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TRANSLATIONS.
THE FLUTE.
FROM HILALI.
Hark what, now loud, now low, the pining flute complains,
Without tongue, yellow-cheeked, full of winds that wail and sigh;
Saying, Sweetheart! the old mystery remains,—
If I am I; thou, thou; or thou art I?
TO THE SHAH.
FROM HAFIZ.
Thy foes to hunt, thy enviers to strike down,
Poises Arcturus aloft morning and evening his spear.
TO THE SHAH.
FROM ENWERI.
Not in their houses stand the stars,
But o'er the pinnacles of thine!
