Muhammed Fuzuli (1498-1556)
LEYLA and MEJNUN
Translated by Sofi Nuri
Herein is set forth the Epilogue to this Section of the
Story of Leyla and Mejnun.
With so roach zest and fervour prayed Mejnun
A guerdon asking for his troubles deep,
That darkling night was quickly sped away.
The rose of day's bright garden burst its bud
And brightened all the world with roseate beam,
The nightingale, the bird of dawning sweet,
Uplifted then its chanson of delight,
What time the dusky rook, with sable wings
Flew off, dismayed with glory in the east.
The land o'er all the earth in glory shone,
The stars were harvested and gathered in,
While yet the sky, a vasty dome of blue
Enclosed the magic mirror of the sun
And flung her harvest of the hidden pearls -
Before her feet in selfless ecstasy.
The morning of purity and truth.
The joy of all the world, the op'ning rose
Slow gathered power anew, as in the cup
Of purity, the sky's o'erchanging dome
For Jamshyd made an orgy of delight.
Now like the tulip, Mejnun mounted high
Upon the mountain, and with tearful eye
Beheld the view in grieving ecstasy.
And as he looked, afar upon the plain
He saw his own companion, faithful Zayd,
Approaching his retreat, upon his face
The light of joy shone visibly, his eye
Expressed the heady joy of beauty found.
No sorrow marred his brow, no anxious thought
Was shadowed on his face. Mejnun beheld
And gazed in blank amazement at his friend.
'O friend sincere, what pleasure may be found
To give thee this unwonted air of joy?
Hast thou at last attained the final wish
And found thy union with Love's desire?
What newfound dignity now holds thy head
Erect in pride and happiness achieved?'
And Zayd opened now the secret store
Of treasure found, and thus addressed Mejnun:
'O thou, young bird of paradise supreme,
O, thou, aphelion, exalted high,
Know thou that yesterday, the Land of Love,
The land that knows thy cypress statured joy
So near thy heart, was my abiding place.
Encroaching on her secrecy with aid
Of strongly working charm, the harem strict
I entered, saw the Moon's supremest light
Fast in eclipse, enchained, all lustreless
The mirror of her face, the coral lip
Was blanched to whiteness, none of freshness left,
Nor in her cheek one spark of radiance.
Her tears, sweet pearls of sorrow, sadly fell
And mingled with the pallor of her lips,
Thus casting precious jewels on her face.
She looked and saw me, moaning in her grief,
And oped the secret of her heart and said:
"O, loyal one, O Zayd, loyal friend,
Thy road, perchance has been with gloomy Nejd,
Where haply thou met my Idol dear.
Should this be so, and if indeed Mejnun
Thine eyes have seen, then tell this suppliant
Who Bves in sorrow miserable days
Of his condition, how his months and years
Pursue their wretched course in loneliness.
Say who he knows as his companion dear
And how he bears him in his lonely grief.
And if, by God's good will, thy stony path
Should bring thee near his secret harbourage
I charge thee in the name of God to shed
Thy pity on the lovesick wretched maid
Who sorrows here. My sad estate explain
And ask from me, the sadly sickened one,
How fares the Lord of all my waking days,
And how he bears the torment of his grief,
And overpowers the overpowering loss
Of all he loves. Say to him, sweetly sad,
That Leyla heard that he in mournful rage
Had gone afar from men, and hearing thus,
Her garment tore, and long lamented deep
To hear that from this freshly verdant world
His father, cypress straight, had ta'en his leave.
Tell Mejnun how I share his mighty loss,
A loss he sorrows not alone, for I
Have lost the only friend I had
Who truly wished to see me Mejnun's mate.
'Twas cruel of heaven thus to grudge a friend
The one among a hundred thousand foes
Most prized and cherished, yet, and yet, what cure
What remedy may be for cruelty
So viciously inflicted from on high?
No slender grief is this, its mighty shade
Fast stifles life and kills where e'er it falls.
Yet still is patience left, and patience now
Is all that may remain. Mark now my state,
Within a fortress fettered fast, and bound
To deep humiliation and to shame.
No more the candle's innocence may share
My secret, now my shadow is my foe
'Gainst whom I guard myself with painful care.
"And should I tell my shadow of my pain,
The candle stands a gleaming, spying foe.
No freedom rests, no letter may I write,
No tactful confidant is at my side.
