Fall down, thou dome of highest heaven; Round of the seasons, be at fault ! Flee, countless host of glitt'ring stars; Break, dawn ;-O burst thy heartstrings downright; 15 This piece is rendered line for line. It is arranged in stanzas, in the paraphrase, as being better suited for the extent of the composition. The scenery will be admitted to be grand and the antitheses most appropriate. I have now completed my selections from the treatise on Rhetoric, and proceed to give some longer specimens from the poem by 'Izzet Molla. They are of a much higher grade of intellectual power, and are excellent examples of the deep religious mys 15 Compare Schiller's "Wilhelm Tell," iv, 1 : "Raset, ihr Winde! Flammt herab, ihr Blitze ! ticism that pervades so much of the poetry of Persia and Turkey. VII.-The Mirror; by 'Izzet Molla. صور بر ظِل زَائِل اولديفين تقرير ايدر مرات لِسَانِ لسان حالله أول منحنی تنویر ایدر مرات تَكَدَّر أَيمز اصَحَابِ صَفَا عَكْس ظَاهِرِدَن زمارکار اچوب ابحاث شیخ گلشنی وش: سر وحدتدن مَالِ كُلَّ شَيْءٍ هَالِكِي تَفْسِیر ایدر مات باك ايدرمِي خِلْقَتِ أَصْلِيهِ سِنِي تَغيير ~22 کرنا کتا مبهمی اربابنه تعبیر ایدر مرات نت در سپهره حسن و قبح خلقى عزو اتيمك جَمالِ خوب و زِشْتِى صَانْمَهُ كِيمٌ تَغيير ايدر مِرات وَ اثر قالمز جهانده میهمانك خوب و زشتندن مسَافِر خَانَه دَهرِی نه خوش تصویر ایدر مرات با قوب دِيوَانِ حَسَنَه مَطْلَعِ ابروي جَانَان My mirror shows that matter's forms are but a passing shade; With its mute tongue it inculcates the truth that all must fade. So purely bright, it takes no stain from glint of outward things; My mirror thus may adumbrate the souls of virtue's kings. As sage of old, my mirror's sheen, proceeding from one Source, Expounds to me the mystic theme: All nature runs its course! A candid friend, it ever proves its ore's integrity; The mirror pictures to my mind nought else but verity. Is folly; not the mirror, 'tis the face one loves, reveres. Can anything be conceived more philosophically poetical than the images offered in this beautiful ode? The Turkish words used are as choice and sublime as the theme and sentiments demand. My paraphrase is lameness itself in comparison, as even the best versions of good poetry ever must be. 66 Virtue's kings" is my forced rendering for the author's "men of ecstacy;" by which is meant true dervishes, spiritual dervishes,-men who, through striving after God alone, with all their soul and all their strength, are utterly impressionless to outward visitations of weal or woe. The term " ore," in the seventh line, refers to the olden fact of metallic mirrors; though, of course, a silvered glass mirror has equally its "ore," from which it is made. The "integrity" is its freedom from impurity, flaw, or defect of any kind. The "spheres" are superstitiously held by many to exercise "influences" mundane and human affairs. The world, the material world, is here the "mirror" in which things and events witnessed, are but the perceptible reflexions of a face, which is the divine power of God, on --is God himself, the "Causer of Causes آلاس )," the Ultimate Cause of all. The poet no sooner perceives a thing that excites his admiration, than he celebrates it in song. If the men, and women, too, now-a-days,-who 'speak Turkish fluently," who have been "long resident in the country," or "born in the country,' and from whom our casual travellers, even though "learned and talented," necessarily derive their imperfect or utterly erroneous information, could read a word of any Turkish writing, or could comprehend the phrases of such Turkish compositions as this beautiful poem, when read to them by another, their communications to travellers would wear another aspect; and both the tales of travellers, and letters of correspondents, would have a better chance of coinciding with facts and truth, than now comes within the sphere of their consciousness. Alas! written Turkish, the language of Turkish men of education, is to almost all Europeans, as it is to nearly the whole of the native Christian population, an unstudied, unknown tongue; not even excepting our official interpreters, as a general rule. VIII.—The Brook and the Tree; by 'Izzet Molla. سلطان نوبهاره اولوب بنده جویبار عزت مَدَادٍ حَامَهُ مِك اولمازدی پیروی پیر آويني اولمسه جوینده جویبار Apace my tears flow'd as I scann'd the scene. From thence till now, each spring, in season, yields Like trickling sap from wood in oven cast, |