She continued, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that when Sindbad

the Seaman said to the captain, "These bales are mine, the goods which

Allah hath given me," the other exclaimed, "There is no Majesty and

there is no Might save in Allah, the Glorious, the Great! Verily, there

is neither conscience nor good faith left among men!" Said I, "O Rais,

what mean these words, seeing that I have told thee my case?" And he

answered, "Because thou heardest me say that I had with me goods whose

owner was drowned, thou thinkest to take them without right; but this is

forbidden by law to thee, for we saw him drown before our eyes, together

with many other passengers, nor was one of them saved. So how canst thou

pretend that thou art the owner of the goods?" "O captain," said I,

"listen to my story and give heed to my words, and my truth will be

manifest to thee; for lying and leasing are the letter-marks of the

hypocrites." Then I recounted to him all that had befallen me since I

sailed from Baghdad with him to the time when we came to the fish-island

where we were nearly drowned; and I reminded him of certain matters

which had passed between us; whereupon both he and the merchants were

certified of the truth of my story and recognized me and gave me joy of

my deliverance, saying, "By Allah, we thought not that thou hadst

escaped drowning! But the Lord hath granted thee new life." Then they

delivered my bales to me, and I found my name written thereon, nor was

aught thereof lacking. So I opened them, and making up a present for

King Mihrján of the finest and costliest of the contents, caused the

sailors to carry it up to the palace, where I went in to the King and

laid my present at his feet acquainting him with what had happened,

especially concerning the ship and my goods; whereat he wondered with

exceeding wonder and the truth of all that I had told him was made

manifest to him. His affection for me redoubled after that, and he

showed me exceeding honor and bestowed on me a great present in return

for mine. Then I sold my bales and what other matters I owned, making a

great profit on them, and bought me other goods and gear of the growth

and fashion of the island-city. When the merchants were about to start

on their homeward voyage, I embarked on board the ship all that I

possessed, and going in to the King, thanked him for all his favors and

friendship, and craved his leave to return to my own land and friends.

He farewelled me and bestowed upon me great store of the country-stuffs

and produce; and I took leave of him and embarked. Then we set sail and

fared on nights and days, by the permission of Allah Almighty; and

Fortune served us and Fate favored us, so that we arrived in safety at

Bassorah-city where I landed rejoiced at my safe return to my natal

soil. After a short stay, I set out for Baghdad, the House of Peace,

with store of goods and commodities of great price. Reaching the city in

due time, I went straight to my own quarter and entered my house, where

all my friends and kinsfolk came to greet me. Then I bought me eunuchs

and concubines, servants and negro slaves, till I had a large

establishment, and I bought me houses, and lands and gardens, till I was

richer and in better case than before, and returned to enjoy the society

of my friends and familiars more assiduously than ever, forgetting all I

had suffered of fatigue and hardship and strangerhood and every peril of

travel; and I applied myself to all manner joys and solaces and

delights, eating the daintiest viands and drinking the deliciousest

wines; and my wealth allowed this state of things to endure. This, then,

is the story of my first voyage, and to-morrow, Inshallah! I will tell

you the tale of the second of my seven voyages. Saith he who telleth the

tale: Then Sindbad the Seaman made Sindbad the Landsman sup with him and

bade give him an hundred gold pieces, saying, "Thou hast cheered us with

thy company this day." The Porter thanked him, and taking the gift, went

his way, pondering that which he had heard and marveling mightily at

what things betide mankind.

CONCLUSION OF THE 'THOUSAND NIGHTS AND A NIGHT'

Translation of Captain Sir Richard F. Burton

Now during this time Shahrazad had borne the King three boy children;

so, when she had made an end of the story of Ma'aruf, she rose to her

feet and kissing ground before him, said, "O King of the time and unique

one of the age and the tide, I am thine handmaid, and these thousand

nights and a night have I entertained thee with stories of folk gone

before and admonitory instances of the men of yore. May I then make bold

to crave a boon of thy highness?" He replied, "Ask, O Shahrazad, and it

shall be granted to thee." Whereupon she cried out to the nurses and the

eunuchs, saying, "Bring me my children." So they brought them to her in

haste, and they were three boy children, one walking, one crawling, and

one sucking. She took them, and setting them before the King, again

kissed ground and said, "O King of the Age, these are thy children and I

crave that thou release me from the doom of death, as a dole to these

infants; for, an thou kill me, they will become motherless and will find

none among women to rear them as they should be reared." When the King

heard this, he wept and straining the boys to his bosom, said, "By

Allah, O Shahrazad, I pardoned thee before the coming of these children,

for that I found thee chaste, pure, ingenuous, and pious! Allah bless

thee and thy father and thy mother and thy root and thy branch! I take

the Almighty to witness against me that I exempt thee from aught that

can harm thee."

So she kissed his hands and feet and rejoiced with exceeding joy,

saying, "The Lord make thy life long and increase thee in dignity and

majesty!" presently adding, "Thou marveledst at which befell thee on the

part of women; yet there betided the Kings of the Chosroës before thee

greater mishaps and more grievous than that which hath befallen thee,

and indeed I have set forth unto thee that which happened to Caliphs and

Kings and others with their women, but the relation is longsome, and

hearkening groweth tedious, and in this is all-sufficient warning for

the man of wits and admonishment for the wise." Then she ceased to

speak, and when King Shahryar heard her speech and profited by that

which she had said, he summoned up his reasoning powers and cleansed his

heart and caused his understanding to revert, and turned to Allah

Almighty and said to himself, "Since there befell the Kings of the

Chosroës more than that which hath befallen me, never whilst I live

shall I cease to blame myself for the past. As for this Shahrazad, her

like is not found in the lands; so praise be to Him Who appointed her a

means for delivering His creatures from oppression and slaughter!" Then

he arose from his séance and kissed her head, whereat she rejoiced, she

and her sister Dunyazad, with exceeding joy.

When the morning morrowed the King went forth, and sitting down on the

throne of the Kingship, summoned the Lords of his land; whereupon the

Chamberlains and Nabobs and Captains of the host went in to him and

kissed ground before him. He distinguished the Wazir, Shahrazad's sire,

with special favor and bestowed on him a costly and splendid robe of

honor, and entreated him with the utmost kindness, and said to him,

"Allah protect thee for that thou gavest me to wife thy noble daughter,

who hath been the means of my repentance from slaying the daughters of

folk. Indeed, I have found her pure and pious, chaste and ingenuous, and

Allah hath vouchsafed me by her three boy children; wherefore praised be

He for His passing favor." Then he bestowed robes of honor upon his

Wazirs and Emirs and Chief Officers and he set forth to them briefly

that which had betided him with Shahrazad, and how he had turned from

his former ways and repented him of what he had done, and proposed to

take the Wazir's daughter Shahrazad to wife, and let draw up the

marriage-contract with her. When those who were present heard this, they

kissed ground before him and blessed him and his betrothed Shahrazad,

and the Wazir thanked her.

Then Shahryar made an end of his sitting in all weal, whereupon the folk

dispersed to their dwelling-places, and the news was bruited abroad that

the King proposed to marry the Wazir's daughter, Shahrazad. Then he

proceeded to make ready the wedding gear, and presently he sent after

his brother, King Shah Zaman, who came, and King Shahryar went forth to

meet him with the troops. Furthermore, they decorated the city after the

goodliest fashion and diffused scents from censers and burnt aloes-wood

and other perfumes in all the markets and thoroughfares and rubbed

themselves with saffron, what while the drums beat and the flutes and

pipes sounded and mimes and mountebanks played and plied their arts, and

the King lavished on them gifts and largesse, and in very deed it was a

notable day. When they came to the palace, King Shahryar commanded to

spread the table with beasts roasted whole, and sweetmeats, and all

manner of viands, and bade the crier cry to the folk that they should

come up to the Diwan and eat and drink, and that this should be a means

of reconciliation between him and them. So high and low, great and

small, came up unto him, and they abode on that wise, eating and

drinking, seven days with their nights.

Then the King shut himself up with his brother, and related to him that

which had betided him with the Wazir's daughter Shahrazad during the

past three years, and told him what he had heard from her of proverbs

and parables, chronicles and pleasantries, quips and jests, stories and

anecdotes, dialogues and histories, and elegies and other verses;

whereat King Shah Zaman marveled with the utmost marvel and said, "Fain

would I take her younger sister to wife, so we may be two

brothers-german to two sisters-german, and they on like wise be sisters

to us; for that the calamity which befell me was the cause of our

discovering that which befell thee, and all this time of three years

past I have taken no delight in woman; but now I desire to marry thy

wife's sister Dunyazad."

When King Shahryar heard his brother's words, he rejoiced with joy

exceeding, and arising forthright, went in to his wife Shahrazad and

acquainted her with that which his brother purposed, namely, that he

sought her sister Dunyazad in wedlock; whereupon she answered, "O King

of the Age, we seek of him one condition, to wit, that he take up his

abode with us, for that I cannot brook to be parted from my sister an

hour, because we were brought up together, and may not endure separation

each from another. If he accept this pact, she is his handmaid." King

Shahryar returned to his brother and acquainted him with that which

Shahrazad had said; and he replied, "Indeed, this is what was in my

mind, for that I desire nevermore to be parted from thee one hour. As

for the kingdom, Allah the Most High shall send to it whomso He

chooseth, for that I have no longer a desire for the kingship."

