With looks respectful his servants stand:
His fav’rite Ansari’s amongst the band.
From marble vases a fiery gush
Of luxuriant flowers appears to rush.
Like Odalisques with graceful arms
Stand fanning themselves the slender palms.
The cypresses stand with branches unfurl’d,
As if dreaming of heaven, forgetting the world.
But sudden to strains of the lute ere long
Is heard a gentle mysterious song.
The Shah sprang up, as if sorely perplex’d:
“Who wrote of this song the charming text?”
Ansari, from whom he sought to know it,
Replied: “’Tis the work of Ferdusi the poet.”
“Ferdusi!”—exclaim’d the prince in dismay,—
“Where is he? How fares the poet, O say!”
“Ansari gave answer: “In poverty great
“He has lived full long in a mournful state
“At Thus, the native town of the bard,
“Where he in his garden works full hard.”