Giant-carpet, where the poet
Interwove with skill his country’s
Chronicles from times of fable,
Farsistan’s primeval monarchs,
Fav’rite heroes of his nation,
Knightly deeds, adventures wondrous,
Magic beings, hateful demons,
Intertwined with flowers of fable.
All were blooming, all were living,
Bright with colours, glowing, burning,
With the heavenly rays illumin’d
From the sacred light of Iran,
From the godlike light primeval,
Whose last pure and fiery temple,
Spite of Koran and of Mufti,
In the poet’s heart flam’d brightly.
When at last the work was finish’d,
Then the manuscript the poet
Sent to his illustrious patron,
E’en two hundred thousand verses.
It was in the public bath room,
In the bathing place at Gasna,
That the Shah’s black messengers
Found at last the bard Ferdusi.
Each a bag of money carried,
Which before the poet’s feet he
Kneeling placed, to be the guerdon
To reward his minstrel labours.
Hastily the poet open’d
Both the bags, his eyes to gladden
With the gold so long kept from him,—
When he saw with consternation
That the bags contain’d within them
Silver only, silver thomans,
Some two hundred thousand of them;—
Bitterly then laugh’d the poet.
Laughing bitterly, the money
He divided in three equal
Portions, and a third part gave he
To the two black messengers,