Dishevelled now I rest, a rosebud lone,
Though sweet my tongue to whisper words of joy.
My heart with blood of sorrow quite o'erflows.
But thou, my King, who reignest King of Light,
For choice of friends thy freedom yet remains,
Another's rede o'er thee has little power.
The course is ever left within thy hand.
'Tis thus I ask thee, why, neglectful still,
No news of thy condition comes to me?
Thou sendest not thy heart's outpouring verse; o
No sample of thy sweetly written words
In letter dear enshrined thou sendest here.
'Tis grievous fault, thus, careless, to neglect
The kindly thought that sends a letter forth.
Thou knowest well the fault that herein lies.
Correct it now and, kindly, as of yore,
Set forth in verses all thy troubled mind,
Expression of thy pallid cheek and tears
Blood red from reddened eyes. and send to me,
The soul that sorrows for a kindly word,
That I may store within my treasury
The jewel of thy hand, repeating o'er
In oft repeated ecstasy the words
Thy hand has writ, that in this dreary world
The workshop of the sadly given life
Thy thoughts may always dwell within my mind
As dear embroidery on precious silk.
And so, upon my steadfast, aching soul
Thy words may be embroidered in the thread
Of grief, and my soul at last find ease."
These words spoke Leyla softly, then in pain
Repeated this sad ode to tell to thee.'
Herein is related the Manner of the Death of Ibni Salam and of Leyla's
Freedom from that Affliction.
See how the wheel of Fortune still revolves,
O Saki; see the bubbles in the cup
Rise up and burst upon the ruby wine
That mirrors all the world: this alchemy
So quickly changes earth to gleaming gold.
Is not advantage here, and greater found
Than that which frees from trouble of the world?
The world is but a dream, a shadowing
Of all imagination may present.
Think not thy dreams give birth to happiness
Nor in imagination rest content,
For time and its condition? ever change,
And men of wisdom spurn its changing state.
It chanced that, mourning for a sorrow hid,
The wailer** raised a cry, like those who mourn
The dead. lamenting still that Fortune made
A target for the bitter, burning sighs
Of Mejnun, out of Ibni Salam brave.
From Leyla and from Mejnun both fell tears
To wash away the obstacle, the will,
Of Ibni Salam, powerless and sad
Enduring grief of painful longing sweet.
So evil is the pain of emptiness-
An evil guide that leads to Death alone.
His longing sadness and his bitter grief
Soon worked on Ibni Salam's cypress frame,
Till, like a rattan, thin and quickly bent,
He dwindled in despair and 'gan to lose
The charm that kept him company of old.
He sank and weakened in a sad decline
That ways and deeds of yesterday forgot
His name: his couch at last was left his only friend,
And he its frail and feeble ornament.
'Tis sad, indeed, to tell in numbers true
How he, the exquisite, now lay abed
In sickly feebleness that daily grew
From weakness unto weakness: never cure
Was known, for none could know his grief.
No healing could be found to ease his pain.
At last, despairing, knowing life was void
Of all allure and comfort, knowing well
The joys that life had wantonly denied,
He gave his spirit in the hands of God
And entered into Paradise sublime.
A common fate was his, to gain the world
And then to have it pass. Who knows it not?
It is, indeed, the custom of all life
Should rise in Spring and into Autumn sink.
Now Leyla found a newer cause to weep.
His death now gave her openly excuse,
And thus the grieving maid had new lament,
And tore her weeping face with sharpened nails,
And rent her garment in a thousand shreds,
Disclosing unto all apparent cause
For every lamentation, burning now
The house wherein she dwelled: her lovely robes
She gave to pillage and destructive fire.
Her fragrant hair, as soft as musky rose
She soiled and tangled in a frenzy pure.
Her sighs and meanings knocked against the skies,
And, like the sky, of deepest black her garb.
Upon her lovely head were ashes cast
(A custom this, they say, of Arabs old,
That when the husband dies wife laments
If wife be left, a heavy year or two,
Bewailing and lamenting every day.)
This custom matched the Idol's grieving wish:
It gave her cause ostensible to weep,
And made her house the home of mourning wild.
Each day, from dawn till eve, she cried her fate.
At last, when many days had sadly sped
She left her home and took her heavy path
Unto the house wherein her father dwelt,
And there continued still to weep her loss,
With bitter, heartfelt tears in ceaseless flood.
