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“The raven has ascended to the nest of the nightingale.”
Persian Poem
The following pieces, selections from a huge and undigested massof translation, accumulated during several years devoted to philologicalpursuits, are with much diffidence offered to the public, the writerbeing fully aware that not unfrequently he has failed in giving hisversion that cast and turn, which constitute no slight part of the beautyof the original; a point the accomplishment of which the poetical Translatorought, in all instances, to bear particularly in view, but which hewill invariably find the most difficult part of the task which he hasundertaken; in comparison with which the rendering of the diction ofhis Author into tolerable verse is an easy achievement. Perhapsno person, amongst the many individuals who have distinguished themselvesby skill in the targumannic art, has more successfully surmounted thisdifficulty than Fairfax, the Translator into English “octave rhyme”of “The Jerusalem,” the master-piece of the greatest poetof modern Italy and, with one exception, of modern time.
That the character of a nation is best distinguishable by the generaltone of its poetry, has been frequently remarked, and is a truth whichdoes not admit of controversy; the soft songs of the Persian, and thebold and warlike ditties of the Dane are emblems of the effeminacy ofthe one, and the reckless heroism of the other.—In most instancesthe writer in the selection of pieces for this little work has beenguided by a desire of exhibiting what is most characteristic of thepeople to whose literature it belongs. At the same time, he hasbeen careful that this desire should not lead him to the countenancingof any thing which could be considered as pregnant with injury to goodtaste and morals, and has in consequence been compelled to exclude fromhis anthology many a glorious flower, which he would gladly have woventherein, had he not been apprehensive that it was the offspring of apoisonous bulb. He cannot refrain from lamenting that in his literaryresearches he has too often found amongst the writings of those, mostillustrious for their genius and imagination, the least of that whichis calculated to meet the approbation of the Christian, or even of themere Moralist; and in conclusion he will take the liberty of addressingto those who may feel within them the stirrings of a mind capable ofmighty things, the sublime words, slightly modified, of an Arabian sageand poet: O man, though the years of thy worldly fame are destined tobe equal in number to the doves of the heaven, they shall neverthelesshave an end, but whatever thou shalt do or say, which is founded onthe love of wisdom and of God, shall endure for ever.
Saint Petersburg. June 1, 1835.
From the Hebrew.
Reign’d the Universe’s Master ere were earthly thingsbegun;
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 God and living Saviour, rock to which in need I run;
He’s my banner and my refuge, fount of weal when call’dupon;
In His hand I place my spirit at night-fall and rise of sun,
And therewith my body also; God’s my God—I fear no one.
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 wretche