Ode in Praise of Atabak Sa'd ibn Abu Bakr

Musician of the gathering, strike up the lute's soft song; servant of the hall, set the incense of aloeswood aglow. The lot of high aspiration has come up as a sign of mercy; the beloved has entered through the door under a lucky star. A true friend can't be traded for this world or the next; the company of Joseph is worth more than a handful of coins. Strange, how even his harshness and anger delight me, as the moods of Ayaz pleased the heart of Mahmud. It's the season of gardens and early spring, why sleep? Rise, so we may fill our arms with all we long for. The garden is adorned like Solomon's own court; the dawn bird lifts up a song worthy of David. The bright-hearted reciter, through Sa'di's words, has scattered strung pearls across the king's feast. Heir to the realm of Persia, the greatest Atabak, Sa'd, son of Abu Bakr, son of Sa'd Zangi, the beloved.