THE DRUNKARD'S EXCUSE.

KNOW you the true reason and cause why it is that I drink? From pride and from folly I strutted and swelled through the

town:

And now those detestable vices, from which the saints shrink, I will in the depths of the ocean of drunkenness drown.

MY BIRD.

My soul is as a sacred bird, the highest heaven its nest, Fretting within its body-bars, it finds on earth its nest; When rising from its dusty heap this bird of mine shall soar 'Twill find upon the lofty gate the nest it had before. The Sidrah shall receive my bird, when it has winged its way, And on the Empyrean's top, my falcon's foot shall stay. Over the ample field of earth is fortune's shadow cast,

Where upon wings and pennons borne this bird of mine has passed.

No spot in the two worlds it owns, above the sphere its goal,
Its body from the quarry is, from "No Place" is its soul.
'Tis only in the glorious world my bird its splendor shows,
The rosy bowers of Paradise its daily food bestows.

THE LUTE and Beaker.

THE first couplet rhymes; then the second line of each succeeding couplet uses the same rhyme.

This lute to many a feast has added zest,

This goblet waited on full many a guest.

Believer, come! the wine-house lures; come, hark,

And drink; with cup and lute be wholly blest.

Their wine and music put to shame the lore

Of Koran, Puran, Ved and Zendavest.

Believer, come! feel inspiration's breath

Exhaling through your soul, and through your breast.
And if the world would catch you in her snares,

Reject her with the might of one protest.

Unnumbered sages have rejoiced when soft

This lute's sweet solace has their hearts caressed.

Unnumbered kings have smiled to quaff this cup,
When anxious thought and woe their souls oppressed.
Through these two charmers dear, unnumbered bards
Have drowned their pain when grief their lives possessed.
This lute and cup have much life-wisdom won,
Experience of the East and of the West.
They know the ancient secrets to relate
Of Solomon's, of Jemshid's harem-nest.
They know of celebrated haughty thrones,
Of many a shattered crown and tattered vest.
They know the magic fruit of Paradise,
Which ripens not on this world's boughs at rest.
All this in their dear circles they impart,
At feasts, to the clear spirits of the blest.
They have against the idle host of cares
Declared a war by open manifest.

For age's frost they give a robe of flame,

For sorrow's fire a raiment of asbest.

He in whose mind this witch-lute's music melts

The core from every mystery shall wrest.

He through whose veins this god-cup's nectar pours
Shall riddles read no other man hath guessed.
Who drains the wealth of both shall see at once

Dark Ahriman a solved and faded jest.

These lute-cup strains and streams of tone and taste
Make of the poorest inn a heaven confessed.
The pious saint who drinks their breath and blood
Shall sit, bliss-drunk, upon creation's crest.
He shall through dazzling skies of pleasure soar,
With godhead filled, and in delirium dressed.
He shall through reeling seas of wonder sink,
Still grasping fast the aim of every quest.
In joyous peace content, with safety crowned,
He shall despise each threat, each poisonous pest.
And when life ends, to heaven he shall spring,
And prove his bliss by death's supremest test.
The lute, then, twang! the goblet clink and kiss!~~
'Tis dying, drunken Hafiz' farewell hest.

JAMI.

JAMI is the poetic name of Nuruddin Abdurrahman, the last great poet of Persia. He was born at Jam, in Khorasan, in 1414 A.D. He studied at Herat and Samarcand, and became noted for learning and sanctity so that he was called Maulana, Our Master. The Sultan Abu Said invited him to his court at Herat, where he enjoyed the company of the most learned and talented men of the time. Jami's whole life was devoted to study and literary work, the result of which appeared in fifty volumes of poetry, grammar and theology, still read and admired in Persia. He died in 1492.

His best work is the "Yusuf and Zulaikha," a poem of eight thousand lines, founded on the Biblical story of Joseph, as re-cast in the Koran and the Moslem commentaries. It has been translated by R. T. H. Griffith. Joseph is still the Persian ideal of manly beauty and more than manly virtue. Zuleika is the wife of Potiphar, but her love for the young Hebrew is regarded not as a fault or sin, but as a divinelyinspired passion, which is rewarded after Potiphar's death by their predestined union. Religious teachers find in this story an allegory of the human soul's love of the highest beauty and goodness. Jami composed altogether seven mystical poems, which are clustered under the title of the "Seven Thrones." The last of these was "Salaman and Absal," which has been translated by Edward Fitzgerald.

