Our hopes, our thoughts, are for the weal of our dear native land;
Our bodies form the rampart strong to guard our frontier strand:
We’re Ottomans—a gory shroud our robe of honor grand.
“God is Most Great!” we shout in rush and charge on field of fight;
We’re Ottomans! our lives we give, our gain is glory bright.
The name of Ottoman with terror doth the hearer thrill;
The glories of our valiant fathers all the wide world fill;
Think not that nature changeth—nay, this blood is yon blood still.
“God is Most Great!” we shout in rush and charge on field of fight;
We’re Ottomans! our lives we give, our gain is glory bright.
A sabre on a blood-red field—our banner famed behold!
Fear in our country dwelleth not, in mountain or in wold:
In every corner of our land croucheth a lion bold.
“God is Most Great!” we shout in rush and charge on field of fight;
We’re Ottomans! our lives we give, our gain is glory bright.
Then let the cannon roar, and shower its flames on every side!
For those our brothers brave let Heaven ope its portals wide!
What have we found on earth that one from death should flee or hide?
“God is Most Great!” we shout in rush and charge on field of fight;
We’re Ottomans! our lives we give, our gain is glory bright.
Ref’et Beg.
GAZEL
A tavern which each moment takes a life as pleasure’s pay is earth;
A glass which for a thousand souls doth sell each drop of spray is earth.
The world’s a Magian that adores the flame of power and fortune high;
If thou should brightly shine, a moth about thy taper’s ray is earth.
Anon one is, anon is not—thus ever runs the course of time;
From end to end a warning-fraught, a strange, romantic lay is earth,
’Twixt sense and frenzy ’tis indeed right hard to draw the sund’ring line,
Ah me! if understanding’s wise, demented sooth alway is earth.
The desolation of the world beside its weal is truth itself;
Just as prosperity it seems, so ruin and decay is earth.
How many Khusrevs and Jemshīds have come, and from its bower have passed!
A theatre that vieweth many and many an act and play is earth.
Ziyā, a thousand caravans of wise men through its realms have passed;
But yet not one can tell its tale, and all unknown this day is earth.
Ziyā Beg.
ON A BEYT OF MAHMŪD NEDĪM PACHA
Heart! heart! how long shall last this sorrow, anguish, and dismay?
All things upon earth’s ruin-cumbered waste must needs decay.
What was the splendor of Jemshīd? where Khusrev and where Key?
Hold fast the goblet and the wine, let chance not fleet away!
“Our coming to this world is one; man must reflect, survey;
Care must one banish, and look out for calm and quiet aye.”