Flowers from a Persian Garden and Other Papers | Page 6

of the garden soon fadeth,
and that the enjoyment of the rose-bush is of short continuance; and the

sages have declared that the heart ought not to be set upon anything
that is transitory.' He asked: 'What course is then to be pursued?' I
replied: 'I am able to form a book of roses, which will delight the
beholders and gratify those who are present; whose leaves the tyrannic
arm of autumnal blasts can never affect, or injure the blossoms of its
spring. What benefit will you derive from a basket of flowers? Carry a
leaf from my garden: a rose may continue in bloom five or six days, but
this Rose-Garden will flourish for ever.' As soon as I had uttered these
words, he flung the flowers from his lap, and, laying hold of the skirt of
my garment, exclaimed: 'When the beneficent promise, they faithfully
discharge their engagements.' In the course of a few days two chapters
were written in my note-book, in a style that may be useful to orators
and improve the skill of letter-writers. In short, while the rose was still
in bloom, the book called the Rose-Garden was finished."
Dr. Johnson has remarked that "there is scarcely any poet of eminence
who has not left some testimony of his fondness for the flowers, the
zephyrs, and the warblers of the spring." This is pre-eminently the case
of Oriental poets, from Solomon downwards: "Rise up, my love, my
fair one, and come away," exclaims the Hebrew poet in his Book of
Canticles: "for lo! the winter is past, the rain is over and gone: the
flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds has come,
and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land. The fig-tree putteth forth
her green fruits, and the vines with the tender grapes give forth a good
smell. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away."
In a Persian poem written in the 14th century the delights of the vernal
season are thus described: "On every bush roses were blowing; on
every branch the nightingale was plaintively warbling. The tall cypress
was dancing in the garden; and the poplar never ceased clapping its
hands with joy. With a loud voice from the top of every bough the
turtle-dove was proclaiming the glad advent of spring. The diadem of
the narcissus shone with such splendour that you would have said it
was the crown of the Emperor of China. On this side the north wind, on
that, the west wind, were, in token of affection, scattering dirhams at
the feet of the rose.[3] The earth was musk-scented, the air
musk-laden."

[3] Referring to the custom of throwing small coins among crowds in
the street on the occasion of a wedding. A dirham is a coin nearly equal
in value to sixpence of our money.
But it would be difficult to adduce from the writings of any poet,
European or Asiatic, anything to excel the charming ode on spring, by
the Turkish poet Mesíhí, who flourished in the 15th century, which has
been rendered into graceful English verse, and in the measure of the
original, by my friend Mr. E. J. W. Gibb, in his dainty volume of
Ottoman Poems, published in London a few years ago. These are some
of the verses from that fine ode:
Hark! the bulbul's[4] lay so joyous: "Now have come the days of
spring!" Merry shows and crowds on every mead they spread, a maze
of spring; There the almond-tree its silvery blossoms scatters, sprays of
spring: _Gaily live! for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of
spring!_[5]
Once again, with flow'rets decked themselves have mead and plain;
Tents for pleasure have the blossoms raised in every rosy lane; Who
can tell, when spring hath ended, who and what may whole remain?
_Gaily live! for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring!_
* * * * *
Sparkling dew-drops stud the lily's leaf like sabre broad and keen; Bent
on merry gipsy party, crowd they all the flow'ry green! List to me, if
thou desirest, these beholding, joy to glean: _Gaily live! for soon will
vanish, biding not, the days of spring!_
Rose and tulip, like to maidens' cheeks, all beauteous show, Whilst the
dew-drops, like the jewels in their ears, resplendent glow; Do not think,
thyself beguiling, things will aye continue so: _Gaily live! for soon will
vanish, biding not, the days of spring!_
* * * * *
Whilst each dawn the clouds are shedding jewels o'er the rosy land,

And the breath of morning zephyr, fraught with Tátár musk, is bland;
Whilst the world's fair time is present, do not thou unheeding stand:
_Gaily live! for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring!_
With