When King Shahryar heard his brother's words, he rejoiced exceedingly

and said, "Verily, this is what I wished, O my brother. So

Alhamdolillah--Praised be Allah!--who hath brought about union between

us." Then he sent after the Kazis and Olema, Captains and Notables, and

they married the two brothers to the two sisters. The contracts were

written out, and the two Kings bestowed robes of honor of silk and satin

on those who were present, whilst the city was decorated and the

rejoicings were renewed. The King commanded each Emir and Wazir and

Chamberlain and Nabob to decorate his palace, and the folk of the city

were gladdened by the presage of happiness and contentment. King

Shahryar also bade slaughter sheep, and set up kitchens and made

bride-feasts and fed all comers, high and low; and he gave alms to the

poor and needy and extended his bounty to great and small.

Then the eunuchs went forth that they might perfume the Hammam for the

brides; so they scented it with rosewater and willow-flower water and

pods of musk, and fumigated it with Kákilí eaglewood and ambergris. Then

Shahrazad entered, she and her sister Dunyazad, and they cleansed their

heads and clipped their hair. When they came forth of the Hammam-bath,

they donned raiment and ornaments, such as men were wont prepare for the

Kings of the Chosroës; and among Shahrazad's apparel was a dress purfled

with red gold and wrought with counterfeit presentments of birds and

beasts. And the two sisters encircled their necks with necklaces of

jewels of price, in the like whereof Iskander rejoiced not, for therein

were great jewels such as amazed the wit and dazzled the eye; and the

imagination was bewildered at their charms, for indeed each of them was

brighter than the sun and the moon. Before them they lighted brilliant

flambeaux of wax in candelabra of gold, but their faces outshone the

flambeaux, for that they had eyes sharper than unsheathed swords and the

lashes of their eyelids bewitched all hearts. Their cheeks were rosy

red, and their necks and shapes gracefully swayed, and their eyes

wantoned like the gazelle's; and the slave-girls came to meet them with

instruments of music.

Then the two Kings entered the Hammam-bath, and when they came forth

they sat down on a couch set with pearls and gems, whereupon the two

sisters came up to them and stood between their hands, as they were

moons, bending and leaning from side to side in their beauty and

loveliness. Presently they brought forward Shahrazad and displayed her,

for the first dress, in a red suit; whereupon King Shahryar rose to look

upon her, and the wits of all present, men and women, were bewitched for

that she was even as saith of her one of her describers:--

A sun on wand in knoll of sand she showed,

Clad in her cramoisy-hued chemisette:

Of her lips' honey-dew she gave me drink

And with her rosy cheeks quencht fire she set.

Then they attired Dunyazad in a dress of blue brocade, and she became as

she were the full moon when it shineth forth. So they displayed her in

this, for the first dress, before King Shah Zaman, who rejoiced in her

and well-nigh swooned away for love-longing and amorous desire; yea, he

was distraught with passion for her, whenas he saw her, because she was

as saith of her one of her describers in these couplets:--

She comes appareled in an azure vest

Ultramarine as skies are deckt and dight:

I view'd th' unparall'd sight, which showed my eyes

A Summer-moon upon a Winter-night.

Then they returned to Shahrazad and displayed her in the second dress, a

suit of surpassing goodliness, and veiled her face with her hair like a

chin-veil. Moreover, they let down her side-locks, and she was even as

saith of her one of her describers in these couplets:--

O hail to him whose locks his cheeks o'ershade,

Who slew my life by cruel hard despight:

Said I, "Hast veiled the Morn in Night?" He said,

"Nay, I but veil the Moon in hue of Night."

Then they displayed Dunyazad in a second and a third and a fourth dress,

and she paced forward like the rising sun, and swayed to and fro in the

insolence of her beauty; and she was even as saith the poet of her in

these couplets:--

The sun of beauty she to all appears

And, lovely coy, she mocks all loveliness:

And when he fronts her favor and her smile

A-morn, the sun of day in clouds must dress.

Then they displayed Shahrazad in the third dress and the fourth and the

fifth, and she became as she were a Bán-branch snell of a thirsting

gazelle, lovely of face and perfect in attributes of grace, even as

saith of her one in these couplets:--

She comes like fullest moon on happy night,

Taper of waist with shape of magic might;

She hath an eye whose glances quell mankind,

And ruby on her cheeks reflects his light;

Enveils her hips the blackness of her hair;

Beware of curls that bite with viper-bite!

Her sides are silken-soft, what while the heart

Mere rock behind that surface 'scapes our sight;

From the fringed curtains of her cyne she shoots

Shafts that at furthest range on mark alight.

Then they returned to Dunyazad and displayed her in the fifth dress and

in the sixth, which was green, when she surpassed with her loveliness

the fair of the four quarters of the world, and outvied, with the

brightness of her countenance, the full moon at rising tide; for she was

even as saith of her the poet in these couplets:--

A damsel 'twas the tirer's art had decked with snare and sleight,

And robed with rays as though the sun from her had borrowed

light;

She came before us wondrous clad in chemisette of green,

As veilèd by his leafy screen Pomegranate hides from sight;

And when he said, "How callest thou the fashion of thy dress?"

She answered us in pleasant way, with double meaning dight,

"We call this garment _crève-coeur;_ and rightly is it hight,

For many a heart wi' this we brake and harried many a sprite."

Then they displayed Shahrazad in the sixth and seventh dresses and clad

her in youth's clothing, whereupon she came forward swaying from side to

side, and coquettishly moving, and indeed she ravished wits and hearts

and ensorcelled all eyes with her glances. She shook her sides and

swayed her haunches, then put her hair on sword-hilt and went up to King

Shahryar, who embraced her as hospitable host embraceth guest, and

threatened her in her ear with the taking of the sword; and she was even

as saith of her the poet in these words:--

Were not the Murk of gender male,

Than feminines surpassing fair,

Tire-women they had grudged the bride,

Who made her beard and whiskers wear!

Thus also they did with her sister Dunyazad; and when they had made an

end of the display, the King bestowed robes of honor on all who were

present, and sent the brides to their own apartments. Then Shahrazad

went in to King Shahryar and Dunyazad to King Shah Zaman, and each of

them solaced himself with the company of his beloved consort, and the

hearts of the folk were comforted. When morning morrowed, the Wazir came

in to the two Kings and kissed ground before them; wherefore they

thanked him and were large of bounty to him. Presently they went forth

and sat down upon couches of kingship, whilst all the Wazirs and Emirs

and Grandees and Lords of the land presented themselves and kissed

ground. King Shahryar ordered them dresses of honor and largesse, and

they prayed for the permanence and prosperity of the King and his

brother. Then the two Sovrans appointed their sire-in-law the Wazir to

be Viceroy in Samarcand, and assigned him five of the Chief Emirs to

accompany him, charging them attend him and do him service. The Minister

kissed ground and prayed that they might be vouchsafed length of life:

then he went in to his daughters, whilst the Eunuchs and Ushers walked

before him, and saluted them and farewelled them. They kissed his hands

and gave him joy of the kingship and bestowed on him immense treasures;

after which he took leave of them, and setting out, fared days and

nights, till he came near Samarcand, where the townspeople met him at a

distance of three marches and rejoiced in him with exceeding joy. So he

entered the city, and they decorated the houses and it was a notable

day. He sat down on the throne of his kingship, and the Wazirs did him

homage and the Grandees and Emirs of Samarcand, and all prayed that he

might be vouchsafed justice and victory and length of continuance. So he

bestowed on them robes of honor and entreated them with distinction, and

they made him Sultan over them. As soon as his father-in-law had

departed for Samarcand, King Shahryar summoned the Grandees of his realm

and made them a stupendous banquet of all manner of delicious meats and

exquisite sweetmeats. He also bestowed on them robes of honor and

guerdoned them, and divided the kingdoms between himself and his brother

in their presence, whereat the folk rejoiced. Then the two Kings abode,

each ruling a day in turn, and they were ever in harmony each with

other, while on similar wise their wives continued in the love of Allah

Almighty and in thanksgiving to Him; and the peoples and the provinces

were at peace, and the preachers prayed for them from the pulpits, and

their report was bruited abroad and the travelers bore tidings of them

to all lands. In due time King Shahryar summoned chronicles and

copyists, and bade them write all that had betided him with his wife,

first and last; so they wrote this and named it 'The Stories of the

Thousand Nights and A Night.' The book came to thirty volumes, and these

the King laid up in his treasure. And the two brothers abode with their

wives in all pleasaunce and solace of life and its delights, for that

indeed Allah the Most High had changed their annoy into joy; and on this

wise they continued till there took them the Destroyer of delights and

the Severer of societies, the Desolator of dwelling-places, and Garnerer

of grave-yards, and they were translated to the ruth of Almighty Allah;

their houses fell waste and their palaces lay in ruins, and the Kings

inherited their riches. Then there reigned after them a wise ruler, who

was just, keen-witted, and accomplished, and loved tales and legends,

especially those which chronicle the doings of Sovrans and Sultans, and

he found in the treasury these marvelous stories and wondrous histories,

contained in the thirty volumes aforesaid. So he read in them a first

book and a second and a third and so on to the last of them, and each

book astounded and delighted him more than that which preceded it, till

he came to the end of them. Then he admired what so he had read therein

of description and discourse and rare traits and anecdotes and moral

instances and reminiscences, and bade the folk copy them and dispread

them over all lands and climes; wherefore their report was bruited

abroad and the people named them 'The marvels and wonders of the

Thousand Nights and A Night.' This is all that hath come down to us of

the origin of this book, and Allah is All-knowing. So Glory be to Him

Whom the shifts of Time waste not away, nor doth aught of chance or

change affect His sway! Whom one case diverteth not from other case, and

Who is sole in the attributes of perfect grace. And prayer and the Peace

be upon the Lord's Pontiff and Chosen One among His creatures, our Lord

MOHAMMED the Prince of mankind, through whom we supplicate Him for a

goodly and a godly end.