Unending were her tears, both soon and late,
And in her heart the weeping Moon would cry
To God for mercy on the dead man's soul,
On Ibni Salam, he who, unaware
Had made her love to flourish in distress,
Who lifted high dissimulation's veil
And caused her secret sorrow to be known.
Now Zayd, hearing of her sudden loss,
Again across the desert made his way
And saw again the sickened, sad Mejnun
Among the wilderness of savage beasts
Still standing all alone in misery.
Saluting, Zayd let his news be known,
And told how Ibni Salam fell, the prize
Of Time inexorable, and slowly said:
'Thy rival, Ibni Salam, unto Death
Has gone to join his peers: hear now the news
I bring thee gladly of thy rival's death.'
But Mejnun sighed anew, bewailing deep
And mourned aloud the new disaster come
On him who suffered much, that marvelling
Unhappy Zayd gazed long at him and failed
Of understanding of his new found plaint.
'Sure, when a lover hears that Death has slain
His rival to the hand that he adores,
'Tis fitting then to joy, not fall to tears
And weep the fate that makes thy pathway clear.'
So thinking, Zayd sought to find the cause
And asked the reason for his friend's distress.
'O, loyal friend', said Mejnun, 'have I now
No sense of shame and honour in my soul
That I should find an all unhallowed joy
In that which leaves me lesser than before?
Who gives his life attains to his belov'd,
While he who gives it not stays ever lost.
The dead was never foe to me, but friend,
For he and I both loved that Idol pure,
And thus a common love gave common cause.
Now he, in sweet surrender of his life
Attains perfection, holds his right degree,
While I remain deficient still of grace
And needs must weep. Now, therefore, do not blame.'
Herein is set forth the Ode recited by
Mejnun upon the Death of Ibni Salam.
Who is the only lover? He who gives
His life and dying, thus for ever lives.
The craven, shunning death and holding fast
To every fleeting breath so quickly past
No goal may claim
Of every lover's aim
Before his love his very soul to cast.
Perfection comes of selflessness divine,
Of immolation at the lover's shrine.
Who keeps his love must stand by all confessed
No lover, though by passion sore oppressed.
No lover he
Who dumbly still may see
With life enduring rage still unsuppressed.
Who is the only lover? He who finds
In death alone the union that binds
His soul and that he loves in perfect peace.
Who thus so wisely gives lest passion cease,
And finds the grief
Of separation, be it long or brief
The one and only way of sweet release.
Observe the moth, ye lovers, understand
Their age-long custom, found in every land;
How, burning in unsatisfied desire
Self immolation seeking at the fire
Of every flame.
Let lovers do the same
And gladly bum on love's own funeral pyre.
So die in love, for, dying fettered, bound
To love a heady joy is found
A death so timed brings forth the perfect ease
Of Hizir's Fountains: living streams that please:
The fount of life
The end of strife
The perfect cure for Love's distressed disease.
No charm or posset holds the sov'ran worth
Of curing Love's sweet passion on the earth.
Abandonment is named the only spell
Abandonment of life and love as well.
Thus losing life
And leaving mortal strife
In death thy love and thee may ever dwell.
Yet cease this idle talk of leaving life
And losing thus thy passion's dearest strife.
"Tis but Fuzuli knows the secret road
"Tis he who sets it forth in happy ode-
Of winning loses instability
Forgets the tribute that to life is owed.
Herein is set forth the Account of the Adventure that befell Leyla after
the Death of Ibni Salam, and of the Calamity that came upon her in this
Abode of Trouble.
Time passed and Leyla mourned in her distress
While dwelling in her father's open house
She lived, still holding fast her deep set grief,
Renewing still each sigh as sigh she spent.
Whene'er it chanced she heard of sad distress
Afflicting one she knew, she gathered round
The saddened one, with all her grieving friends
And sang aloud the wailing song of grief.
'Twas Ibni Salam furnishing excuse
That Leyla seized to mourn for Mejnun mad.
Her lips pronounced the name of him who died;
Her heart sang loud the name of him she loved.
The name she spoke aloud was diff'rent far
Both in degree and kind from that her heart
Rejoiced in naming secretly, with pride
Lamenting with a true pretence of grief.
And thus the fairy-born, disconsolate,
In grief illicit sat with licit cause.
