THE KASÎDAH OF HÂJÎ ABDÛ EL-YEZDÎ

By Richard Burton

Translated And Annotated By Hs Friend And Pupil, F.B.






CONTENTS

TO THE READER

THE KASÎDAH

NOTES

NOTE I

NOTE II

CONCLUSION








TO THE READER

The Translator has ventured to entitle a “Lay of the Higher Law” the following composition, which aims at being in advance of its time; and he has not feared the danger of collision with such unpleasant forms as the “Higher Culture.” The principles which justify the name are as follows:—

The Author asserts that Happiness and Misery are equally divided and distributed in the world.

He makes Self-cultivation, with due regard to others, the sole and sufficient object of human life.

He suggests that the affections, the sympathies, and the “divine gift of Pity” are man’s highest enjoyments.

He advocates suspension of judgment, with a proper suspicion of “Facts, the idlest of superstitions.”

Finally, although destructive to appearance, he is essentially reconstructive.

For other details concerning the Poem and the Poet, the curious reader is referred to the end of the volume.

F. B.

Vienna, Nov., 1880.








THE KASÎDAH

                I
                The hour is nigh; the waning Queen                   walks forth to rule the later night;                Crown’d with the sparkle of a Star,                   and throned on orb of ashen light:                The Wolf-tail* sweeps the paling East                   to leave a deeper gloom behind,                And Dawn uprears her shining head,                   sighing with semblance of a wind:                   * The false dawn.                The highlands catch yon Orient gleam,                   while purpling still the lowlands lie;                And pearly mists, the morning-pride,                   soar incense-like to greet the sky.                The horses neigh, the camels groan,                   the torches gleam, the cressets flare;                The town of canvas falls, and man                   with din and dint invadeth air:                The Golden Gates swing right and left;                   up springs the Sun with flamy brow;                The dew-cloud melts in gush of light;                   brown Earth is bathed in morning-glow.                Slowly they wind athwart the wild,                   and while young Day his anthem swells,                Sad falls upon my yearning ear                   the tinkling of the Camel-bells:                O’er fiery wastes and frozen wold,                   o’er horrid hill and gloomy glen,                The home of grisly beast and Ghoul,*                   the haunts of wilder, grislier men;—                   * The Demon of the Desert.                               
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