ARABIC LITERATURE

BY RICHARD GOTTHEIL

Of no civilization is the complexion of its literary remains so

characteristic of its varying fortunes as is that of the Arabic. The

precarious conditions of desert life and of the tent, the more certain

existence in settled habitations, the grandeur of empire acquired in a

short period of enthusiastic rapture, the softening influence of luxury

and unwonted riches, are so faithfully portrayed in the literature of

the Arabs as to give us a picture of the spiritual life of the people

which no mere massing of facts can ever give. Well aware of this

themselves, the Arabs at an early date commenced the collection and

preservation of their old literary monuments with a care and a studious

concern which must excite within us a feeling of wonder. For the

material side of life must have made a strong appeal to these people

when they came forth from their desert homes. Pride in their own doings,

pride in their own past, must have spurred them on; yet an ardent

feeling for the beautiful in speech is evident from the beginning of

their history. The first knowledge that we have of the tribes scattered

up and down the deserts and oases of the Arabian peninsula comes to us

in the verses of their poets. The early Teuton bards, the rhapsodists of

Greece, were not listened to with more rapt attention than was the

simple Bedouin, who, seated on his mat or at the door of his tent, gave

vent to his feelings of joy or sorrow in such manner as nature had

gifted him. As are the ballads for Scottish history, so are the verses

of these untutored bards the record of the life in which they played no

mean part. Nor could the splendors of court life at Damascus, Bagdad, or

Cordova make their rulers insensible to the charms of poetry,--that

"beautiful poetry with which Allah has adorned the Muslim." A verse

happily said could always charm, a satire well pointed could always

incite; and the true Arab of to-day will listen to those so adorned with

the same rapt attention as did his fathers of long ago.

This gift of the desert--otherwise so sparing of its favors--has not

failed to leave its impression upon the whole Arabic literature. Though

it has produced some prose writers of value, writing, as an art to charm

and to please, has always sought the measured cadence of poetry or the

unmeasured symmetry of rhymed prose. Its first lispings are in the

"trembling" (rájaz) metre,--iambics, rhyming in the same syllable

throughout; impromptu verses, in which the poet expressed the feelings

of the moment: a measure which, the Arabs say, matches the trembling

trot of the she-camel. It is simple in its character; coming so near to

rhymed prose that Khalíl (born 718), the great grammarian, would not

willingly admit that such lines could really be called poetry. Some of

these verses go back to the fourth and fifth centuries of our era. But a

growing sense of the poet's art was incompatible with so simple a

measure; and a hundred years before the appearance of the Prophet, many

of the canonical sixteen metres were already in vogue. Even the later

complete poems bear the stamp of their origin, in the loose connection

with which the different parts stand to each other. The "Kasídah" (poem)

is built upon the principle that each verse must be complete in

itself,--there being no stanzas,--and separable from the context; which

has made interpolations and omissions in the older poems a matter

of ease.

The classical period of Arabic poetry, which reaches from the beginning

of the sixth century to the beginning of the eighth, is dominated by

this form of the Kasídah. Tradition refers its origin to one al-Muhalhel

ibn Rabí'a of the tribe of Taghlib, about one hundred and fifty years

before Muhammad; though, as is usual, this honor is not uncontested. The

Kasídah is composed of distichs, the first two of which only are to

rhyme; though every line must end in the same syllable. It must have at

least seven or ten verses, and may reach up to one hundred or over. In

nearly every case it deals with a tribe or a single person,--the poet

himself or a friend,--and may be either a panegyric, a satire, an elegy,

or a eulogy. That which it is the aim of the poet to bring out comes

last; the greater part of the poem being of the nature of a _captatio

benevolentia_. Here he can show his full power of expression. He usually

commences with the description of a deserted camping-ground, where he

sees the traces of his beloved. He then adds the erotic part, and

describes at length his deeds of valor in the chase or in war; in order,

then, to lead over to the real object he has in view. Because of this

disposition of the material, which is used by the greater poets of this

time, the general form of the Kasídah became in a measure stereotyped.

No poem was considered perfect unless molded in this form.

Arabic poetry is thus entirely lyrical. There was too little, among

these tribes, of the common national life which forms the basis for the

Epos. The Semitic genius is too subjective, and has never gotten beyond

the first rude attempts at dramatic composition. Even in its lyrics,

Arabic poetry is still more subjective than the Hebrew of the Bible. It

falls generally into the form of an allocution, even where it is

descriptive. It is the poet who speaks, and his personality pervades the

whole poem. He describes nature as he finds it, with little of the

imaginative, "in dim grand outlines of a picture which must be filled

up by the reader, guided only by a few glorious touches powerfully

standing out." A native quickness of apprehension and intense feeling

nurtured this poetic sentiment among the Arabs. The continuous enmity

among the various tribes produced a sort of knight-errantry which gave

material to the poet; and the richness of his language put a tongue in

his mouth which could voice forth the finest shades of description or

sentiment. Al-Damári has wisely said: "Wisdom has alighted upon three

things,--the brain of the Franks, the hands of the Chinese, and the

tongues of the Arabs."

The horizon which bounded the Arab poet's view was not far drawn out. He

describes the scenes of his desert life: the sand dunes; the camel,

antelope, wild ass, and gazelle; his bow and arrow and his sword; his

loved one torn from him by the sudden striking of the tents and

departure of her tribe. The virtues which he sings are those in which he

glories, "love of freedom, independence in thought and action,

truthfulness, largeness of heart, generosity, and hospitality." His

descriptions breathe the freshness of his outdoor life and bring us

close to nature: his whole tone rings out a solemn note, which is even

in his lighter moments grave and serious,--as existence itself was for

those sons of the desert, who had no settled habitation, and who, more

than any one, depended upon the bounty of Allah. Although these Kasídahs

passed rapidly from mouth to mouth, little would have been preserved for

us had there not been a class of men who, led on some by desire, some by

necessity, made it their business to write down the compositions, and to

keep fresh in their memory the very pronunciation of each word. Every

poet had such a Ráwiah. Of one Hammád it is said that he could recite

one hundred Kasídahs rhyming on each letter of the alphabet, each

Kasídah having at least one hundred verses. Abu Tammám (805), the author

of the 'Hamásah,' is reported to have known by heart fourteen thousand

pieces of the metre rájaz. It was not, however, until the end of the

first century of the Híjrah that systematic collections of this older

literature were commenced.

It was this very Hammád (died 777) who put together seven of the

choicest poems of the early Arabs. He called them 'Mu 'allakât,'--"the

hung up" (in a place of honor, in the estimation of the people). The

authors of these seven poems were: Imr-al-Kais, Tárafa, Zuhéir, Labîd

(570), 'Antara, 'Amr, and al-Hárith. The common verdict of their

countrymen has praised the choice made by Hammád. The seven remained the

great models, to which later poets aspired: in description of love,

those of Imr-al-Kais and 'Antara; in that of the camel and the horse,

Labîd; of battle, 'Amr; in the praise of arms, Hárith; in wise maxims,

Zuhéir. To these must be added al-Nabighah, 'Alkamah, Urwa ibn al-Ward,

Hássan ibn Thábit, al-A'sha, Aus ibn Hájar, and as-Shánfarah, whose

poem has been called "the most magnificent of old Arabic poems." In

addition to the single poems found in the 'Mu 'allakât' and elsewhere,

nearly all of these composed whole series of poems, which were at a

later time put in the form of collections and called 'Diwans.' Some of

these poets have left us as many as four hundred verses. Such

collections were made by grammarians and antiquarians of a later age. In

addition to the collections made around the name of a single poet,

others were made, fashioned upon a different principle: The

'Mufáddaliyát' (the most excellent poems), put together by al-Mufáddal

(761); the 'Diwan' of the poets of the tribe of Hudhéil; the 'Hamásah'

(Bravery; so called from the subject of the first of the ten books into

which the collection is divided) of Abu Tammám. The best anthology of

these poems is 'The Great Book of Songs,' put together by Abu al-Fáraj

al-Ispa-háni (died 967).

