The Literature of Arabia Part 3

E.W.

AN ELEGY[1]

Those dear abodes which once contain'd the fair, Amidst Mitata's wilds I seek in vain, Nor towers, nor tents, nor cottages are there, But scatter'd ruins and a silent plain.

The proud ca.n.a.ls that once Rayana grac'd, Their course neglected and their waters gone, Among the level'd sands are dimly trac'd, Like moss-grown letters on a mouldering stone.

Rayana say, how many a tedious year Its hallow'd circle o'er our heads hath roll'd, Since to my vows thy tender maids gave ear, And fondly listened to the tale I told?

How oft, since then, the star of spring, that pours A never-failing stream, hath drenched thy head?

How oft, the summer cloud in copious showers Or gentle drops its genial influence shed?

How oft since then, the hovering mist of morn Hath caus'd thy locks with glittering gems to glow?

How oft hath eve her dewy treasures borne To fall responsive to the breeze below?

The matted thistles, bending to the gale, Now clothe those meadows once with verdure gay; Amidst the windings of that lonely vale The teeming antelope and ostrich stray.

The large-eyed mother of the herd that flies Man's noisy haunts, here finds a sure retreat, Here watches o'er her young, till age supplies Strength to their limbs and swiftness to their feet.

Save where the swelling stream hath swept those walls And giv'n their deep foundations to the light (As the retouching pencil that recalls A long-lost picture to the raptur'd sight).

Save where the rains have wash'd the gathered sand And bared the scanty fragments to our view, (As the dust sprinkled on a punctur'd hand Bids the faint tints resume their azure hue).

No mossy record of those once lov'd seats Points out the mansion to inquiring eyes; No tottering wall, in echoing sounds, repeats Our mournful questions and our bursting sighs.

Yet, midst those ruin'd heaps, that naked plain, Can faithful memory former scenes restore, Recall the busy throng, the jocund train, And picture all that charm'd us there before.

Ne'e shall my heart the fatal morn forget That bore the fair ones from these seats so dear-- I see, I see the crowding litters yet, And yet the tent-poles rattle in my ear.

I see the maids with timid steps descend, The streamers wave in all their painted pride, The floating curtains every fold extend, And vainly strive the charms within to hide.

What graceful forms those envious folds enclose!

What melting glances thro' those curtains play!

Sure Weira's antelopes, or Tudah's roes Thro' yonder veils their sportive young survey!

The band mov'd on--to trace their steps I strove, I saw them urge the camel's hastening flight, Till the white vapor, like a rising grove, s.n.a.t.c.h'd them forever from my aching sight.

Nor since that morn have I Nawara seen, The bands are burst which held us once so fast, Memory but tells me that such things have been, And sad Reflection adds, that they are past.

_Lebid Ben Rabiat Alamary_.

[1] The author of this poem was a native of Yemen. He was contemporary with Mohammed and was already celebrated as a poet when the prophet began to promulgate his doctrines. Lebid embraced Islamism and was one of the most aggressive helpers in its establishment. He fixed his abode in the city of Cufa, where he died at a very advanced age.

This elegy, as is evident, was written previous to Lebid's conversion to Islamism. Its subject is one that must be ever interesting to the feeling mind--the return of a person after a long absence to the place of his birth--in fact it is the Arabian "Deserted Village."

THE TOMB OF MANO

Friends of my heart, who share my sighs!

Go seek the turf where Mano lies, And woo the dewy clouds of spring, To sweep it with prolific wing.

Within that cell, beneath that heap, Friends.h.i.+p and Truth and Honor sleep, Beneficence, that used to clasp The world within her ample grasp.

There rests entomb'd--of thought bereft-- For were one conscious atom left New bliss, new kindness to display, 'Twould burst the grave, and seek the day.

But tho' in dust thy relics lie, Thy virtues, Mano, ne'er shall die; Tho' Nile's full stream be seen no more, That spread his waves from sh.o.r.e to sh.o.r.e, Still in the verdure of the plain His vivifying smiles remain.

_Ha.s.san Alasady_.

TOMB OF SAYID[2]

Blest are the tenants of the tomb!

With envy I their lot survey!

For Sayid shares the solemn gloom, And mingles with their mouldering clay.

Dear youth! I'm doom'd thy loss to mourn When gathering ills around combine; And whither now shall Malec turn, Where look for any help but thine?

At this dread moment when the foe My life with rage insatiate seeks, In vain I strive to ward the blow, My buckler falls, my sabre breaks.

Upon thy gra.s.sy tomb I knelt, And sought from pain a short relief-- Th' attempt was vain--I only felt Intenser pangs and livelier grief.

The bud of woe no more represt, Fed by the tears that drench'd it there, Shot forth and fill'd my laboring breast Soon to expand and shed despair.

But tho' of Sayid I'm bereft, From whom the stream of bounty came, Sayid a n.o.bler meed has left-- Th' exhaustless heritage of fame.

Tho' mute the lips on which I hung, Their silence speaks more loud to me Than any voice from mortal tongue, "What Sayid was let Malec be."

_Abd Almalec Alharithy_.

[2] Abd Almalec was a native of Arabia Felix. The exact period when he flourished is unknown, but as this production is taken from the Hamasa it is most probable that he was anterior to Mohammedanism.

THE DEATH OF HIS MISTRESS[3]

Dost thou wonder that I flew Charm'd to meet my Leila's view?

Dost thou wonder that I hung Raptur'd on my Leila's tongue?

If her ghost's funereal screech Thro' the earth my grave should reach, On that voice I lov'd so well My transported ghost would dwell:-- If in death I can descry Where my Leila's relics lie, Saher's dust will flee away, There to join his Leila's clay.

_Abu Saher Alhedily_.

[3] The sentiment contained in this production determines its antiquity. It was the opinion of the Pagan Arabs that upon the death of any person a bird, by them called Manah, issued from his brain, which haunted the sepulchre of the deceased, uttering a lamentable scream.

ON AVARICE[4]

How frail are riches and their joys?