BEAUTY AND LOVE.

BEFORE eternity to time had shrunken,

The Friend [God] deep in his glorious self was sunken.
Around his charms a firm-bound girdle hovered:
No one the lonely path to him discovered.

A mirror held he to each wondrous feature,
But shared the vision's bliss with not a creature.
In cradling Naught's abyss alone he rocked him,
No playmate's face or gambols sportive mocked him.
Then rose He up-swift vanished all resistance-
And gave the boundless universe existence.

Now Beauty, sun-clear, from his right side beameth;
Love, moon-like, quickly from his left side gleameth.
When Beauty's flame lights up the cheek's red roses,
Love fans a fire from which no heart reposes.
Between them glows a league which forms no cinder,
But from all Beauty's food creates Love's tinder.
When Beauty 'midst her snaring ringlets lieth,
Then Love the heart within those fair locks tieth.
A nest is Beauty, Love the brooding linnet:
A mine is Beauty, Love the diamond in it.
From God's two sides they came, twin emanation,
To chase and woo each other through creation.
But in each atom's point, both, clasping, enter,
And constitute all being's blissful centre.

ZULAIKHA.

THERE was a king in the West. His name,
Taimus, was spread wide by the drum of fame.

Of royal power and wealth possessed,

No wish unanswered remained in his breast.

His brow gave lustre to glory's crown,

And his foot gave the thrones of the mighty renown.
With Orion from heaven his host to aid,

Conquest was his when he bared his blade.
His child Zulaikha was passing fair,
None in his heart might with her compare;
Of his royal house the most brilliant star,
A gem from the chest where the treasures are.
Praise cannot equal her beauty, no;

But its faint, faint shadow my pen may show.
Like her own bright hair falling loosely down,
I will touch each charm to her feet from her crown.
May the soft reflection of that bright cheek,
Lend light to my spirit and bid me speak,
And that flashing ruby, her mouth, bestow
The power to tell of the things I know.

Her stature was like to a palm-tree grown
In the garden of grace where no sin is known.
Bedewed by the love of her father the king,
She mocked the cypress that rose by the spring.
Sweet with the odor of musk, a snare

THE PRESSVIGNANT
MADISON AND £7

For the heart of the wise was the maiden's hair.
Tangled at night, in the morning through
Her long thick tresses a comb she drew,
And cleft the heart of the musk-deer in twain
As for that rare odor he sighed in vain.
A dark shade fell from her loose hair sweet
As jasmine over the rose of her feet.
A broad silver tablet her forehead displayed
For the heaven-set lessons of beauty made.
Her face was the garden of Iram, where
Roses of every hue are fair.

The dusky moles that enhanced the red

Were like Moorish boys playing in each rose-bed.
Of silver that paid no tithe, her chin

Had a well with the Water of Life therein.

If a sage in his thirst came near to drink,

He would feel the spray ere he reached the brink,
But lost were his soul if he nearer drew,

For it was a well and a whirlpool too.

Her neck was of ivory.

Thither drawn,

Came with her tribute to beauty the fawn;

And the rose hung her head at the gleam of the skin

Of shoulders fairer than jessamine.

Her breasts were orbs of a light more pure,

Twin bubbles new risen from fount Kafur:

Two young pomegranates grown on one spray,
Where bold hope never a finger might lay.

The touchstone itself was proved false when it tried
Her arms' fine silver thrice purified;

But the pearl-pure amulets fastened there

Were the hearts of the holy absorbed in prayer.

The loveliest gave her their souls for rue,
And round the charm their own heartstrings drew.
Her arms filled her sleeves with silver from them
Whose brows are bound with the diadem.

To labor and care her soft hand lent aid,

And to wounded hearts healing unction laid.
Like reeds were those taper fingers of hers,
To write on each heart love's characters.
Each nail on those fingers so long and slim
Showed a new moon laid on a full moon's brim,
And her small closed hand made the moon confess.