With these poets Arabic literature reached its highest development. They

are the true expression of the free Arabic spirit. Most of them lived

before or during the time of the appearance of Muhammad. His coming

produced a great change in the life of the simple Bedouins. Though they

could not be called heathen, their religion expressed itself in the

simple feeling of dependence upon higher powers, without attempting to

bring this faith into a close connection with their daily life. Muhammad

introduced a system into which he tried to mold all things. He wished to

unite the scattered tribes to one only purpose. He was thus cutting away

that untrammeled spirit and that free life which had been the making of

Arabic poetry. He knew this well. He knew also the power the poets had

over the people. His own 'Qur'an' (Koran) was but a poor substitute for

the elegant verses of his opponents. "Imr-al-Kais," he said, "is the

finest of all poets, and their leader into everlasting fire." On another

occasion he is reported to have called out, "Verily, a belly full of

matter is better than a belly full of poetry." Even when citing verses,

he quoted them in such a manner as to destroy the metre. Abu Bekr very

properly remarked, "Truly God said in the 'Qur'an,' 'We have not taught

him poetry, and it suits him not.'" In thus decrying the poets of

"barbarism," and in setting up the 'Qur'an' as the greatest production

of Arabic genius, Muhammad was turning the national poetry to its

decline. Happily his immediate successors were unable or unwilling to

follow him strictly. Ali himself, his son-in-law, is said to have been a

poet; nor did the Umáyyid Caliphs of Damascus, "very heathens in their

carnal part," bring the new spirit to its full bloom, as did the

Abbassides of Bagdad.

And yet the old spirit was gradually losing ground. The consolidation of

the empire brought greater security; the riches of Persia and Syria

produced new types of men. The centre of Arab life was now in the city,

with all its trammels, its forced politeness, its herding together. The

simplicity which characterized the early caliphs was going; in its place

was come a court,--court life, court manners, court poets. The love of

poetry was still there; but the poet of the tent had become the poet of

the house and the palace. Like those troubadours who had become

jongleurs, they lived upon the crumbs which fell from the table of

princes. Such crumbs were often not to be despised. Many a time and oft

the bard tuned his lyre merely for the price of his services. We know

that he was richly rewarded. Harún gave a dress worth four hundred

thousand pieces of gold to Já'far ibn Yahya; at his death, Ibn 'Ubeid

al-Buchtarí (865) left one hundred complete suits of dress, two hundred

shirts, and five hundred turbans--all of which had been given him for

his poems. The freshness of olden times was fading little by little; the

earnestness of the Bedouin poet was making way for a lightness of heart.

In this intermediate period, few were born so happily, and yet so imbued

with the new spirit, as was 'Umar ibn 'Rabí'a (644), "the man of

pleasure as well as the man of literature." Of rich parentage, gifted

with a love of song which moved him to speak in verses, he was able to

keep himself far from both prince and palace. He was of the family of

Kureísh, in whose Muhammad all the glories of Arabia had centred, with

one exception,--the gift of poetry. And now "this Don Juan of Mecca,

this Ovid of Arabia," was to wipe away that stain. He was the Arabian

Minnesinger, whom Friedrich Rückert called "the greatest love-poet the

Arabs have produced." A man of the city, the desert had no attractions

for him. But he sang of love as he made love,--with utter disregard of

holy place or high station, in an erotic strain strange to the stern

Umáyyids. No wonder they warned their children against reading his

compositions. "The greatest sin committed against Allah are the poems of

'Umar ibn Rabí'a," they said.

With the rise of the Abbassides (750), that "God-favored dynasty,"

Arabic literature entered upon its second great development; a

development which may be distinguished from that of the Umáyyids (which

was Arabian) as, in very truth, Muhammadan. With Bagdad as the capital,

it was rather the non-Arabic Persians who held aloft the torch than the

Arabs descended from Kuréish. It was a bold move, this attempt to weld

the old Persian civilization with the new Muhammadan. Yet so great was

the power of the new faith that it succeeded. The Barmecide major-domo

ably seconded his Abbasside master; the glory of both rests upon the

interest they took in art, literature, and science. The Arab came in

contact with a new world. Under Mansúr (754), Harun al-Rashid (786), and

Ma'mún (813), the wisdom of the Greeks in philosophy and science, the

charms of Persia and India in wit and satire, were opened up to

enlightened eyes. Upon all of these, whatever their nationality, Islam

had imposed the Arab tongue, pride in the faith and in its early

history. 'Qur'an' exegesis, philosophy, law, history, and science were

cultivated under the very eyes and at the bidding of the Palace. And, at

least for several centuries, Europe was indebted to the culture of

Bagdad for what it knew of mathematics, astronomy, and philosophy.

The Arab muse profited with the rest of this revival. History and

philosophy, as a study, demanded a close acquaintance with the products

of early Arab genius. The great philologian al-Asmái (740-831) collected

the songs and tales of the heroic age; and a little later, with other

than philological ends in view, Abu Tammám and al-Búchturí (816-913)

made the first anthologies of the old Arabic literatures ('Hamásah').

Poetry was already cultivated: and amid the hundreds of wits, poets, and

singers who thronged the entrance to the court, there are many who claim

real poetic genius. Among them are al-Ahtal (died 713), a Christian;

'Umar ibn Rabí'a (died 728), Jarír al-Farázdak (died 728), and Muslim

ibn al-Walíd (died 828). But it is rather the Persian spirit which

rules,--the spirit of the Shahnámeh and Firdaúsi,--"charming elegance,

servile court flattery, and graceful wit." In none are the

characteristics so manifest as in Abu Núwas (762-819), the Poet Laureate

of Harun, the Imr-al-Kais of his time. His themes are wine and love.

Everything else he casts to the wind; and like his modern counterpart,

Heine, he drives the wit of his satire deep into the holiest feelings of

his people. "I would that all which Religion and Law forbids were

permitted me; and if I had only two years to live, that God would change

me into a dog at the Temple in Mecca, so that I might bite every pilgrim

in the leg," he is reported to have said. When he himself did once make

the required pilgrimage, he did so in order to carry his loves up to the

very walls of the sacred house. "Jovial, adventure-loving,

devil-may-care," irreligious in all he did, yet neither the Khalif nor

the whole Muhammadan world were incensed. In spite of all, they petted

him and pronounced his wine-songs the finest ever written; full of

thought and replete with pictures, rich in language and true to every

touch of nature. "There are no poems on wine equal to my own, and to my

amatory compositions all others must yield," he himself has said. He was

poor and had to live by his talents. But wherever he went he was richly

rewarded. He was content only to be able to live in shameless revelry

and to sing. As he lived, so he died,--in a half-drunken group, cut to

pieces by those who thought themselves offended by his lampoons.

At the other end of the Muslim world, the star of the Umáyyids, which

had set at Damascus, rose again at Cordova. The union of two

civilizations--Indo-Germanic and Semitic--was as advantageous in the

West as in the East. The influence of the spirit of learning which

reigned at Bagdad reached over to Spain, and the two dynasties vied with

each other in the patronage of all that was beautiful in literature and

learned in science. Poetry was cultivated and poets cherished with a

like regard: the Spanish innate love of the Muse joined hands with that

of the Arabic. It was the same kind of poetry in Umáyyid Spain as in

Abbasside Bagdad: poetry of the city and of the palace. But another

element was added here,--the Western love for the softer beauties of

nature, and for their expression in finely worked out mosaics and in

graceful descriptions. It is this that brings the Spanish-Arabic poetry

nearer to us than the more splendid and glittering verses of the

Abbassides, or the cruder and less polished lines of the first

Muhammadans. The amount of poetry thus composed in Arab Spain may be

gauged by the fact that an anthology made during the first half of the

tenth century, by Ibn Fáraj, contained twenty thousand verses. Cordova

under 'Abd-al-Rahmán III. and Hákim II. was the counterpart of Bagdad

under Harun. "The most learned prince that ever lived," Hákim was so

renowned a patron of literature that learned men wandered to him from

all over the Arab Empire. He collected a library of four hundred

thousand volumes, which had been gathered together by his agents in

Egypt, Syria, and Persia: the catalogue of which filled forty-four

volumes. In Cordova he founded a university and twenty-seven free

schools. What wonder that all the sciences--Tradition, Theology,

Jurisprudence, and especially History and Geography--flourished during

his reign. Of the poets of this period there may be mentioned: Sa'íd ibn

Júdi--the pattern of the Knight of those days, the poet loved of women;

Yáhyah ibn Hakam, "the gazelle"; Ahmad ibn 'Abd Rabbíh, the author of a

commonplace book; Ibn Abdún of Badjiz, Ibn Hafájah of Xucar, Ibn Sa'íd

of Granada. Kings added a new jewel to their crown, and took an honored

place among the bards; as 'Abd al-Rahmán I., and Mu'tamid (died 1095),

the last King of Seville, whose unfortunate life he himself has pictured

in most beautiful elegies. Although the short revival under the

Almohades (1184-1198) produced such men as Ibn Roshd, the commentator on

Aristotle, and Ibn Toféil, who wrote the first 'Robinson Crusoe' story,

the sun was already setting. When Ferdinand burned the books which had

been so laboriously collected, the dying flame of Arab culture in

Spain went out.

