This was, in short, the material of an Œzbeg romance, of which there is an innumerable quantity, and of domestic tales also; and these are considered the most valuable portion of their literature. Here and there, one finds an union of religion and valour. The Heroes are taken out of the Islam world, as, for instance, in the story of Zerkum Shah, where Ali conquers the last named heathen prince of Persia, in wonderful engagements, which border upon the imaginative, and may be compared to the poems of Ariosto and Bojardi; finally, he converts him to Islam. There are also numerous tales of Ebu Muslim, the old Field-Marshal of the Abassides, and, later, the independent ruler of Khorassan and Kharezm. The historical facts are pretty old, and yet each Œzbeg, in the great desert which separates his home from Persia, points out many a spot where the Arabian Field-Marshal encamped, fought, and enacted supernatural deeds of valour. Finally, there are also the epics, in which the old princes of the house of Shah Kharezmian are extolled. In these, as well as in those which tell of Mohamed Emin, Khan of Khiva, Mohamed Ali Khan of Khokand, we find many an image which indicates the natural feeling and pride of the Œzbegs.
Then follow, also, on these compositions, which are always of greater length, short poems, which tell of love, morality, heroism,—or contain special directions for handling of weapons, dressing of horses, and the duties of a good warrior. These are, for the greater part, productions of plain burghers, professional Bakhshis, people who are unacquainted with reading and writing, and leave their poetry to be written by others; or, finally, productions by women and young girls, who break out into poetic effusions from the fire kindled by passion. I brought with me a pretty collection, written on soiled paper, in a bad hand, bound in rough leather, which I found among the Turkomans at a Bakhshi's, who hid the "Opus Curiosum" in the broad leg of his boots; and it has really very strange things in it, sometimes not without beauty. We wish to produce some specimens, under the names of the writers; some of them appear to be anonymous. The first one, in the genuine Oriental style, mourns the transitory condition of humanity and the vanity of the world.
Allah Yar.
1. To build castles in this world is a fruitless thing; finally, all will become ruin, and building is really not worth the trouble.
2. Day and night, for each poor wanderer to labour and strain himself, is really not worth the trouble.
3. Friends! For idle good in this empty world, to mourn and lament oneself, is really not worth the trouble.
4. To do homage to passion out of ostentation, to torment the poor and the sick, is really not worth the trouble.
5. To destroy the lands of Islam, and to draw the sword to annihilate, is really not worth the trouble.
6. With taxes, duties, with hundredfold griefs and sorrows to vex Molla Khodja,—nay, the whole world, is really not worth the trouble.
7. As you cannot, Allah Yar, stand the brunt of the world, why plague yourself going up and down it? it is really not worth the trouble.