Читать книгу Persian Tales - Volume II - Bakhtiari Tales - Illustrated by Hilda Roberts - D. L. Lorimer - Страница 7

A BAKHTIĀRĪ’S SOLILOQUY

THE day has rung with strife and battle-cries

As on the fated caravan we fell,

And bore away their beasts and merchandise

Our robber chieftain’s plunder-hoard to swell.

The day’s work over and the triumph won,

By stealth or force, by valour or by guile,

Campward we turn our horse at set of sun,

And seek the peace of our black tents awhile.

The women bring us food and curdling māst,

The firelight flickers in the cool night air,

From hand to hand the qaliān is passed,

And rest, and home, and all the world seem fair.

Then round the fire, the one with other vying—

While crouching children listen open-eyed—

We live the day again: the horse hoofs’ flying,

How Akber smote and how Mīr Qulī died.

Then, silence falling, day-dream phantoms rise:

The Golden Brothers and the Maid-Gazelle,

Adventure and enchantment and surprise—

The tales of old our mothers used to tell

Of Dīv and Perī-Snake, and magic spell—

The Sīmurgh and the bridegroom’s wolfish bride,

The innocent unjustly flung to prison,

Demure Samamber veiled by Haider’s side,

Fair as the Moon at full that in her pride

Says to the Sun: “Rise not, for I have risen.”