During the third period--from Ma'mún (813), under whom the Turkish

body-guards began to wield their baneful influence, until the break-up

of the Abbasside Empire in 1258--there are many names, but few real

poets, to be mentioned. The Arab spirit had spent itself, and the Mogul

cloud was on the horizon. There were 'Abd-allah ibn al-Mu'tazz, died

908; Abu Firás, died 967; al-Tughrai, died 1120; al-Busíri, died

1279,--author of the 'Búrda,' poem in praise of Muhammad: but

al-Mutanábbi, died 965, alone deserves special mention. The

"Prophet-pretender"--for such his name signifies--has been called by Von

Hammer "the greatest Arabian poet"; and there is no doubt that his

'Diwán,' with its two hundred and eighty-nine poems, was and is widely

read in the East. But it is only a depraved taste that can prefer such

an epigene to the fresh desert-music of Imr-al-Kais. Panegyrics, songs

of war and of bloodshed, are mostly the themes that he dilates upon. He

was in the service of Saif al-Dáulah of Syria, and sang his victories

over the Byzantine Kaiser. He is the true type of the prince's poet.

Withal, the taste for poetic composition grew, though it produced a

smaller number of great poets. But it also usurped for itself fields

which belong to entirely different literary forms. Grammar,

lexicography, philosophy, and theology were expounded in verse; but the

verse was formal, stiff, and unnatural. Poetic composition became a

_tour de force_.

This is nowhere better seen than in that species of composition which

appeared for the first time in the eleventh century, and which so

pleased and charmed a degenerate age as to make of the 'Makamat' the

most favorite reading. Ahmad Abu Fadl al-Hamadhání, "the wonder of all

time" (died 1007), composed the first of such "sessions." Of his four

hundred only a few have come down to our time. Abu Muhammad al-Hariri

(1030-1121), of Bâsra, is certainly the one who made this species of

literature popular; he has been closely imitated in Hebrew by Charízi

(1218), and in Syriac by Ebed Yéshu (1290). "Makámah" means the place

where one stands, where assemblies are held; then, the discourses

delivered, or conversations held in such an assembly. The word is used

here especially to denote a series of "discourses and conversations

composed in a highly finished and ornamental style, and solely for the

purpose of exhibiting various kinds of eloquence, and exemplifying the

rules of grammar, rhetoric, and poetry." Hariri himself speaks of--

"These 'Makamat,' which contain serious language and lightsome,

And combine refinement with dignity of style,

And brilliancies with jewels of eloquence,

And beauties of literature with its rarities,

Besides quotations from the 'Qur'an,' wherewith I adorned them,

And choice metaphors, and Arab proverbs that I interspersed,

And literary elegancies, and grammatical riddles,

And decisions upon ambiguous legal questions,

And original improvisations, and highly wrought orations,

And plaintive discourses, as well as jocose witticisms."

The design is thus purely literary. The fifty "sessions" of Hariri,

which are written in rhymed prose interspersed with poetry, contain

oratorical, poetical, moral, encomiastic, and satirical discourses,

which only the merest thread holds together. Each Makámah is a unit, and

has no necessary connection with that which follows. The thread which so

loosely binds them together is the delineation of the character of Abu

Zeid, the hero, in his own words. He is one of those wandering minstrels

and happy improvisers whom the favor of princes had turned into

poetizing beggars. In each Makámah is related some ruse, by means of

which Abu Zeid, because of his wonderful gift of speech, either

persuades or forces those whom he meets to pay for his sustenance, and

furnish the means for his debauches. Not the least of those thus

ensnared is his great admirer, Háreth ibn Hammám, the narrator of the

whole, who is none other than Hariri. Wearied at last with his life of

travel, debauch, and deception, Abu Zeid retires to his native city and

becomes an ascetic, thus to atone in a measure for his past sins. The

whole might be called, not improperly, a tale, a novel. But the

intention of the poet is to show forth the richness and variety of the

Arabic language; and his own power over this great mass brings the

descriptive--one might almost say the lexicographic--side too much to

the front. A poem that can be read either backward or forward, or which

contains all the words in the language beginning with a certain letter,

may be a wonderful mosaic, but is nothing more. The merit of Hariri lies

just in this: that working in such cramped quarters, with such intent

and design continually guiding his pen, he has often really done more.

He has produced rhymed prose and verses which are certainly elegant in

diction and elevated in tone.

Such tales as these, told as an exercise of linguistic gymnastics, must

not blind us to the presence of real tales, told for their own sake.

Arabic literature has been very prolific in these. They lightened the

graver subjects discussed in the tent,--philosophy, religion, and

grammar,--and they furnished entertainment for the more boisterous

assemblies in the coffee-houses and around the bowl. For the Arab is an

inveterate story-teller; and in nearly all the prose that he writes,

this character of the "teller" shimmers clearly through the work of the

"writer." He is an elegant narrator. Not only does he intersperse verses

and lines more frequently than our own taste would license: by nature,

he easily falls into the half-hearted poetry of rhymed prose, for which

the rich assonances of his language predispose. His own learning was

further cultivated by his early contact with Persian literature; through

which the fable and the wisdom of India spoken from the mouths of dumb

animals reached him. In this more frivolous form of inculcating wisdom,

the Prophet scented danger to his strait-laced demands: "men who bring

sportive legends, to lead astray from God's path without knowledge and

to make a jest of it; for such is shameful woe," is written in the

thirty-first Surah. In vain; for in hours of relaxation, such works as

the 'Fables of Bidpai' (translated from the Persian in 750 by 'Abd Allah

ibn Mukáffah), the 'Ten Viziers,' the 'Seven Wise Masters,' etc., proved

to be food too palatable. Nor were the Arabs wanting in their own

peculiar 'Romances,' influenced only in some portions of the setting by

Persian ideas. Such were the 'Story of Saif ibn dhi Yázan,' the 'Tale of

al-Zir,' the 'Romance of Dálhmah,' and especially the 'Romance of Antar'

and the 'Thousand Nights and A Night.' The last two romances are

excellent commentaries on Arab life, at its dawn and at its fullness,

among the roving chiefs of the desert and the homes of revelry in

Bagdad. As the rough-hewn poetry of Imr-al-Kais and Zuhéir is a clearer

exponent of the real Arab mind, roving at its own suggestion, than the

more perfect and softer lines of a Mutanábbi, so is the 'Romance of

Antar' the full expression of real Arab hero-worship. And even in the

cities of the Orient to-day, the loungers in their cups can never weary

of following the exploits of this black son of the desert, who in his

person unites the great virtues of his people, magnanimity and bravery,

with the gift of poetic speech. Its tone is elevated; its coarseness has

as its origin the outspokenness of unvarnished man; it does not peep

through the thin veneer of licentious suggestiveness. It is never

trivial, even in its long and wearisome descriptions, in its

ever-recurring outbursts of love. Its language suits its thought: choice

and educated, and not descending--as in the 'Nights'--to the common

expressions of ordinary speech. In this it resembles the 'Makamat' of

Hariri, though much less artificial and more enjoyable. It is the Arabic

romance of chivalry, and may not have been without influence on the

spread of the romance of mediæval Europe. For though its central figure

is a hero of pre-Islamic times, it was put together by the learned

philologian, al-'Asmái, in the days of Harun the Just, at the time when

Charlemagne was ruling in Europe.

There exist in Arabic literature very few romances of the length of

'Antar.' Though the Arab delights to hear and to recount tales, his

tales are generally short and pithy. It is in this shorter form that he

delights to inculcate principles of morality and norms of character. He

is most adroit at repartee and at pungent replies. He has a way of

stating principles which delights while it instructs. The anecdote is at

home in the East: many a favor is gained, many a punishment averted, by

a quick answer and a felicitously turned expression. Such anecdotes

exist as popular traditions in very large numbers; and he receives much

consideration whose mind is well stocked with them. Collections of

anecdotes have been put to writing from time to time. Those dealing with

the early history of the caliphate are among the best prose that the

Arabs have produced. For pure prose was never greatly cultivated. The

literature dealing with their own history, or with the geography and

culture of the nations with which they came in contact, is very large,

and as a record of facts is most important. Ibn Hishám (died 767),

Wákidi (died 822), Tabari (838-923), Masudi (died 957), Ibn Athír (died

1233), Ibn Khaldún (died 1406), Makrisi (died 1442), Suyúti (died 1505),

and Makkári (died 1631), are only a few of those who have given us large

and comprehensive histories. Al-Birúni (died 1038), writer,

mathematician, and traveler, has left us an account of the India of his

day which has earned for him the title "Herodotus of India," though for

careful observation and faithful presentation he stands far above the

writer with whose name he is adorned. But nearly all of these historical

writers are mere chronologists, dry and wearisome to the general reader.

It is only in the Preface, or 'Exordium,' often the most elaborate part

of the whole book viewed from a rhetorical standpoint, that they attempt

to rise above mere incidents and strive after literary form. Besides the

regard in which anecdotes are held, it is considered a mark of education

to insert in one's speech as often as possible a familiar saying, a

proverb, a _bon mot_. These are largely used in the moral addresses

(Khútbah) made in the mosque or elsewhere, addresses which take on also

the form of rhymed prose. A famous collection of such sayings is

attributed to 'Ali, the fourth successor of Muhammad. In these the whole

power of the Arab for subtle distinctions in matters of wordly wisdom,

and the truly religious feeling of the East, are clearly manifested.

