HKB
XIV.
First spoke The Shah;—"Salámán, Oh my Soul, Oh Taper of the Banquet of my House, Light of the Eyes of my Prosperity, And making bloom the Court of Hope with Rose; Years Rose-bud-like my own Blood I devour'd Till in my hand I carried thee, my Rose; Oh do not tear my Garment from my Hand, Nor wound thy Father with a Dagger Thorn. Years for thy sake the Crown has worn my Brow, And Years my Foot been growing to the Throne Only for Thee—Oh spurn them not with Thine; Oh turn thy Face from Dalliance unwise, Lay not thy Heart's hand on a Minion! For what thy Proper Pastime? Is it not To mount and manage Rakhsh along the Field; Not, with no stouter weapon than a Love-lock, Idly reclining on a Silver Breast. Go, fly thine Arrow at the Antelope And Lion—let not me my Lion see Slain by the Arrow eyes of a Ghazál. Go, flash thy Steel among the Ranks of Men, And smite the Warriors' Necks; not, flying them, Lay down thine own beneath a Woman's Foot, Leave off such doing in the Name of God, Nor bring thy Father weeping to the Ground; Years have I held myself aloft, and all For Thee—Oh Shame if thou prepare my Fall!"
When before Shirúeh's Feet Drencht in Blood fell Kai Khusrau, He declared this Parable— "Wretch!—There was a Branch that, waxing Wanton o'er the Root he drank from, At a Draught the Living Water Drain'd wherewith Himself to crown! Died the Root—and with it died The Branch—and barren was brought down!"
XV.
Salámán heard—the Sea of his Soul was mov'd, And bubbled up with Jewels, and he said; "Oh Shah, I am the Slave of thy Desire, Dust of thy Throne ascending Foot am I; Whatever thou Desirest I would do, But sicken of my own Incompetence; Not in the Hand of my infirmer Will To carry into Deed mine own Desire. Time upon Time I torture mine own Soul, Devising liberation from the Snare I languish in. But when upon that Moon I think, my Soul relapses—and when look— I leave both Worlds behind to follow her!"
XVI.
The Shah ceased Counsel, and the Sage began. "Oh Thou new Vintage of a Garden old, Last Blazon of the Pen of 'Let There Be,' Who read'st the Seven and Four; interpretest The writing on the Leaves of Night and Day— Archetype of the Assembly of the World, Who hold'st the Key of Adam's Treasury— (Know thine own Dignity and slight it not, For Thou art Greater yet than all I tell)— The Mighty Hand that mix'd thy Dust inscribed The Character of Wisdom on thy Heart; O Cleanse Thy Bosom of Material Form, And turn the Mirror of the Soul to Spirit, Until it be with Spirit all possest, Drown'd in the Light of Intellectual Truth. Oh veil thine Eyes from Mortal Paramour, And follow not her Step!—For what is She?— What is She but a Vice and a Reproach, Her very Garment-hem Pollution! For such Pollution madden not thine Eyes, Waste not thy Body's Strength, nor taint thy Soul, Nor set the Body and the Soul in Strife! Supreme is thine Original Degree, Thy Star upon the Top of Heaven; but Lust Will fling it down even unto the Dust!"
Quoth a Muezzin unto Crested Chanticleer—"Oh Voice of Morning, Not a Sage of all the Sages Prophesies of Dawn, or startles At the wing of Time, like Thee. One so wise methinks were fitter Perching on the Beams of Heaven, Than with those poor Hens about him, Raking in a Heap of Dung." "And," replied the Cock, "in Heaven Once I was; but by my Evil Lust am fallen down to raking With my wretched Hens about me On the Dunghill. Otherwise I were even now in Eden With the Bird of Paradise."
XVII.