English
Ode in Praise of Sultan Sanjar and the Prince Qutb al-Din
By the glory of blessed fortune, by the grace of God the judge, by the omen of a lucky star, by the striving of the green dome of heaven,
the whole world, from east to west, was set free by Muizz al-Din wa'l-Dunya, the lord of the world, Sanjar.
A world-ruler whose name, when it is spoken in the sermon, needs no preacher but the kingdom, no pulpit but the sky.
With the blow of his sword that lord of heaven's might took hold; with fortune's help that binder of foes, that famous king, threw open the way.
Land and city, soil and earth of Rome, India, Turk and China; realms and kingdoms, borders and marches, east and west, sea and shore.
For a while the astrologers kept saying that the heavens would bring him some disaster, that a star would deal him ruin.
But this dominion, against the will of the ill-wishers, prospered by the blessing of his lofty banner, by the work of the great Creator.
All their rulings false, all their words slander, all their guesses flawed, all their calendars useless.
What do star and sky know of doing good or ill, when one is a servant compelled to obey and the other a creature bound by force?
Especially against a lord who, if he wished, could in one hour strip the star of its power and tear the ring off the heavens.
How could a king suffer any change in his realm, when loosing and binding, seizing and releasing, peace and war, good and evil, are all his?
His helper is God the Maker, his backer the lofty state, his herald blessed fortune, his counselor the faith-nurturing prince.
The refuge of kingdom and state, the champion of east and west, who is the chief of chiefs and the pole of the Prophet's faith.
A lord whom God the judge revealed to all creatures with their own eyes, here in this world, without the terrors of the Day of Gathering.
His gathering is the garden of paradise, his palace a chamber of heaven, his character the shade of the blessed tree, his hand the fountain of Kawthar.
The cloud stays forever, out of envy of his open, scattering hand: grim-faced and moaning, weeping, its heart aflame and its eyes wet.
Opposing his love is the capital and foundation of unbelief; agreeing and warring with his enmity is the ornament and law of gain and harm.
By him the faith of Ahmad the messenger is steadily adorned; by him the kingdom of the warrior-king is forever lit.
As the sky by the sun, gold by its stamp, the head by its crown, the garden by its flowers; as the body by the soul, the eye by light, the brain by reason, the person by the head.
If earth had not taken its solidity, water its purity, wind its lightness, and fire its light from his patience, mind, character, and judgment,
the body of the earth would not be still, the essence of water not pure, the benefit of wind not widespread, the breath of fire not bright.
From his arrow and spear, day and night, in mountain and thicket, the venomous serpent writhes and the fierce lion roars in fear.
From dread of him the snake tucks its bead-marked coil into its tail; from terror of him the lion hides its heart within its claws.
His presence is in the state, his place in the court, his survival in the world, his existence in the realm.
Like the work of the sun in the sky, like the gift of the cloud in the garden, like the grace of light in the eye, like the flowing of the soul in the body.
On the summit of heaven the Lion and Scorpion, the Dragon and Vulture, when he takes lance, arrow, battle-axe, and dagger in hand,
from the point of one their heart splits, from the wound of another their blood boils; from the flash of one their body burns, from dread of another their feathers scatter.
From sky and cloud, earth and constellation, thorn and worm, sea and mine, never, save by the effort of that young, high-starred fortunate one,
does the sun shine, the dew fall, the flower smile, the moon glow, the manna grow, the silk come, the pearl be born, the gold arise.
O prince, from your mace, spear, and pointed sword there is always, in thicket and sea, mountain and plain,
the lions' bodies broken, the crocodiles' hearts split, the leopards' tails torn off, the deer's breasts ripped open.
For your generosity and giving, your treasure and spending, there are always, from the turning of the sky, the working of time, the tears of the cloud, the reflection of the sun,
the collar of the earth filled with gold, the lap of the stone with silver, the heart of the sea with pearls, the mouth of the mountain with gems,
like the inner heart of the tulip, in the shape of the lily's robe, in the color of the wallflower's face, in the hue of the narcissus's eye.
Your ill-wisher, from suffering, misfortune, pain, and grief, has black days, a ruined state, two eyes red as rubies, and a sallow face.
In praise, the pen weeps on the paper only for your name; in revelry, the wine laughs in the cup only at the thought of you.
No prince among the sons of Adam was ever like you; no eye ever saw your like, nor will it until the Day of Judgment.
That is why the Sultan holds you dearer every day, for every hour the sight of you is more blessed to him.
In love and friendship with you he is, thank God, as Moses was with Aaron and Ahmad with Haydar.
No one in all the world is more tender toward you than he; no one in all the army is more devoted to him than you.
If he gave you the royal pavilion, the drum, the kettledrum, and the banner, why should your enemies grieve over it?
Do they not know that today, if you wished, by the emperor's favor you could set a crown on a hundred kings?
My lord, from the moment you resolved on Herat, oppression's leg was cut and generosity's door thrown open.
By the traces of your arrival the earth became like the highest paradise; by the banners of your army the air became like Azar's painted idol.
All the people of Herat, high and low, man and woman, are joyful and glad of heart because of you, your servants and your commanded ones.
They forever pray for your kingdom, all of them; they forever wish, one and all, for the long life of your years.
In this resolve you have made, none but victory is your companion; in this purpose you hold, none but fortune is your guide.
Since God's help and the Sultan's ambition are with you, you will set out in good fortune and arrive here in triumph.
Although the fort of Tulak stands so high that its towers brush their heads against the constellation of Gemini,
you will level it to a plain in a single hour, in the same fashion that the Commander of the Faithful, Haydar, brought down the fortress of Khaybar.
O you by whose praise and blessing my mind and nature have become like a casket of gleaming pearls, like the tower of the shining planet Venus,
from the moment your dear lips uttered my name, I set my tent on the palace roof and my foot upon the pivot of heaven.
By your praise my poetry is famous in every place; by your favor my name is spoken in every assembly.
At times, from praising you, my mouth becomes like a box of pearls; at times, from thanking you, my tongue becomes like an egg of ambergris.
If my worth stays hidden in Herat, no matter, for they simply are not aware of it; do not count it a wonder.
The mine does not lose the value of its jewel, nor generosity the worth of its brocade, nor the palm the sweetness of its dates, nor the reed the value of its sugar.
As long as I live I will never be, for anyone but you, a well-wisher who prays, a seeker of loyalty who spreads praise.
I wish you well from the heart, I speak your prayer in my mind; I seek loyalty from the soul, I recite your praise by heart.
From your praise I draw my mind, from your love my inner being, from your ranks my council-book, from your thanks my ledger.
It is like a sky full of stars, like a garden full of sweet basil, like a brocade full of figures, like a sea full of pearls.
From my words a service was recited before you in the month of fasting, its phrases beautiful, its allusions charming.
Now I have brought you a fresh service, in whose verses I have wrought countless artistries and woven boundless wonders.
If this service pleases you as it has come, I will put into verse a hundred thousand more services finer than this.
As long as the meadow ties a verdigris-colored cap from the cypress, as long as the mountain wears a vermilion veil from the tulip,
may your face be always red with joy like the tulip, may your head be always green with fortune like the cypress.