The propensity of the Arab mind for the tale and the anecdote has had a

wider influence in shaping the religious and legal development, of

Muhammadanism than would appear at first sight. The 'Qur'an' might well

suffice as a directive code for a small body of men whose daily life was

simple, and whose organization was of the crudest kind. But even

Muhammad in his own later days was called on to supplement the written

word by the spoken, to interpret such parts of his "book" as were

unintelligible, to reconcile conflicting statements, and to fit the

older legislation to changed circumstances. As the religious head of the

community, his dictum became law; and these _logia_ of the Prophet were

handed around and handed down as the unwritten law by which his

lieutenants were to be guided, in matters not only religious, but also

legal. For "law" to them was part and parcel of "religion." This

"hadith" grew apace, until, in the third century of the Híjrah, it was

put to writing. Nothing bears weight which has not the stamp of

Muhammad's authority, as reported by his near surroundings and his

friends. In such a mass of tradition, great care is taken to separate

the chaff from the wheat. The chain of tradition (Isnád) must be given

for each tradition, for each anecdote. But the "friends" of the Prophet

are said to have numbered seven thousand five hundred, and it has not

been easy to keep out fraud and deception. The subjects treated are most

varied, sometimes even trivial, but dealing usually with recondite

questions of law and morals. Three great collections of the 'Hadíth'

have been made: by al-Buchári (869), Múslim (874), and al-Tirmídhi

(892). The first two only are considered canonical. From these are

derived the three great systems of jurisprudence which to this day hold

good in the Muhammadan world.

The best presentation of the characteristics of Arabic poetry is by W.

Ahlwardt, 'Ueber Poesie und Poetik der Araber' (Gotha, 1856); of Arabic

metres, by G.W. Freytag, 'Darstellung der Arabischen Verkunst' (Bonn,

1830). Translations of Arabic poetry have been published by J.D.

Carlyle, 'Specimens of Arabic Poetry' (Cambridge, 1796); W.A. Clouston,

'Arabic Poetry' (Glasgow, 1881); C.J. Lyall, 'Translations of Ancient

Arabic Poetry' (London, 1885). The history of Arabic literature is given

in Th. Nöldeke's 'Beiträge zur Kenntniss der Poesie der Alten Araber'

(Hanover, 1864), and F.F. Arbuthnot's 'Arabic Authors' (London, 1890).

[Author's signature] Richard Gottheil

DESCRIPTION OF A MOUNTAIN STORM

From the most celebrated of the 'Mu 'allakât,' that of Imr-al-Kais, 'The

Wandering King': Translation of C.J. Lyall.

O friend, see the lightning there! it flickered and now is gone,

as though flashed a pair of hands in the pillar of crowned cloud.

Now, was it its blaze, or the lamps of a hermit that dwells alone,

and pours o'er the twisted wicks the oil from his slender cruse?

We sat there, my fellows and I, 'twixt Dárij and al-Udhaib,

and gazed as the distance gloomed, and waited its oncoming.

The right of its mighty rain advanced over Katan's ridge;

the left of its trailing skirt swept Yadhbul and as-Sitar:

Then over Kutaifah's steep the flood of its onset drave,

and headlong before its storm the tall trees were borne to ground;

And the drift of its waters passed o'er the crags of al-Kanân,

and drave forth the white-legged deer from the refuge they

sought therein.

And Taimá--it left not there the stem of a palm aloft,

nor ever a tower, save ours, firm built on the living rock.

And when first its misty shroud bore down upon Mount Thabîr,

he stood like an ancient man in a gray-streaked mantle wrapt.

The clouds cast their burdens down on the broad plain of al-Ghabit,

as a trader from al-Yaman unfolds from the bales his store;

And the topmost crest, on the morrow, of al-Mujaimir's cairn,

was heaped with the flood-borne wrack, like wool on a distaff wound.

* * * * *

FROM THE 'MU 'ALLAKÂT' OF ZUHÉIR

A lament for the desertion, through a war, of his former home and the

haunts of his tribe; Translation of C. J. Lyall.

I

Are they of Umm Aufà's tents--these black lines that speak no word

in the stony plain of al-Mutathellam and al-Darraj?

Yea, and the place where his camp stood in ar-Rakmatan is now

like the tracery drawn afresh by the veins of the inner wrist.

The wild kine roam there large-eyed, and the deer pass to and fro,

and their younglings rise up to suck from the spots where they

all lie round.

I stood there and gazed; since I saw it last twenty years had flown,

and much I pondered thereon: hard was it to know again--

The black stones in order laid in the place where the pot was set,

and the trench like a cistern's root with its sides unbroken still.

And when I knew it, at last, for his resting-place, I cried,

"Good greeting to thee, O house! Fair peace in the morn to thee!"

Look forth, O friend! canst thou see aught of ladies, camel-borne,

that journey along the upland there, above Jurthum well?

Their litters are hung with precious stuffs, and their veils thereon

cast loosely, their borders rose, as though they were dyed in blood.

Sideways they sat as their beasts clomb the ridge of as-Sûbân;

in them were the sweetness and grace of one nourished in wealth

and ease.

They went on their way at dawn--they started before sunrise;

straight did they make for the vale of ar-Rass, as hand for mouth.

Dainty and playful their mood to one who should try its worth,

and faces fair to an eye skilled to trace out loveliness.

And the tassels of scarlet wool, in the spots where they gat them

down

glowed red, like to '_ishrik_ seeds, fresh-fallen, unbroken, bright.

And then they reached the wells where the deep-blue water lies,

they cast down their staves, and set them to pitch the tents for

rest.

On their right hand rose al-Kanân, and the rugged skirts thereof--

(and in al-Kanân how many are foes and friends of mine!)

At eve they left as-Sûbân; then they crossed the ridge again,

borne on the fair-fashioned litters, all new and builded broad.

[Certain cantos, to the sixth one, reproach the author of the

treachery and quarrel that led to the war and migration. Then

follows a series of maxims as to human life and conduct.]

VI

Aweary am I of life's toil and travail: he who like me

has seen pass of years fourscore, well may he be sick of life!

I know what To-day unfolds, what before it was Yesterday;

but blind do I stand before the knowledge To-morrow brings.

I have seen the Dooms trample men as a blind beast at random treads:

whom they smote, he died; whom they missed, he lived on to

strengthless eld.

Who gathers not friends by help, in many cases of need

is torn by the blind beast's teeth, or trodden beneath its foot.

And he who his honor shields by the doing of a kindly deed

grows richer; who shuts not the mouth of reviling, it lights on him.

And he who is lord of wealth and niggardly with his hoard,

alone is he left by his kin; naught have they for him but blame.

Who keeps faith, no blame he earns, and that man whose heart is led

to goodness unmixed with guile gains freedom and peace of soul.

Who trembles before the Dooms, yea, him shall they surely seize,

albeit he set a ladder to climb the sky.

Who spends on unworthy men his kindness with lavish hand;

no praise doth he earn, but blame, and repentance the seed thereof.

Who will not yield to the spears, when their feet turn to him in

peace,

shall yield to the points thereof, and the long flashing blades of

steel.

Who holds not his foe away from his cistern with sword and spear,

it is broken and spoiled; who uses not roughness, him shall men

wrong.

Who seeks far away from kin for housing, takes foe for friend;

who honors himself not well, no honor gains he from men.

Who makes of his soul a beast of burden to bear men's loads,

nor shields it one day from shame, yea, sorrow shall be his lot.

Whatso be the shaping of mind that a man is born withal,

though he think it lies hid from men, it shall surely one day be

known.

How many a man seemed goodly to thee while he held his peace,

whereof thou didst learn the more or less when he turned to speech.

The tongue is a man's one-half, the other, the heart within;

besides these two naught is left but a semblance of flesh and blood.

If a man be old and a fool, his folly is past all cure;

but a young man may yet grow wise and cast off his foolishness.

VII

We asked, and ye gave; we asked again, and ye gave again:

but the end of much asking must be that no giving shall follow it.

TARAFAH IBN AL 'ABD

A rebuke to a mischief-maker: Translation of C. J. Lyall

The craft of thy busy tongue has sundered from home and kin

the cousins of both thy houses, 'Amr, 'Auf, and Mâlik's son.

For thou to thy dearest art a wind of the bitter north,

that sweeps from the Syrian hills, and wrinkles our cheeks and

brows.

But balmy art thou and mild to strangers, a gracious breeze

that brings from the gulf shore showers and fills with its rain our

streams.

And this, of a truth, I know--no fancy it is of mine:

who holds mean his kith and kin, the meanest of men is he!

And surely a foolish tongue, when rules not its idle prate

discretion, but shows men where thou dwellest with none to guard.

LABÎD

A lament for the afflictions of his tribe, the 'Âmir. From the 'Diwan':

Translation of C.J. Lyall.

Yea, the righteous shall keep the way of the righteous,

and to God turn the steps of all that abideth;

And to God ye return, too; with Him, only,

rest the issues of things--and all that they gather.

All that is in the Book of Knowledge is reckoned,

and before Him revealed lies all that is hidden:

Both the day when His gifts of goodness on those whom

He exalts are as palms full freighted with sweetness,

(Young, burdened with fruit, their heads bowed with clusters,

swelled to bursting, the tallest e'en as the lesser,)

And the day when avails the sin-spotted only

prayer for pardon and grace to lead him to mercy,

And the good deed he wrought to witness before him,

and the pity of Him who is Compassion:

Yea, a place in his shade, the best to abide in,

and a heart still and steadfast, right weening, honest.