Her grief was sore; it far o'ershadowed all
The grief of those who wept in company,
And slowly, one by one, they softly strayed
To other brighter paths, till all alone
One night with but a candle Leyla stayed.
And then the candle, with a heaving sigh
She straight extinguished. Darkness fell around
'Tis proper', murmured Leyla, 'thus to dwell
In darkness in the gloom of blackest night
That needs no candle, while my flaming sigh
Still she stayed alone and wept
Confessing weakness to her pain and grief:
'O Grief and Sorrow, leave me now in peace?
For but this single night be gone from me!
In solitary loneliness my course
I still maintain. Seek ye another mate,
And turn your face to others in distress.'
But seeing grief and sorrow could not end,
And frantic still, she turned to blackest Night.
'O, dusky Night, as black as all my fate,
Swart as the fortune grim that dogs my step.
And causing my bewilderment of life:
Time was when ne'er a fleeting moment passed
When thou in easeful sloth might careless rest.
In ceaseless wandering every fleeting day
Was greatly filled. What change has now been wrought,
That ceaseless still thou boldest single place
Forswearing thus thy ever roaming state?
Is it, perchance, that thou hast found the goal
And final resting place that thou hast sought?
Or in the darkness hast thou lost thy way,
Bereft of progress in the circling gloom?
Thy garment black shows mourning as thy friend-
For whom, O Night, for whom, then, grievest thou?
My pain and sorrow overpower the sea;
Calamity's great torrent overwhelmed
My head, erstwhile held high. A target I
For Fortune's arrow. In the mill of fate
A stubborn grain am I now sadly found.
The wide expansive world is now a house
Wherein I mourn incessantly. No rest
No patience left, nor knowing how the end
Will come, or when, or in what manner dressed.
The very stars have faded into night;
The sky's dread scorpions, with venomed sting
Now scourge me, while the mirror of my dawn
Is rusted o'er; the sky forgets the morn
And all the blessings that it used to show.
And thou, O, Mom, say what has chanced with thee,
That now bereft of strength, in dumb dismay
No more may boast thy sweet accomplishment.
If still thy heart be glad, then gladly smile.
If love is now attained, be merciful.
Make now the cock companion to my plaint;
Let now the kettledrum with noisy throb
Accompany my accents of distress.
Give golden speech to every nightingale
That in the bosky thicket sweetly sings,
And show a sign of lovely morning's breath
That ushers forth a new and lovely day.'
Thus pleaded Leyla heavy in her grief,
Repeating o'er the sorrows of her heart,
And slowly learned that neither mom nor night
Could find a cure to bring her blissful ease.
Then turned she unto Him Who gave the gifts
Of morning and of evening to the world,
And, faltering in unaccustomed words
Began her dismal story to unfold.
'O, Thou, Who know'st the heart's most secret thoughts,
To Whom each sad condition is revealed,
My grief and sorrow still endure; no end
Is found. To whom shall I complain?
My grief is limitless and I am weak,
Companioned thus with never ending woe.
O, Lord, give either strength in suffering,
Or give me pain more suited to my strength.
If now I rend my robe of patience, then
The Way of Judgement full of danger lies:
Yet if I make surrender to my grief
I find it far beyond my feeble power.
Should I, in love, from chastity depart,
And know Mejnun in intimate embrace,
I fear, unchaste, to trample underfoot
My chastity against Thy stem decree.
If then, in passion, strictly yet I guard
My honour, as a city fair is held,
I fear the smoke of Mejnun's fiery sigh
May bring increase to sorrow that I bear. "
The faithful still desire a good repute-
To flout it is a danger to be shunned.
This way and that way torn, O Lord, assist
My erring mind to reach conclusion firm.
'Tis Leyla, dazed with many miseries
And captive to affliction's bitter pain,
Who, knowing not a final resting place
Nor sure of any refuge, saving Thee,
Who prays Thee look in charity and love
As thus she holds the cup of ignorance
And let Thy kindness hide her many faults.
They say Mejnun, matured by suffering
Is madly fall'n in love with suffering me,
But, lacking head or foot, unworthy I
With beauty gone, of his undying love.
An atom of a thorn am I, as dust upon the road
The dust of dust upon the way.
And e'en ray soul
That in ray body still is housed, is Thine.
As trustee only do I keep my store
Of treasured beauty granted but by Thee.
'Tis thou hast given such beauty as I own.
