(ON AN ENEMY OPPRESSING A FRIEND.
A person like Sádi who owned a pure heart,
A captive became to a smooth-faced one's art.
Oppression he bore from the harsh spoken foe;
From Tyranny's club like a ball he would go.
He turned not from any one frowning away;
Nor practised rebellion in pref'rence to play.
Some one said, "You at least have no honour to show !
Of these buffets and load, not an atom you know!"
The ignoble, alone, of their bodies take care;
The weak, the affronts of the enemy bear.
To wink at the fault of a fool is not right,
For they'll say, "You possess neither manhood nor might."
How well the demented enthusiast gave
A reply, that in gold it were well to engrave:
"My heart's but the house of the love of my friend, And cannot for others, then, hate comprehend."
(OF BAHLUL AND THE GRUMBLER).
How well spoke Bahlūl,1 ever happy in mood, When he passed by a grumbler who thought himself good : "If this claimant had known aught concerning the 'Friend, He would not have dared with the foe to contend. If regarding the presence of God he knew aught, He'd have reckoned the whole of the creatures as naught.
1 Bahlul, a saint who pretended to be insane.
(OF LUKMAN,' THE DOCTOR, AND THE NATIVE OF BAGHDĀD).
I have heard that Lukman in complexion was black,
And in tending his ill-favoured body was slack.
Some one thought him a runaway slave he once had,
And employed him in working 'mong clay at Baghdad.
In a year, for his master a mansion he reared;
No one thought he was else than the slave he appeared.
When before him arrived, then, the slave who had fled,
The sight of Lukmān filled the master with dread.
He fell at his feet and advanced pleas profuse ;
Lukman smiled and said, "Are your pleadings of use?
From your harshness my liver turned to blood for a year ;
Can that in an hour from my heart disappear?
And yet, oh good man! I'll forgive even thee,
For the profit to you caused no damage to me.
For yourself you constructed a statelier place;
I have gained greater skill and increase of God's grace.
Oh fortunate man! I've a slave of my own,
On whom heavy labour I often have thrown;
Not again will I trouble his heart in that way,
When I think of the hardship of working 'mong clay."
The man who has never been wronged by the great,
Does not burn in his heart at the poor's wretched state.
In this manner Bihram his vizier once addressed :
"Let your subjects not be by hard labour oppressed!
If the words of a Ruler seem harsh unto you,
Do not you towards subjects oppression pursue!"
Lukman, supposed to be the author of Æsop's fables.
(OF JUNAID OF BAGHDAD, AND THE HUMILITY OF HIS NATURE).
I have heard that Junaid, in the plain of Sănă,
Saw a dog that had lost ev'ry tooth in his jaw.
His claws, lion-seizing, of strength were bereft ;
Like a feeble, decrepit, old fox he was left.
After catching the deer and wild ram, in the chase,
He was butted and spurned by the sheep of the place.
When he saw the poor brute weak and wounded and sad,
He gave him the half of the viands he had.
I have heard he was saying, while shedding red tears:
"Who knows which of us two the better appears ?
I am better to look at than this one, to-day,
But how long on my head will this good fortune stay?
If my foot of belief does not slip from its place,
With the crown of God's pardon my head I will grace.
If the robe of God's knowledge I do not possess,
Than this brute I am certainly very much less.
For the dog with a name vile as any can tell,
They will never convey, like a man, unto Hell.”
The way is this, Sádi:-The men of the road
Never have on themselves a sublime look bestowed.
Than the angels a higher position they held,
For they did not conceive that the dog they excelled.
1 Junaid, name of a saint.
(OF THE HOLY MAN AND THE HARPER).
A tipsy bard held 'neath his arm a harp tight; On a pious man's head he destroyed it at night. The gentle, good soul when the morning began, Brought a handful of coins to the hard-hearted man. "Last night you were haughty and tipsy," he said, "And broke while excited your harp and my head. My wound has recovered; my terror has flown ; you cannot get well until money you own." For this reason the friends of the Lord are more pure, That they much on their heads from the people endure.
(ON THE PATIENCE OF MEN UNDER THE OPPRESSION OF COWARDS).
I have heard that in Wakhsh one of noble estate,
Concealed in the nook of retirement did wait.
In heart a recluse, not a saint in rags dressed,
Who stretches to people the hand of request.
Felicity's door was for him opened wide;
In his face, closed the doors of all others beside.
An ignorant sycophant tried all he could
To revile, out of rudeness, the man who was good.
"Beware of those subtle deceivers !" he said,
"Who are seated, like demons, in Solomon's stead.
At all times, like cats, they are washing their face,
Yet eager to hunt all the mice in the place.
For Pride and Repute's sake, abstemious they are;
For a drum being empty is heard from afar."
While speaking, the people a multitude grew;
Men and women amusing themselves at the two.
I have heard that the learned man of Wakhsh wept a deal,
Saying, "Lord! cause this person repentance to feel!
And if he speak truly, Oh God, the most pure !
Vouchsafe me repentance, lest death I endure !
If I ferreted out my own faults, it were well,
For my bad disposition can all of them tell."
If you're all that your enemy says, do not grieve!
And if you are not, say, "Oh wind weigher, leave!"
That foetid is musk if a blockhead should say,
Be at ease! for he speaks in a meaningless way.
And although this condition in onions may grow,
'Tis their nature, say,
"Do not a foetid brain show!"
It accords not with wisdom and reason and thought,
That the learned by a juggler's deceit should be caught.
He who wisely employed at his own work is found,
Has the backbiting tongue of his enemy bound.
Let your conduct be good, and consistent your walk,
That your foe of your faults may be pow'rless to talk !
Since severe to your heart comes the word of a foe,
Do not harshness to those who are under you show!
I know of no person who speaks in my praise,
Save the man who exposes my culpable ways.
Story of Ali, the Commander of the Faithful.
(MAY GOD REWARD HIM AND THE HUMILITY OF HIS NATURE !)
To Ali1 a man brought a subject abstruse,
In the hope that the difficult knot he would loose.
1 Ali, son-in-law of the Prophet.
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