Is there aught good in life? Yea, I have seen it,

even I, if the seeing bring aught of profit.

Long has Life been to me; and this is its burthen:

lone against time abide Ti'âr and Yaramram,

And Kulâf and Badî' the mighty, and Dalfa',

yea, and Timâr, that towers aloft over Kubbah[1];

And the Stars, marching all night in procession,

drooping westwards, as each hies forth to his setting:

Sure and steadfast their course: the underworld draws them

gently downwards, as maidens encircling the Pillar;

And we know not, whenas their lustre is vanished,

whether long be the ropes that bind them, or little.

Lone is 'Âmir, and naught is left of her goodness,

in the meadows of al-A'râf, but her dwellings--

Ruined shadows of tents and penfolds and shelters,

bough from bough rent, and spoiled by wind and by weather.

Gone is 'Âmir, her ancients gone, all the wisest:

none remain but a folk whose war-mares are fillies,

Yet they slay them in every breach in our rampart--

yea, and they that bestride them, true-hearted helpers,

They contemn not their kin when change comes upon them,

Nor do we scorn the ties of blood and of succor.

--Now on 'Âmir be peace, and praises, and blessing,

wherever be on earth her way--or her halting!

[Footnote 1: The five names foregoing are those of mountains.]

A FAIR LADY

From the 'Mu 'allakât of Antara': Translation of E.H. Palmer

'Twas then her beauties first enslaved my heart--

Those glittering pearls and ruby lips, whose kiss

Was sweeter far than honey to the taste.

As when the merchant opes a precious box

Of perfume, such an odor from her breath

Comes toward me, harbinger of her approach;

Or like an untouched meadow, where the rain

Hath fallen freshly on the fragrant herbs

That carpet all its pure untrodden soil:

A meadow where the fragrant rain-drops fall

Like coins of silver in the quiet pools,

And irrigate it with perpetual streams;

A meadow where the sportive insects hum,

Like listless topers singing o'er their cups,

And ply their forelegs, like a man who tries

With maimèd hand to use the flint and steel.

THE DEATH OF 'ABDALLÂH

AND WHAT MANNER OF MAN HE WAS

From the original poem of Duraid, son of as-Simmah, of Jusharn:

Translation of C.J. Lyall.

I warned them both, 'Ârid, and the men who went 'Ârid's way--

the house of the Black Mother: yea, ye are all my witnesses,

I said to them: "Think--even now, two thousand are on your track,

all laden with sword and spear, their captains in Persian mail!"

But when they would hearken not, I followed their road, though I

knew well they were fools, and that I walked not in Wisdom's way.

For am not I but one of the Ghazîyah? and if they err

I err with my house; and if the Ghazîyah go right, so I.

I read them my rede, one day, at Mun'araj al-Liwa:

the morrow, at noon, they saw my counsel as I had seen.

A shout rose, and voices cried, "The horsemen have slain a knight!"

I said, "Is it 'Abdallâh, the man whom you say is slain?"

I sprang to his side: the spears had riddled his body through

as a weaver on outstretched web deftly plies the sharp-toothed comb.

I stood as a camel stands with fear in her heart, and seeks

the stuffed skin with eager mouth, and thinks--is her youngling

slain?

I plied spear above him till the riders had left their prey,

and over myself black blood flowed in a dusky tide.

I fought as a man who gives his life for his brother's life,

who knows that his time is short, that Death's doom above him hangs.

But know ye, if 'Abdallâh be dead, and his place a void,

no weakling unsure of hand, and no holder-back was he!

Alert, keen, his loins well girt, his leg to the middle bare,

unblemished and clean of limb, a climber to all things high;

No wailer before ill-luck; one mindful in all he did

to think how his work to-day would live in to-morrow's tale,

Content to bear hunger's pain though meat lay beneath his hand--

to labor in ragged shirt that those whom he served might rest.

If Dearth laid her hand on him, and Famine devoured his store,

he gave but the gladlier what little to him they spared.

He dealt as a youth with Youth, until, when his head grew hoar,

and age gathered o'er his brow, to lightness he said, "Begone!"

Yea, somewhat it soothes my soul that never I said to him

"thou liest," nor grudged him aught of mine that he sought of me!

ASH-SHANFARÀ OF AZD

A picture of womanhood, from the 'Mufaddaliyât': Translation of C.J.

Lyall.

Alas, Umm 'Amr set her face to depart and went:

gone is she, and when she sped, she left with us no farewell.

Her purpose was quickly shaped--no warning gave she to friends,

though there she had dwelt, hard-by, her camels all day with ours.

Yea, thus in our eyes she dwelt, from morning to noon and eve--

she brought to an end her tale, and fleeted and left us lone.

So gone is Umaimah, gone! and leaves here a heart in pain:

my life was to yearn for her; and now its delight is fled.

She won me, whenas, shamefaced--no maid to let fall her veil,

no wanton to glance behind--she walked forth with steady tread;

Her eyes seek the ground, as though they looked for a thing lost

there;

she turns not to left or right--her answer is brief and low.

She rises before day dawns to carry her supper forth

to wives who have need--dear alms, when such gifts are few enow!

Afar from the voice of blame, her tent stands for all to see,

when many a woman's tent is pitched in the place of scorn.

No gossip to bring him shame from her does her husband dread--

when mention is made of women, pure and unstained is she.

The day done, at eve glad comes he home to his eyes' delight:

he needs not to ask of her, "Say, where didst thou pass the day?"--

And slender is she where meet, and full where it so beseems,

and tall and straight, a fairy shape, if such on earth there be.

And nightlong as we sat there, methought that the tent was roofed

above with basil-sprays, all fragrant in dewy eve--

Sweet basil, from Halyah dale, its branches abloom and fresh,

that fills all the place with balm--no starveling of desert sands.

ZEYNAB AT THE KA'BAH

From 'Umar ibn Rabí'a's 'Love Poems': Translation of W. Gifford Palgrave

Ah, for the throes of a heart sorely wounded!

Ah, for the eyes that have smit me with madness!

Gently she moved in the calmness of beauty,

Moved as the bough to the light breeze of morning.

Dazzled my eyes as they gazed, till before me

All was a mist and confusion of figures.

Ne'er had I sought her, ne'er had she sought me;

Fated the love, and the hour, and the meeting.

There I beheld her as she and her damsels

Paced 'twixt the temple and outer inclosure;

Damsels the fairest, the loveliest, gentlest,

Passing like slow-wandering heifers at evening;

Ever surrounding with comely observance

Her whom they honor, the peerless of women.

"Omar is near: let us mar his devotions,

Cross on his path that he needs must observe us;

Give him a signal, my sister, demurely."

"Signals I gave, but he marked not or heeded,"

Answered the damsel, and hasted to meet me.

Ah, for that night by the vale of the sandhills!

Ah, for the dawn when in silence we parted!

He whom the morn may awake to her kisses

Drinks from the cup of the blessed in heaven.

THE UNVEILED MAID

From 'Umar ibn Rabí'a's 'Love Poems': Translation of W. Gifford Palgrave

In the valley of Mohassib I beheld her where she stood:

Caution bade me turn aside, but love forbade and fixed me there.

Was it sunlight? or the windows of a gleaming mosque at eve,

Lighted up for festal worship? or was all my fancy's dream?

Ah, those earrings! ah, that necklace! Naufel's daughter sure the

maid,

Or of Hashim's princely lineage, and the Servant of the Sun!

But a moment flashed the splendor, as the o'er-hasty handmaids drew

Round her with a jealous hand the jealous curtains of the tent.

Speech nor greeting passed between us; but she saw me, and I saw

Face the loveliest of all faces, hands the fairest of all hands.

Daughter of a better earth, and nurtured by a brighter sky;

Would I ne'er had seen thy beauty! Hope is fled, but love remains.

FROM THE DÎWÂN OF AL-NÂBIGHAH

A eulogy of the valor and culture of the men of Ghassân, written in time

of the poet's political exile from them: Translation of C. J. Lyall.

Leave me alone, O Umaimah--alone with my sleepless pain--

alone with the livelong night and the wearily lingering stars;

It draws on its length of gloom; methinks it will never end,

nor ever the Star-herd lead his flock to their folds of rest;--

Alone with a breast whose griefs, that roamed far afield by day,

the darkness has brought all home: in legions they throng around.

A favor I have with 'Amr, a favor his father bore

toward me of old; a grace that carried no scorpion sting.

I swear (and my word is true--an oath that hath no reserve,

and naught in my heart is hid save fair thought of him, my friend)--

If these twain his fathers were, who lie in their graves; the one

al-Jillik, the others al-Saidâ, by Hârib's side,

And Hârith, of Jafnah's line, the lord of his folk of old--

yea, surely his might shall reach the home of his enemy!

In him hope is sure of help when men say--"The host is sped,

the horsemen of Ghassân's line unblemished, no hireling herd,

His cousins, all near of kin, their chief 'Amr, 'Âmir's son--

a people are they whose might in battle shall never fail!"

When goes forth the host to war, above them in circles wheel

battalions of eagles, pointing the path to battalions more;

Their friendship is old and tried, fast comrades, in foray bred

to look unafraid on blood, as hounds to the chase well trained.