O mighty Lord, now help me in this trust
That I may guard until the Judgement Day
What Thou hast given, then at Thy approach,
When near Thy awful Presence I attain,
I still may keep my brow serene and dear
And hold my face unsullied, without shame.'
Herein is set forth Leyla's Prayer in the Difficulty of Decision.
O Lord, for the Truth of Perfection, found in the Courts of the Great.
For God, Divine in His Goodness, Consummate in all His Estate,
For Truth of the Prophet Mustafa. with countenance constantly bright,
Whose lustre has given the world its all illumining light:
My body submerge in the ocean of love
For the sake of the truth that was sent from above
To furnish for Moses Thy sweet guidance dear
And urge him to follow the laws of Hizir.
Change now, I beseech Thee, my desolate eve
For glory of Morning my sorrow relieve
With daybreak of union, bringing the breath
Of love to my spirit now closing in death.
Let not all my woe and affliction bring ill
Let love that is Thine all encompass me stilL
'Tis I who have strayed from the path clearly shown,
Exhibit Thy guidance; Thy counsel make known
For the sake of the guide at Thy hand ever near
Show now the dear pathway that runs straight and clear,
Still letting my heart all its sorrows endure
With those yet approved in a pasion still pure.
Like Fuzuli, may Thou my devotion to prayer
Complete and inspire, leaving little for care.
Herein is set forth the Epilogue to this Section of the
Story of Leyla and Mejnun.
As thus, in weakened state, the Moon made prayer
And added supplication of despair,
She sounded suddenly the journey bell
And summoned forth the camel driver well
Accustomed to migration's dreary round,
With never solace in seclusion found.
Upon the camel's back in cradles laid
Was fastened many a moon aspiring maid,
While Leyla, wretched in a litter lay
Still weak and lonely, trying still to pray,
And praying, adding yet a grievous load
To that great hump the camel ever owed
To devil's handiwork. Her wailing knell
Choked into silence all the tinkling bell:
And heady wine of love, demanding yeast
From saddened eyes, made drunk the savage beast.
Herein is set forth the Manner in which Leyla related her Secret to the
Camel, and the Way in which she set forth her Supplication.
The grunting camel, ugly and mis-shaped,
Bereft of beauty, owned a cheerfulness
That prompted Leyla to express her grief
In words as fragrant as the morning dew:
'O, thou, with hair sweet-scented as the rose,
With face so like the rose, with nature sweet
Though Nature still conspires to work thee ill,
With pricking thorns and naked pad on stone,
With head unguarded from the fiery rays
The sun pours down in torrid frenzy, thou
Who sweetly knows a hundred unions gone.
A hundred passions with a sacred love,
Say now, what moves within thy smitten brain?
Tell of the scars of love upon thy breast.
From whence came all the cruelty and pain
That makes thee groan, lamenting every step,
Thus filling every moment with lament?
Thy path is still the path all lovers take,
If thou art vet a lover, I thy friend
And dear companion, understanding all
That causes tears of love's dear torment born.
Though now, all weeping with the grief of love
Thou still within this caravan abid'st,
No choice is thine, no more than choice is mine.
Thy leading rein is held in alien hand
And chance selects thy road as chance has made
Of me a haply found companion sad.
Now therefore, let thy mercy understand
And see my yearning with a kindly eye;
Bring forth compassion, build a stately deed
And make thy way to where my Mejnun lives.
This saddened soul take now to that dear Moon,
Take now this sorrow to its healing fount.'
She paused and straight a visitation strange,
A rare unconsciousness upon her fell.
Insensible to all her living state,
The light that gave her life an instant fled.
And down she sank deep in a fainting trance.
The group of friends about her hurried on
Unknowing that she lay as dead, so deep
The darkness that had gathered all around.
The very camel driver knew it not
And held his path in stolid ignorance.
Some time had passed before returning sense
Brought back the fairy-faced to see the world
Where all was black and where confusion reigned,
Where neither friendly voice nor camel grunt
Was borne upon the chill and darksome night.
With opening eyes she sought to pierce the gloom
In vain endeavour, seeking for the train.
Now trouble piled on trouble on her head
Set down its heavy weight. Upon her feet
She swayed, unsteady yet, but moving o'er
The darkened desert, venting feeble cries
In hope to reach her distant, moving friends.
Now north, now south, in all directions sped
The maid forlorn. Her cries shook all the air,
But ne'er a trace of guide or road was found.
