Ferishtah's Fancies/The Eagle
For works with similar titles, see The Eagle.
FERISHTAH'S FANCIES.
1. THE EAGLE.
Dervish—(though yet un-dervished, call him soNo less beforehand: while he drudged our way,Other his worldly name was: when he wroteThose versicles we Persians praise him for,—True fairy-work—Ferishtah grew his style)—Dervish Ferishtah walked the woods one eve,And noted on a bough a raven's nestWhereof each youngling gaped with callow beak Widened by want; for why? beneath the treeDead lay the mother-bird. "A piteous chance!"How shall they 'scape destruction?" sighed the sage—Or sage about to be, though simple still.Responsive to which doubt, sudden there swoopedAn eagle downward, and behold he bore(Great-hearted) in his talons flesh wherewithHe stayed their craving, then resought the sky."Ah, foolish, faithless me!" the observer smiled,"Who toil and moil to eke out life, when loProvidence cares for every hungry mouth!"To profit by which lesson, home went he,And certain days sat musing,—neither meatNor drink would purchase by his handiwork.Then,―for his head swam and his limbs grew faint,— Sleep overtook the unwise one, whom in dreamGod thus admonished: "Hast thou marked my deed?Which part assigned by providence dost judgeWas meant for man's example? Should he playThe helpless weakling, or the helpful strengthThat captures prey and saves the perishing?Sluggard, arise: work, eat, then feed who lack!"
Waking, "I have arisen, work I will,Eat, and so following. Which lacks food the more,Body or soul in me? I starve in soul:So may mankind and since men congregateIn towns, not woods,—to Ispahan forthwith!"
Round us the wild creatures, overhead the trees,Underfoot the moss-tracks,—life and love with these!I to wear a fawn-skin, thou to dress in flowers:All the long lone Summer-day, that greenwood life of ours!
Round us the wild creatures, overhead the trees,Underfoot the moss-tracks,—life and love with these!I to wear a fawn-skin, thou to dress in flowers:All the long lone Summer-day, that greenwood life of ours!
Rich-pavilioned, rather,—still the world without,—Inside—gold-roofed silk-walled silence round about!Queen it thou on purple,—I, at watch and wardCouched beneath the columns, gaze, thy slave, love's guard!
So, for us no world? Let throngs press thee to me!Up and down amid men, heart by heart fare we!Welcome squalid vesture, harsh voice, hateful face!God is soul, souls I and thou: with souls should souls have place.