Behold them, how they sit there, behind where their armies meet,

watching with eyes askance, like elders in gray furs wrapt,

Intent; for they know full well that those whom they follow, when

the clash of the hosts shall come, will bear off the victory.

Ay, well is that custom known, a usage that time has proved

when lances are laid in rest on withers of steeds arow--

Of steeds in the spear-play skilled, with lips for the fight drawn

back,

their bodies with wounds all scarred, some bleeding and some

half-healed.

And down leap the riders where the battle is strait and stern,

and spring in the face of Death like stallions amid the herd;

Between them they give and take deep draughts of the wine of doom

as their hands ply the white swords, thin and keen in the

smiting-edge.

In shards fall the morions burst by the fury of blow on blow,

and down to the eyebrows, cleft, fly shattered the skulls beneath.

In them no defect is found, save only that in their swords

are notches, a many, gained from smiting of host on host:

An heirloom of old, those blades, from the fight of Halîmah's day,

and many the mellay fierce that since has their temper proved;

Therewith do they cleave in twain the hauberk of double woof,

and kindle the rock beneath to fire, ere the stroke is done.

A nature is theirs--God gives the like to no other men--

a wisdom that never sleeps, a bounty that never fails.

Their home is God's own land, His chosen of old; their faith

is steadfast. Their hope is set on naught but the world to come.

Their sandals are soft and fine, and girded with chastity,

they welcome with garlands sweet the dawn of the Feast of Palms.

There greets them when they come home full many a handmaid fine,

and ready, on trestles, hang the mantles of scarlet silk.

Yea, softly they wrap their limbs, well-knowing of wealth and ease,

in rich raiment, white-sleeved, green at the shoulder--in royal

guise.

They look not on Weal as men who know not that Woe comes, too:

they look not on evil days as though they would never mend.

_Lo, this was my gift to Ghassân, what time I sought

My people; and all my paths were darkened, and strait my ways_.

NUSAIB

The poem characterizes the separation of a wife and mother--a slave--from

her family: Translation of C.J. Lyall.

They said last night--To-morrow at first of dawning,

or maybe at eventide, must Laila go!--

My heart at the word lay helpless, as lies a Kat[=a]

in net night-long, and struggles with fast-bound wing.

Two nestlings she left alone, in a nest far distant,

a nest which the winds smite, tossing it to and fro.

They hear but the whistling breeze, and stretch necks to greet her;

but she they await--the end of her days is come!

So lies she, and neither gains in the night her longing,

nor brings her the morning any release from pain.

VENGEANCE

By al-Find, of the Zimman Tribe: Translation of C.J. Lyall

Forgiveness had we for Hind's sons:

We said, "The men our brothers are;

The days may bring that yet again

They be the folk that once they were."

But when the Ill stood clear and plain,

And naked Wrong was bold to brave,

And naught was left but bitter Hate--

We paid them in the coin they gave.

We strode as stalks a lion forth

At dawn, a lion wrathful-eyed;

Blows rained we, dealing shame on shame,

And humbling pomp and quelling pride.

Too kind a man may be with fools,

And nerve them but to flout him more;

And Mischief oft may bring thee peace,

When Mildness works not Folly's cure.

PATIENCE

From Ibrahîm, Son of Kunaif of Nabhan: Translation of C.J. Lyall

Be patient: for free-born men to bear is the fairest thing,

And refuge against Time's wrong or help from his hurt is none;

And if it availed man aught to bow him to fluttering Fear,

Or if he could ward off hurt by humbling himself to Ill,

To bear with a valiant front the full brunt of every stroke

And onset of Fate were still the fairest and best of things.

But how much the more, when none outruns by a span his Doom,

And refuge from God's decree nor was nor will ever be,

And sooth, if the changing Days have wrought us--their wonted way--

A lot mixed of weal and woe, yet one thing they could not do:

They have not made soft or weak the stock of our sturdy spear;

They have not abased our hearts to doing of deeds of shame.

We offer to bear their weight, a handful of noble souls:

Though laden beyond all weight of man, they uplift the load.

So shield we with Patience fair our souls from the stroke of Shame;

Our honors are whole and sound, though others be lean enow.

ABU SAKHR

On a lost love. From the 'Hamásah': Translation of C.J. Lyall

By him who brings weeping and laughter

who deals Death and Life as He wills--

she left me to envy the wild deer

that graze twain and twain without fear!

Oh, love of her, heighten my heart's pain,

and strengthen the pang every night;

oh, comfort that days bring, forgetting

--the last of all days be thy tryst!

I marveled how swiftly the time sped

between us, the moment we met;

but when that brief moment was ended

how wearily dragged he his feet!

AN ADDRESS TO THE BELOVED

By Abu l-'Ata of Sind. From the 'Hamásah': Translation of C.J. Lyall

Of thee did I dream, while spears between us were quivering--

and sooth, of our blood full deep had drunken the tawny shafts!

I know not--by Heaven I swear, and here is the word I say!--

this pang, is it love-sickness, or wrought by a spell from thee?

If it be a spell, then grant me grace of thy love-longing--

if other the sickness be, then none is the guilt of thine!

A FORAY

By Ja'far ibn 'Ulbah. From the 'Hamásah': Translation of C.J. Lyall

That even when, under Sábhal's twin peaks, upon us drave

the horsemen, troop upon troop, and the foeman pressed us sore--

They said to us, "Two things lie before you; now must ye choose

the points of the spears couched at ye; or if ye will not, chains!"

We answered them, "Yea this thing may fall to _you_ after the fight,

when men shall be left on ground, and none shall arise again;

But we know not, if we quail before the assault of Death,

how much may be left of life--the goal is too dim to see."

We rode to the strait of battle; there cleared us a space, around

the white swords in our right hands which the smiths had furbished

fair.

On them fell the edge of my blade, on that day of Sabhal date;

And mine was the share thereof, wherever my fingers closed.

FATALITY

By Katari, ibn al-Fujâ'ah, ibn Ma'zin. From the 'Hamásah': Translation of

C.J. Lyall.

I said to her, when she fled in amaze and breathless

before the array of battle, "Why dost thou tremble?

Yea, if but a day of Life thou shouldst beg with weeping,

beyond what thy Doom appoints, thou wouldst not gain it!

Be still, then; and face the onset of Death, high-hearted,

for none upon earth shall win to abide forever.

No raiment of praise the cloak of old age and weakness;

none such for the coward who bows like a reed in the tempest.

The pathway of death is set for all men to travel.

the crier of Death proclaims through the earth his empire.

Who dies not when young and sound, dies old and weary--

cut off in his length of days from all love and kindness;

And what for a man is left of delight of living,--

past use--flung away--a worthless and worn-out chattel?"

IMPLACABILITY

By al-Fadl, ibn al-Abbas, ibn Utbah. From the 'Hamásah': Translation of

C.J. Lyall.

Sons of our uncle, peace! Cousins of ours, be still!

drag not to light from its grave the strife that we buried there.

Hope not for honor from us, while ye heap upon us shame,

or think that we shall forbear from vexing when ye vex us.

Sons of our uncle, peace! lay not our rancor raw;

walk now gently awhile, as once ye were wont to go.

Ay, God knows that we, we love you not, in sooth!

and that we blame ye not that ye have no love for us.

Each of us has his ground for the loathing his fellow moves:

a grace it is from the Lord that we hate ye--ye us!

PARENTAL AFFECTION

A poem by Hittân ibn al-Mu'allà of Tayyi. From the 'Hamásah': Translation

of C.J. Lyall.

Fortune has brought me down--her wonted way--

from stature high and great, to low estate;

Fortune has rent away my plenteous store;

of all my wealth, honor alone is left.

Fortune has turned my joy to tears--how oft

did Fortune make me laugh with what she gave!

But for these girls, the _katá's_ downy brood,

unkindly thrust from door to door as hard--

Far would I roam, and wide, to seek my bread,

in earth, that has no lack of breadth and length.

Nay, but our children in our midst, what else

but our hearts are they, walking on the ground?

If but the breeze blow harsh on one of them,

mine eye says "no" to slumber, all night long!

A TRIBESMAN'S VALOR

Poem by Sa'd, son of Malik, of the Kais Tribe: Translation of C. J. Lyall

How evil a thing is war, that bows men to shameful rest!

War burns away in her blaze all glory and boasting of men:

Naught stands but the valiant heart to face pain--the hard-hoofed

steed

The ring-mail set close and firm, the nail-crowned helms and the

spears;

And onset, again after rout, when men shrink from the serried array--

Then, then, fall away all the vile, the hirelings! and shame is

strong!

War girds up her skirts before them, and evil unmixed is bare.

For their hearts were for maidens veiled, not for driving the gathered

spoil:

Yea, evil the heirs we leave, sons of Yakshar and al-Laksh!

But let flee her fires who will, no flinching for me, son of Kais!

O children of Kais! stand firm before her! gain peace or give!

Who seeks flight before her fear, his Doom stands and bars the road.

Away! Death allows no quitting of place, and brands are bare!

What is life for us, when the uplands and valleys are ours no more?

Ah, where are the mighty now? the spears and generous hands?

FROM THE QU'RAN

Translation of George Sale