O heart! this world is but a fleeting show,
Why should its empty griefs distress thee so?
Bow down, and bear thy fate, the eternal pen
Will not unwrite its roll for thee, I trow!
257. L. N. B. The «pen» is that with which Allah writes his decrees.
Who e'er returned of all that went before,
To tell of that long road they travel o'er?
Leave naught undone of what you have to do,
For when you go, you will return no more.
258. C. N. L. A. I. J. Amadaye, ya i tankir.
Dark wheel! how many lovers thou hast slain,
Like Mahmud and Ayaz, O inhumane!
Come, let us drink, thou grantest not two lives,
When one is spent, we find it not again.
259. L. N. Mahmud, the celebrated king of Ghazni, and Ayaz his favourite. Scan wayaz (alif i wasl).