
And frantic still, she turned to blackest Night.

'O, dusky Night, as black as all my fate,
Swart as the fortune grim that dogs my step.
And causing my bewilderment of life:
Time was when ne'er a fleeting moment passed
When thou in easeful sloth might careless rest.
In ceaseless wandering every fleeting day
Was greatly filled. What change has now been wrought,
That ceaseless still thou boldest single place
Forswearing thus thy ever roaming state?
Is it, perchance, that thou hast found the goal
And final resting place that thou hast sought?
Or in the darkness hast thou lost thy way,
Bereft of progress in the circling gloom?
Thy garment black shows mourning as thy friend-
For whom, O Night, for whom, then, grievest thou?
My pain and sorrow overpower the sea;
Calamity's great torrent overwhelmed
My head, erstwhile held high. A target I
For Fortune's arrow. In the mill of fate
A stubborn grain am I now sadly found.
The wide expansive world is now a house
Wherein I mourn incessantly. No rest
No patience left, nor knowing how the end
Will come, or when, or in what manner dressed.
The very stars have faded into night;
The sky's dread scorpions, with venomed sting
Now scourge me, while the mirror of my dawn
Is rusted o'er; the sky forgets the morn
And all the blessings that it used to show.
And thou, O, Mom, say what has chanced with thee,
That now bereft of strength, in dumb dismay
No more may boast thy sweet accomplishment.
If still thy heart be glad, then gladly smile.
If love is now attained, be merciful.
Make now the cock companion to my plaint;
Let now the kettledrum with noisy throb
Accompany my accents of distress.
Give golden speech to every nightingale
That in the bosky thicket sweetly sings,
And show a sign of lovely morning's breath
That ushers forth a new and lovely day.'

Thus pleaded Leyla heavy in her grief,
Repeating o'er the sorrows of her heart,
And slowly learned that neither mom nor night
Could find a cure to bring her blissful ease.
Then turned she unto Him Who gave the gifts
Of morning and of evening to the world,
And, faltering in unaccustomed words
Began her dismal story to unfold.

'O, Thou, Who know'st the heart's most secret thoughts,
To Whom each sad condition is revealed,
My grief and sorrow still endure; no end
Is found. To whom shall I complain?
My grief is limitless and I am weak,
Companioned thus with never ending woe.
O, Lord, give either strength in suffering,
Or give me pain more suited to my strength.
If now I rend my robe of patience, then
The Way of Judgement full of danger lies:
Yet if I make surrender to my grief
I find it far beyond my feeble power.
Should I, in love, from chastity depart,
And know Mejnun in intimate embrace,
I fear, unchaste, to trample underfoot
My chastity against Thy stem decree.
If then, in passion, strictly yet I guard
My honour, as a city fair is held,
I fear the smoke of Mejnun's fiery sigh
May bring increase to sorrow that I bear. "
The faithful still desire a good repute-
To flout it is a danger to be shunned.
This way and that way torn, O Lord, assist
My erring mind to reach conclusion firm.
'Tis Leyla, dazed with many miseries
And captive to affliction's bitter pain,
Who, knowing not a final resting place
Nor sure of any refuge, saving Thee,
Who prays Thee look in charity and love
As thus she holds the cup of ignorance
And let Thy kindness hide her many faults.
They say Mejnun, matured by suffering
Is madly fall'n in love with suffering me,
But, lacking head or foot, unworthy I
With beauty gone, of his undying love.
An atom of a thorn am I, as dust upon the road
The dust of dust upon the way.
And e'en ray soul
That in ray body still is housed, is Thine.
As trustee only do I keep my store
Of treasured beauty granted but by Thee.
'Tis thou hast given such beauty as I own.
O mighty Lord, now help me in this trust
That I may guard until the Judgement Day
What Thou hast given, then at Thy approach,
When near Thy awful Presence I attain,
I still may keep my brow serene and dear
And hold my face unsullied, without shame.'

LXXIV
Herein is set forth Leyla's Prayer in the Difficulty of Decision.

O Lord, for the Truth of Perfection, found in the Courts of the Great.
For God, Divine in His Goodness, Consummate in all His Estate,
For Truth of the Prophet Mustafa. with countenance constantly bright,
Whose lustre has given the world its all illumining light:
My body submerge in the ocean of love
For the sake of the truth that was sent from above
To furnish for Moses Thy sweet guidance dear
And urge him to follow the laws of Hizir.
Change now, I beseech Thee, my desolate eve
For glory of Morning my sorrow relieve
With daybreak of union, bringing the breath
Of love to my spirit now closing in death.
Let not all my woe and affliction bring ill
Let love that is Thine all encompass me stilL
'Tis I who have strayed from the path clearly shown,
Exhibit Thy guidance; Thy counsel make known
For the sake of the guide at Thy hand ever near
Show now the dear pathway that runs straight and clear,
Still letting my heart all its sorrows endure
With those yet approved in a pasion still pure.
Like Fuzuli, may Thou my devotion to prayer
Complete and inspire, leaving little for care.

LXXV
Herein is set forth the Epilogue to this Section of the
Story of Leyla and Mejnun.

