VIII. The Harper.
Project Gutenberg EPUB edition
Jalal al-Din Rumi, Maulana and Redhouse, James W. (James William), Sir
Hast heard, perchance, there was in days of good ‘Umer
A minstrel talented, whose harpings moved the sphere?
The nightingales all wept in transports at his voice,
One pleasure made men’s hearts a hundredfold rejoice.
His song enchanted every gathering where he went,
Applause as thunder broke forth, to his heart’s content.
Like voice of Isrāfīl, whose trump on judgment day,245
Will wake the dead to life, his made the saddest gay.
Dear friend to Isrāfīl he was, and mendicant;
His notes made plumes to sprout on hide of elephant.5
Some day will Isrāfīl attention pay to moans.
Their souls he will recall to old and putrid bones.
The prophets, likewise, all, musicians are on hearts.
Disciples hence expire with joy by fits and starts.
Our outward ears the strains hear not which thence proceed;
Those ears, in many ways, degraded are indeed.
Mankind the songs of fairies never hear at all,
They are not versed in fairies’ ways, their voices small.
’Tis true, the chants of fairies’ sounds are of this world;246
But songs sung by men’s hearts are far above them hurled.10
Both men and fairies pris’ners are in earthly cage.
Both, too, are thralls of sinful ignorance’s rage.
Read thou the text: “O fairy troop,” in book of God.247
Consider, too: “Can ye pass out?” Who holds the rod?
The inward hymn that’s sung by all the hearts of saints
Commences: “O component parts of that thing NOT.”248
Now since they take their rise in this NOT, negative,
They put aside the hollow phantom where we live.
Ye putrid corpses, wrapt in rank corruption’s cloth,
Our everlasting souls are free from birth and growth.15
Were I but to recite one stave from their blest song,
All living souls would rise out from their tombs among.
Lend ear attentively; that may not distant be;
As yet, however, leave’s not given to tell it thee.
The saints are Isrāfīls of this our passing time.
The spiritually dead through them live life sublime.
Our souls mere corpses are; their graves, our bodies’ crowds.
At voice of saint do they arise, clothed in their shrouds.
They say: “This voice has in it something to be feared.
To raise the dead, God’s voice alone has power, we’ve heard.20