Targum Part 1

Targum.

by George Borrow.

"The raven has ascended to the nest of the nightingale."

Persian Poem

The following pieces, selections from a huge and undigested ma.s.s of translation, acc.u.mulated during several years devoted to philological pursuits, are with much diffidence offered to the public, the writer being fully aware that not unfrequently he has failed in giving his version that cast and turn, which const.i.tute no slight part of the beauty of the original; a point the accomplishment of which the poetical Translator ought, in all instances, to bear particularly in view, but which he will invariably find the most difficult part of the task which he has undertaken; in comparison with which the rendering of the diction of his Author into tolerable verse is an easy achievement. Perhaps no person, amongst the many individuals who have distinguished themselves by skill in the targumannic art, has more successfully surmounted this difficulty than Fairfax, the Translator into English "octave rhyme" of "The Jerusalem,"

the master-piece of the greatest poet of modern Italy and, with one exception, of modern time.

That the character of a nation is best distinguishable by the general tone of its poetry, has been frequently remarked, and is a truth which does not admit of controversy; the soft songs of the Persian, and the bold and warlike ditties of the Dane are emblems of the effeminacy of the one, and the reckless heroism of the other.--In most instances the writer in the selection of pieces for this little work has been guided by a desire of exhibiting what is most characteristic of the people to whose literature it belongs. At the same time, he has been careful that this desire should not lead him to the countenancing of any thing which could be considered as pregnant with injury to good taste and morals, and has in consequence been compelled to exclude from his anthology many a glorious flower, which he would gladly have woven therein, had he not been apprehensive that it was the offspring of a poisonous bulb. He cannot refrain from lamenting that in his literary researches he has too often found amongst the writings of those, most ill.u.s.trious for their genius and imagination, the least of that which is calculated to meet the approbation of the Christian, or even of the mere Moralist; and in conclusion he will take the liberty of addressing to those who may feel within them the stirrings of a mind capable of mighty things, the sublime words, slightly modified, of an Arabian sage and poet: O man, though the years of thy worldly fame are destined to be equal in number to the doves of the heaven, they shall nevertheless have an end, but whatever thou shalt do or say, which is founded on the love of wisdom and of G.o.d, shall endure for ever.

Saint Petersburg. June 1, 1835.

ODE TO G.o.d.

From the Hebrew.

Reign'd the Universe's Master ere were earthly things begun; When His mandate all created, Ruler was the name He won, And alone He'll rule tremendous when all things are past and gone; He no equal has nor consort, He the singular and lone Has no end and no beginning, His the sceptre, might, and throne; He's my G.o.d and living Saviour, rock to which in need I run; He's my banner and my refuge, fount of weal when call'd upon; In His hand I place my spirit at night-fall and rise of sun, And therewith my body also; G.o.d's my G.o.d--I fear no one.

PRAYER.

From the Arabic.

O Thou who dost know what the heart fain would hide; Who ever art ready whate'er may betide; In whom the distressed can hope in their woe; Whose ears with the groans of the wretched are plied-- Still bid Thy good gifts from Thy treasury flow; All good is a.s.sembled where Thou dost abide; To Thee, save my poverty, nought can I show, And of Thee all my poverty's wants are supplied; What choice have I save to Thy portal to go?

If 'tis shut, to what other my steps can I guide?

'Fore whom as a suppliant low shall I bow, If Thy bounty to me, Thy poor slave, is denied?

But oh: though rebellious full often I grow Thy bounty and kindness are not the less wide.

DEATH.

From the Arabic.

Grim Death in his shroud swatheth mortals each hour, Yet little we reck of what's hanging us o'er; O would on the world that ye laid not such stress, That its baubles ye lov'd not, so gaudy and poor; O where are the friends we were wont to caress, And where are the lov'd ones who dwelt on our floor?

They have drank of the goblet of death's bitterness, And have gone to the deep, to return never more; Their mansions bewail them in tears and distress; Yet has paradise lovelier mansions in store; Of the worth of the plume the dove strips from its dress Were their views, save in memory heaven they bore.

STANZAS.

From the Arabic.

On a Fountain.

In the fount fell my tears, like rain, And straight defil'd became its flood; How should it undefil'd remain, All purpled o'er with human blood?

The Pursued.

How wretched roams the weary wight, Who rage of keen pursuers fears; The whole earth's surface in his sight A hunter's treacherous net appears.

ODES.

From the Persian.

1.

Boy, hand my friends the cup, 'tis time of roses now; Midst roses let us break each penitential vow; With shout and antic bound we'll in the garden stray; When nightingales are heard, we'll rove where roses blow; Here in this open spot fill, fill, and quaff away; Midst roses here we stand a troop with hearts that glow; The rose our long-miss'd friend retains in full array; No fairer pearls than friends and cups the roses know; Poor Hafiz loves the rose, and down his soul would lay, With joy, to win the dust its guardian's foot below.

2.

If shedding lovers' blood thou deem'st a matter slight, No goodness I can plead to scare thee and affright, O Thou, in whose black locks night's Genius stands confest, Whose maiden cheek displays the morning's Master bright.

My eyes to fountains turn, down pouring on my breast, I sink amid their waves, to swim I have no might.

O ruby lip, by thee life's water is possest, Thou couldst awake the dead to vigour and delight; There's no salvation from the tresses which invest Those temples, nor from eyes swift-flas.h.i.+ng left and right.

Devotion, piety I plead not to arrest My doom, no goodness crowns the pa.s.sion-madden'd wight; Thy prayer unmeaning cease, with which thou weariest, O Hafiz, the most High at morning and at night.

3.

O Thou, whose equal mind knows no vexation, Who holding love in deep abomination, On love's divan to loiter wilt not deign, Thy wit doth merit every commendation.

Love's visions never will disturb his brain, Who drinketh of the vine the sweet oblation; And know, thou pa.s.sion-smit, pale visag'd swain, There's medicine to work thy restoration; Ever in memory the receipt retain-- 'Tis quaffing wine-cups to intoxication.

STANZAS.

From the Turkish of Fezouli.

O Fezouli, the hour is near, Which bids thee from this world depart, And leave--what now thou hold'st so dear-- The loves of thy too ardent heart.

Yet till that fated hour arrive, Be thy emprises, every one, If thou wouldst fain behold them thrive, In G.o.d's Almighty name begun.