The caravan had vanished. She alone
Of all its host, she with Jasmine breast.
The cypress statured, gently nurtured maid,
Stayed all alone within the desert dark
Where never moon may brightly lucent rise,
Controlled by heaven's still revolving sphere.
So now, the caravan, with Leyla gone,
Lost all its light in deep abysmal gloom,
And soon the sun, fast rising o'er the plain,
All solitary, as was Leyla. now,
A Jitter spread upon the camel cow
Of finest gold entwined in its rays.
And now, with ever growing fight of day
The maid of jasmine cheek pursued her road
Unto the land where Mejnun in his grief
Full sorely sorrowed. Looking all about
A sadly woeful figure she espied,
And paused to ask of him a halting place,
As she, o'er all the desert knew no road.
With honeyed voice and accents sweetly soft
She asked his name. In magic waves the sound
Sped forth and reached the saddened slave, whose head
Was bowed in deep dejection. As he heard
He raised aloft his abject humbled head
And answered softly:
'I am Mejnun called.'
'O false conceited arrogance', she said,
Let not the ant speak as the dragon dread;
Nor carrion claim with overweening pride
That he the nightingale is ever named;
Nor let the thorn, in stupid boast proclaim
Himself the rose.'
Then Mejnun made reply:
'Unique among the pearls that deck the world,
Is't true that thou thy Mejnun knowest not?
Say now, what signs are put to mark his brow:
From what fond sign would recognition come?
What would'st expect to see?'
Said Leyla softly, 'are his features clear!
So excellent his cypress slender frame!
But thou, bewildered slave of mourning drear,
With broken features, body bent and mean,
No sign compares with him, the world's belov'd,
Mejnun, the greatest of the great, while thou,
A broken, headless footless wreck I see.'
'All they who love,' said Mejnun, 'suffer too,
Though suffering should dwell with man alone,
While woman's lot should be all happiness.'
'A nimble finder of excuse art thou,'
Then Leyla made reply. 'A chanter, too,
Of all the fetters of my aching heart.
Suppose, indeed that grief thy face cast down,
Suppose thy figure bent by cruelty,
They say that Mejnun owns intelligence,
They say his style is pure, his verses sweet.
But where, in thee, is heart inspiring air?
What heart inspiring poems spring unthought
From golden lips that all accord Mejnun?'
'The greater knowledge, greater speech is lost,'
Mejnun replied in sadness. 'Tearful eyes
Are witness all-sufficing to express
The state, and witness make of love's distress.
The apt arrangement of the chosen word
Is proof most eloquent of lover's joy,
For only comfort seeks release in verse.
The lover, fallen deep in sad distress
As I am deeply fallen, never needs
Excuse or pardon for his speechless state.'
'And yet I doubt thee,' Leyla still maintained.
'Now prove thy claim that Mejnun is thy name,
And if thy love be Leyla, now set forth
In verses all the glory that has passed
And make the vanished moment live again.'
Herein is set forth the Manner in which Mejnun made his sorrowful
Condition known to Leyla by telling the story ef his past Experience.
When Mejnun, sorrowing, these phrases heard,
And knew that still she hungered for a word
That cunningly would 'stablish both his claim
To be himself and alt his love aflame,
He gathered all his deep extensive grief
And shortly answered her in accents brief.18*
'O, thou, who, in the garden of my pain
Spread'st tears as copious as the clouds their rain,
Nor giving light upon the falling thread
Of all the anguish gathered round my head,
Ask not, nor wonder how my time is spent,
Nor of the sorrow love has sadly sent.
Shall I recount in saddened words again
How love's repining brings unending pain?
Should I neglect the counsel of my friend?
And blame that those that wish me ill still send?
For many days I suffered torment's pain
And daily went to school in sun and rain.
Each day was spent in torment till the night
Closed down upon the world and hid its light.
Time passed and sland'rous wicked tongues increased
The evil tales that, started, never ceased,
Till, at the dictates of the family ties
Love parted from me, though Love never dies.
My story gained a credence o'er the earth,
The while my parents sought some cure of worth
To end the throbbing of my fevered brain,
And still the passion making me insane.
The doctors' treatment humbly I withstood
But doctors' cures held nothing that was good.
Afar to holy Kaaba was I sent
To make a pilgrimage, but all was spent
In vain endeavour. Never opened door
To cure my sickness, friends could see no more
Despairing of the healing of my mind,
And in abandonment they showed them kind.
