Ode 16: Again in Praise of the Same Patron

Lucky is the breeze that carries a hint of my beloved's hair, that brings the lover word of the friend who eases his grief. It brings the nightingale, robbed of its heart, the good news of the rose, and to the garden the glad tidings of early spring. Happy is the one who carries a greeting to that land, and from that land brings a message back to this. If only the spring breeze would take the trouble to be a messenger, and show some kindness to these weeping lovers, so it could tell of my state at the beloved's door, and remind the friend of me, cast off and heartbroken. It was not by choice that I parted from the beloved; it was the misfortune that fate lays upon a helpless heart. I am a stranger in a city of strangers, hardly worth counting; who bothers to count a stranger with neither status nor means? In such hardship, Obeyd has no better recourse than to turn his face of helplessness toward the door of the Creator. Perhaps his high fortune will wake from its sleep, take some bold step, and bring good luck into play, so that it may steer this wretched, weary ship of a life ashore, out of the crashing waves of the times, when fortune, prosperity, triumph, and victory turn their faces toward the court of the fortunate king, the beauty of the world and faith, a monarch who on the day of battle forces even the wheel of heaven to beg for mercy under his arrows. The mountain shakes with fear and casts down its ridge, if the scorching wind of his wrath turns toward the highlands. In his moments of grace, his amber-scattering, kind breath puts the musk-deer of Tartary to shame. Refuge of the world, you are the one for whose passing train the ninth heaven would offer up a crown of honor. When the royal canopy of your banner casts its shade over the world, destiny showers conquest and victory upon its head. Any wish you put to fortune to test, it delivers to you at once, without hindrance or delay. Whoever your favor takes into its stronghold is safe from the cruelty of this tyrant, oppressing wheel of heaven. The one who envies your rank craves a throne and crown, but time brings him only the rope and the gallows. Your enemy plants a sapling, and to kill it he comes bearing bow, spear, sword, and a hail of arrows. Your blessed pen forever draws from the sea of generosity and bounty, bringing royal pearls for the ear of hope. All sing your praise whenever anyone brings the goods of poetry to the marketplace of the age. I bring a prayer before you, for everyone brings a gift according to their strength, their means, and their power. May you endure forever, so that time may bring your fortune the good news of lasting prosperity.