Ilhāmī.
GAZEL
The trees and flowers their turbans roll of black and white and red;
The garden fastens on its stole of black and white and red.
With sable eve and ermine dawn and fez of sunset bright,
The sky doth all its pomp unroll of black and white and red.
The pupils of my eyes are points upon the gleaming page,
With tears of blood I’ve writ a scroll of black and white and red.
The youthful Magian’s locks and breast were shadowed in the wine;
It seemed as though they filled the bowl with black and white and red.
Is’t ambergris, or is it pearl, or coral, Fāzil, say,
This poesy thy reed doth troll, of black and white and red?
Fāzil Beg.
DESCRIPTION OF CIRCASSIAN WOMEN
Ah! her cheek doth rob the fair sun of its sight,
And her sweet grace envy brings to Venus bright.
Like to moons are the Circassian damsels fair;
Whatso’er the lover seeks he findeth there.
Like to tall palm-trees their slender forms in grace,
Or a ladder to the clear moon of the face.
With the two feet of the eyes doth one ascend,
But the vision of the mind too one must bend.
Since their lips and cheeks are taverns of wine,
Is it strange their eyes inebriate should shine?
Since like rubies are created their two lips,
Doubly seared the lover’s heart, like the tulip’s.
Since their bodies are distilled from moon and sun,
How an equal to their pure frame find can one?
Though they lovelier than Georgians may be,
Still in Georgians one will great attractions see.
Closely curtained sit they all in virtue’s place;
Pure of skirt is ever this unrivalled race;
Pure and free from stain is every act of theirs;
Not a soil the vestment of their honor bears;
Marked with chastity indeed, of noble heart,
Ever seeking to fulfil the righteous part;
Bright with bounty and fidelity and sense,
How that blessèd nature glows with light intense!
Think not with this race that any can compare
Upon earth, unless it be the Georgian fair.
Fāzil Beg.
DESCRIPTION OF GREEK WOMEN
Oh! thou the Bell upon the church of pain!
Thou the Pride of all the Messianic train!
Source of being! if a mistress thou should seek,
Then, I pray thee, let thy loved one be a Greek.
Unto her the fancies of the joyous bend,
For there’s leave to woo the Grecian girl, my friend.
Caskets of coquetry are the Grecian maids,
And their grace the rest of womankind degrades.
What that slender waist so delicate and slight!
What those gentle words the sweet tongue doth indite!
What those blandishments, that heart-attracting talk!
What that elegance, that heart-attracting walk!
What that figure, as the cypress tall and free—
In the park of God’s creation a young tree!
What those attitudes, those motions, wondrous fair!
What that glance inebriate that showeth there!
Given those disdainful airs to her alone,
And her legacy that accent and that tone.
All those letters on her sweet tongue’s tip are rolled,
And those words with many graces she’ll unfold;
Strung the regal pearls of her enchanting speech,
Pounded seem they when her gentle mouth they reach;
To her tongue if come a letter harsh to say,
Then her sweet mouth causeth it to melt away;
Her mouth would fain the words conserve in sooth,
For her mouth is speech-conserves in very truth;
Speaking parrots are they surely one and all,
To their portion doth the birdies’ language fall.
With a thousand graces saith her rosebud lip:
“Zee vine, O noble Lord, vill zou no sip?
When thy glass is empty, fill it full again,
To my love drink, O my Pacha, drink amain!”
To the soul add life her ways and charms so dear,
Surely thus is it a mistress should appear.
E’en the old misogynist would conquered be,
Saw he yonder maid, uxorious were he.
So symmetrical the line her body shows,
One would it a balanced hemistich suppose.
Other women seek to imitate her grace,
As their pride and frontispiece she holds her place.
What that figure tall, and what that graceful mien!
Fair-proportioned is her body ever seen.
Moving lithely, she from side to side will turn,
That the hearts of all her lovers she may burn.
That cap which on one side she gayly wears;
That jaunty step; those joyous heedless airs;
Those motions—they are just what me delight;
And her tripping on two toes—how fair a sight!
’Twere as though with fire her pathway were inlaid,
That would burn the feet of yonder moon-like maid.
Thou wouldst deem her lovers’ hearts upon her way,
Burning with their love for her, all scattered lay.
. . . . . . . . . .
Is’t herself they call “Qoqona” let us see?
Or her locks?—how wondrous sweet their odors be!
As the sash trails on the ground beneath thy feet,
So will she thy feet salute with kisses sweet.
Misbeliever, thou dost sense steal from the heart;
Torment thou—I know not what a Woe thou art;
Know not I if thou be hūrī or perī,
Know not I of Mary what is found in thee;
Art thou Mary’s, child of ‘Imrān’s, rosebud bright?
Of the dwelling of the monks art thou the light?
Envy bearing to her hinna-crimsoned hand,
Doth the red egg covered o’er with blushes stand.
With the Greek cannot thy genus e’er compare,
Deem I, be thou genius or hūrī fair!
Fāzil Beg.