It was at this time that he was ordered into the presence of the new ruler, and severely reproved for writing such a line as the following:
“For the black mole on thy cheek, I would give the cities of Samarcānd and Bokhāra.”
Timūr sternly said to the poet, “I have taken and destroyed, with the keen edge of my sword, the greatest kingdoms of the earth, to add splendor and population to the royal cities of my native land,—Samarcānd and Bokhāra; and yet you would dispose of them both at once for the black mole on the cheek of your beloved.”
Instead of being daunted by the sternness of the reproof, Hāfiz calmly replied, “Yes, sire, and it is by such acts of generosity that I am reduced, as you see, to my present state of poverty.”
Timūr smiled, and bestowed upon him some splendid marks of the royal favor.
The name of Hāfiz was a nom de plume, the poet’s true name being Shemsuddin Muhammed; he was born in Shīrāz early in the fourteenth century, and it was here that he died at an advanced age. He was a student from his childhood, but his especial talent was the gift of song. His style is clear, his imagery harmonious, and his work had a certain fascination of its own to the poetry-loving Persians, who are still charmed with the peculiar accent of his musical rhythm, and the flights of his vivid imagination. He was invited to make his home with the reigning Sultan, but he preferred to live in retirement, enjoying the society of friends and scholars, to the splendor and insecurity of court life.
Hāfiz was also invited to the court of one of the Indian princes, at a time when many poets of Persia and Arabia found favor with a literary king, and this courtesy he intended to accept, as the monarch sent a liberal amount of money with the invitation to present himself at the royal abode. The poet gave a portion of the money to his creditors, and supplied the needs of his sister’s children, before he started out upon his journey. When he had crossed the Indus and traveled as far as Lahore, he met a friend who was in great distress, having been robbed by banditti, and to him he gave all his means without considering his own needs. But fortunately he soon met two Persian merchants, who were returning from Hindūstān, and who proposed to pay his expenses for the pleasure of his company. They journeyed together to the Persian Gulf, and he even went with them on board the ship that was to bear them away, but before the anchor was weighed a terrible storm arose, and the poet turned his back upon his friends, and returned home.
Before leaving the shore, he sent on board the ship an apology to his friends, and this was couched in graceful verse, but it was to the effect that at first the horrors of the sea seemed light in consideration of the pearls which it contained, but the terror of the storm had taught him that “the infliction of one of its waves would not be compensated for by an hundred-weight of gold.”
PĪR-I-SEBZ.
There is a legend connected with his youth which is supposed to explain his wondrous gift of poesy. Tradition claimed that the youth who should pass forty successive nights at Pīr-i-sebz without sleep, would become a great poet. Young Hāfiz therefore made a vow, that he would fulfill the conditions with the utmost exactness. For thirty-nine days he went faithfully to his post, walking every morning by the home of the girl he loved, and on the fortieth morning she called him in, but he remembered his vow and the evening found him again at the place of his lonely vigil.