The Irish republic., 1867-08-17
POETRY.
Translated from the Arabic for The Irish Republic.
Let Nothing Decay but Man.
AN ORIENTAL STORY.

AN ORIENTAL STORY.
Hated Eendi after of absence returned to his native
land and changed but The the valleys
were green The rivers and streams danced the summer
su as in the days his youth He thought the birds that sung
his fathers the birds that sang there when his
mother nursed him Running into his early home he
cried The friends youth where heyP and echo
ered Weeping he wandered out into the garden and
over broken walls where the cottages OF his early comrades
threw their friendly shadows the lawns summer mornings
he the lazy herds pasurng and the rank weeds growing up
round the hearth Chat would not boom where the children
once prated their parents knees The hills the hes and the
rivers that in his boyhood and that haunted him
waking sleeping his exile became odiou in his sight What
TO me are hills Valleys he sad but earth since
people who the soul of the land fown? In wandering
through country he temples just rising to Allah
Around temples bases remnant of the people crying for
d and diving a their very doors Within were the Dervises
chanting golden altars and crying aloud Alah Aah
From unfinished minare the sounds of the masons hammers
fell faint on the ear the people dying the
hymns the temples and the click ofthe hammers
the tall minares the horrible dscod Hated Efendi
took remark healthy rhyrobed Dervs
walking calmly the starving people, that his opn
would be pleasing to heaven to feed the poor than to
be erecting temples Save the people said he and then
can build your temples Mortal responded the Devis our
business not to save people, temples Allah
But responded Haed you will have people, and then
what will your tempes? GoD GoD MoHAMMED
PROPHET responded the Dervi turning on his heel and
leaving Hated to draw his conclusions herefrom the
Life of Hated Efendi Eastern Poet.
reading such these let rejoice that we live in
nineteenth century and Christian land where such
described the life of Had Efend would excite the horror
of our Christian rulers:
In the summers blushng splendor, stood in Moslem
Where heaven had her blessings with fine and lavish
hand;
The hills like natures bosom bloomed up their emerald
tips,
Bursting with crystal rivers while the wales with their hungry
Drank up their dewy freshness and burst into fruit and
flowers;
The fields gaped but the kissed them with
cooling showers.
The sea- like a royal lover painted hot at her feet
She sacred garden where heaven and earth could
meet
My lips flew ope like cages and my soul sent out sweet
words
Up to the coudless heavens like flock of singing BIRDS
To thank the mighty spirit who stopped from his starry
To shape this Eden Garden for ancient alone.
knew the myriad planets like swung hro space,
Their songs like incense rolling around his dwelling place.
But the voice of my grateful spirit rang high above them ALL
On the Of the Great Infinite that hears the dewdrop fall
turned from the hills and meadows and looked the face
of man.
My blood like stream of curses back to its fountain ran;
MY Words ike flock of ravens croaked up in the sunny
Skies
For read the dead souls epitaph cut in his gary eyes
While he stood as in graveyard statue as of clay
The body OF giant whose soul had flown away
marveled how river, nursed on the mountain heath
Becomes dead pool fetid to fill the land with death
Heaven such black ngratiude make thy angels mourn
For all thy lavish blessings to make this base return
That slaves should thus inhab these living deless boer
And trail their iron fetters the garden flowers
Nay the farest flower is trampled by despo in the dust
The SOUL whose dainty petals scared with airs of lust
And manshaped devils quafng thy peoples blood wine
While none but slaves and yrants worship thy shrine