"Now all alone to Nevfel did I make
A supplication that he nobly take
His sword on my behalf; but from his aid
No nearer did I reach to win my maid.
'And then came woe! Came Ibni Salam bold,
And brought me torment never known of old.
The tidings brought by Zayd I still believed
And true his even7 promise I conceived.
In hope still unfulfilled my days have passed,
While evil fortune ever evil cast.
To reach conclusion, all my virile frame
Deep into ruin fell, while still the name
Of Mejnun earned no joy at Fortune's hand,
Found naught of pleasure. Life was barren sand.'
Now separation spurred his aching heart
And m this ode put all he knew of art.
Herein is set forth the Ode recited by Leyla as she drew near to Mejnun.
Mad am I made for love alone of thee;
'Tis thou hast caused this madness in my veins,
How then explain thy standing now aloof
In silence cold.
Nor seeking any proof
Or reason why desire o'ersteps the reins
Of all decorum, setting virtue free
Of all the rules a hundred sages told?
No word of censure could my reason find
If publicly thou provedst thee unkind.
Excuse were easy found.
But from the public to the private state
Should make a change from furnace heat to ice,
And yet, though on the ground
I kneel, in privacy, what angry fate
Still holds in hand the ever loaded dice
That leaves thee cold and careless in thine ease,
And holds me still in unfulfilled disease?
If ignorant, unknowing of my state,
Or knowing not thou wert my only mate
Thy mercy were withheld,
Then bare of hurt were all thy actions cold.
But knowledge rests with thee. the tree is felled
And every branch repeats the message old:
How then construe deliberate intent
Or how in frigid coldness find content?
They say that oftentimes the nightingale
In battle fights that he may win the rose;
Yet haply should he see the flower that blows
In blushing beauty and forget the tale
Of love he sang,
Who then could understand his troubled mind?
This fairy near me hears the words that rang
About my head for many ages passed,
Yet still without a reason stays unkind.
Fuzuli, say, what crime has overcast
This maid, that, fallen in a deep disgrace,
With supplication spurned, she hides her face?
Herein is related Mejnun's aloofness and his Refusal of Leyla, and the
Manner in which he proved the purity of his moral Qualities.
'O lovely Idol, fairy faced and sweet,'
Spoke Mejnun softly, 'see, it is not meet
To strike the match beneath the weakly straw.
Thy image only, pure without a flaw,
Gives more and fiercer heat than may consume
My feebleness; yet may I not resume
My fiercely burning passion, but withstand
The guerdon of thy sweetly proffered hand.
Beware, sweet Jasmine breasted maid, beware,
Nor closely bring thy cheek's sweet mirror rare,
For this thou see'est, incorporeal
Has now no use for mirror to reveal
An image pare and holy; time has passed
When in my eyes the light of love was cast.
O maiden, when thou sought'st to hide thy face
And closed thyself within a secret place.
No more I have the power of sight in me,
No more thy place before me can I see.
Love, builder of a settled firm estate
Declared that we have union, I thy mate
But not below on this our mortal earth,
But spiritual our state, of greater worth.
Mere thought of face and figure, form divine,
In me is now outgrown. God save that thine,
The fairest seen in all the mighty land
Should move me from the rock on which I stand.
The pleasure born of captivating cheek
That sweetly sickly sadness all may seek,
Is parted from me.
'God forbid, indeed,
That I again its pleasure sadly need.
Long ages past my soul departed hence
And left my body, soulless, empty, whence
Thou understandest, in my body now
There dwells another soul: come witness how
Within my body now, and quite secure
Thy soul resides in every passion pure.
The blood within my heart, the light of eye
Art thou, and should I explanation try
Of this my freeing of myself of thee,
Thy passion soon would vanish as in me.
Yet still in me thy sadly lovely face
Is manifest in this and every place,
Now I myself am naught, for this my heart
Beats currently with thine: 'Tis thou who art.
Transfigured now in every heaving sigh.
But consolation comes: if I am I
Tormented thus, then what art thou, my dear?
If thou art thou, then make the riddle clear
And name my name, the name I dread to hear.
Now swollen as I am with radiance
And filled o'erflowing with thy brilliance,
'Twere evil now to look for sign outside
Thyself, or seek for other joys untried.
When all thy passion was a tender child