As thus, in weakened state, the Moon made prayer
And added supplication of despair,
She sounded suddenly the journey bell
And summoned forth the camel driver well
Accustomed to migration's dreary round,
With never solace in seclusion found.
Upon the camel's back in cradles laid
Was fastened many a moon aspiring maid,
While Leyla, wretched in a litter lay
Still weak and lonely, trying still to pray,
And praying, adding yet a grievous load
To that great hump the camel ever owed
To devil's handiwork. Her wailing knell
Choked into silence all the tinkling bell:
And heady wine of love, demanding yeast
From saddened eyes, made drunk the savage beast.

LXXVI
Herein is set forth the Manner in which Leyla related her Secret to the
Camel, and the Way in which she set forth her Supplication.

The grunting camel, ugly and mis-shaped,
Bereft of beauty, owned a cheerfulness
That prompted Leyla to express her grief
In words as fragrant as the morning dew:

'O, thou, with hair sweet-scented as the rose,
With face so like the rose, with nature sweet
Though Nature still conspires to work thee ill,
With pricking thorns and naked pad on stone,
With head unguarded from the fiery rays
The sun pours down in torrid frenzy, thou
Who sweetly knows a hundred unions gone.
A hundred passions with a sacred love,
Say now, what moves within thy smitten brain?
Tell of the scars of love upon thy breast.
From whence came all the cruelty and pain
That makes thee groan, lamenting every step,
Thus filling every moment with lament?
Thy path is still the path all lovers take,
If thou art vet a lover, I thy friend
And dear companion, understanding all
That causes tears of love's dear torment born.
Though now, all weeping with the grief of love
Thou still within this caravan abid'st,
No choice is thine, no more than choice is mine.
Thy leading rein is held in alien hand
And chance selects thy road as chance has made
Of me a haply found companion sad.
Now therefore, let thy mercy understand
And see my yearning with a kindly eye;
Bring forth compassion, build a stately deed
And make thy way to where my Mejnun lives.
This saddened soul take now to that dear Moon,
Take now this sorrow to its healing fount.'

She paused and straight a visitation strange,
A rare unconsciousness upon her fell.
Insensible to all her living state,
The light that gave her life an instant fled.
And down she sank deep in a fainting trance.
The group of friends about her hurried on
Unknowing that she lay as dead, so deep
The darkness that had gathered all around.
The very camel driver knew it not
And held his path in stolid ignorance.

Some time had passed before returning sense
Brought back the fairy-faced to see the world
Where all was black and where confusion reigned,
Where neither friendly voice nor camel grunt
Was borne upon the chill and darksome night.
With opening eyes she sought to pierce the gloom
In vain endeavour, seeking for the train.
Now trouble piled on trouble on her head
Set down its heavy weight. Upon her feet
She swayed, unsteady yet, but moving o'er
The darkened desert, venting feeble cries
In hope to reach her distant, moving friends.
Now north, now south, in all directions sped
The maid forlorn. Her cries shook all the air,
But ne'er a trace of guide or road was found.
The caravan had vanished. She alone
Of all its host, she with Jasmine breast.
The cypress statured, gently nurtured maid,
Stayed all alone within the desert dark
Where never moon may brightly lucent rise,
Controlled by heaven's still revolving sphere.
So now, the caravan, with Leyla gone,
Lost all its light in deep abysmal gloom,
And soon the sun, fast rising o'er the plain,
All solitary, as was Leyla. now,
A Jitter spread upon the camel cow
Of finest gold entwined in its rays.
And now, with ever growing fight of day
The maid of jasmine cheek pursued her road
Unto the land where Mejnun in his grief
Full sorely sorrowed. Looking all about
A sadly woeful figure she espied,
And paused to ask of him a halting place,
As she, o'er all the desert knew no road.
With honeyed voice and accents sweetly soft
She asked his name. In magic waves the sound
Sped forth and reached the saddened slave, whose head
Was bowed in deep dejection. As he heard
He raised aloft his abject humbled head
And answered softly:
'I am Mejnun called.'

'O false conceited arrogance', she said,
Let not the ant speak as the dragon dread;
Nor carrion claim with overweening pride
That he the nightingale is ever named;
Nor let the thorn, in stupid boast proclaim
Himself the rose.'
Then Mejnun made reply:
'Unique among the pearls that deck the world,
Is't true that thou thy Mejnun knowest not?
Say now, what signs are put to mark his brow:

From what fond sign would recognition come?
What would'st expect to see?'
'So fairy-faced'.
Said Leyla softly, 'are his features clear!
So excellent his cypress slender frame!
But thou, bewildered slave of mourning drear,
With broken features, body bent and mean,
No sign compares with him, the world's belov'd,
Mejnun, the greatest of the great, while thou,
A broken, headless footless wreck I see.'

'All they who love,' said Mejnun, 'suffer too,
Though suffering should dwell with man alone,
While woman's lot should be all happiness.'

'A nimble finder of excuse art thou,'
Then Leyla made reply. 'A chanter, too,
Of all the fetters of my aching heart.
Suppose, indeed that grief thy face cast down,
Suppose thy figure bent by cruelty,
They say that Mejnun owns intelligence,
They say his style is pure, his verses sweet.
But where, in thee, is heart inspiri