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Eastwick (revised edition, 1880), in which the form of the original-partly prose and partly versehas been retained. To the Gulistan is prefixed a Proem which, besides giving an account of the origin of the poem, will serve as a fair indication of its form and manner.

POEM TO THE GULISTAN.

One night I was reflecting on times gone by, and regarding my wasted life, and I pierced the stony mansion of my heart with the diamond of my tears, and read these verses, appropriate to my state:

"One breath of life each moment flies,
A small remainder meets my eyes.
Sleeper, whose fifty years are gone,
Be these five days at least thy own.
Shame on the dull, departed dead,
Whose task is left unfinished.
In vain for them the drum was beat,
Which warns us of man's last retreat.
Sweet sleep upon the parting day
Holds back the traveller from the way,
Each comer a new house erects,
Departs the house its lord rejects;
The next one forms the same conceit,
This mansion none shall e'er complete.
Hold not as friend this comrade light,
With one so false no friendship plight.
Since good and bad alike must fall,
He's best who bears away the ball.
Send to this tomb an ample store;

None with it bring-then send before.
Like snow in life is July's sun,
Little remains; and there is one

To boast himself and vaunt thereon.

With empty hand thou hast sought the mart;
I fear thou wilt with thy turban part.

Who eat their corn while yet 'tis green,

At the true harvest can but glean.

To Sadi's counsel let thy soul give heed,

There is the way—be manful and proceed."

After deliberating on this subject, I thought it advisable that I should take my seat in retirement, and wash

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the tablet of my memory from vain words, nor speak idly in future.

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Better who sits in nooks, deaf, speechless, idle,
Than he who knows not his own tongue to bridle."

At length one of my friends, who was my comrade in the camel-litter, and my closet-companion, entered my door, according to old custom. Notwithstanding all the cheerfulness and hilarity which he displayed, and his spreading out the carpet of affection, I returned him no answer, nor lifted up my head from the knee of devotion. He was pained, and looking toward me said:

"Now that the power of utterance is thine,
Speak, O my brother! kindly, happily,
To-morrow's message bids thee life resign;
Then art thou silent of necessity."

One of those who were about me informed him regarding this circumstance, saying: "Sadi has made a resolution and fixed determination to pass the rest of his life in the world as a devotee, and embrace silence. If thou cannot, take thy way and choose the path of retreat." He replied: "By the glory of the Highest and by our ancient friendship! I will not breathe or stir a step until he hath spoken according to his wonted custom and his usual manner; for to distress friends is folly; but the dispensing with an oath is easy. It is contrary to rational procedure, and opposed to the opinion of sages, that the two-edged sword of Ali should remain in its scabbard, or the tongue of Sadi be silent in his mouth."

"What is the tongue in the mouth of mortals? say
'Tis but the key that opens wisdom's door;

While that is closed, who may conjecture, pray,
If thou sellest jewels or the pedler's store?

Silence is mannerly-so deem the wise,
But in the fitting time use language free;
Blindness of judgment just in two things lies
To speak unwished, or speak unseasonably."

In brief, I had not the power to refrain from conversing with him; and I thought it uncourteous to avert

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my face from conference with him; for he was an agreeable companion and sincere friend.

· When thou contendest choose an enemy

Whom thou may'st vanquish or whom thou canst fly."

By the mandate of necessity, I spoke as we went out for recreation, it being the season of spring, when the asperity of winter was mitigated, and the time of the rose's rich display had arrived.

"Vestments green upon the trees,

Like the costly garments seeming,
Which at Id's festivities

Rich men wear, all gayly gleaming.

'Twas the first day of April, the second month of the spring;
From the pulpits of the branches slight-wreathed the bulbuls sing.
The red, red branches were begemmed with pearls of glistening dew
Like moisture on an angry beauty's cheek-a cheek of rosy hue."

So time passed, till one night it happened that I was walking at a late hour in a flower-garden with one of my friends. The spot was blithe and pleasing, and the trees intertwined there charmingly. You would have said that fragments of enamel were sprinkled on the ground, and that the necklace of the Pleiades was suspended from the vines that grew there.

"A garden where the murmurous rill was heard,
While from the hills sang each melodious bird;
That, with the many colored tulip bright,
These with their various fruits the eye delight.
The whispering breeze beneath the branches' shade,
Of blending flowers a motley carpet made.”

In the morning, when the inclination to return prevailed over our wish to stay, I saw that he had gathered his lap full of roses and fragrant herbs, and sweet-basil, with which he was setting out for the city. I said: “To the rose of the flower-garden, as you know, is no continuance; nor is there faith in the promise of the rosegarden; and the sages have said that we should not fix our affections on that which has no endurance." He said: "What, then, is my course?" I replied: "For the recreation of the beholders and the gratification of those

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who are present, I am able to compose a book, the Garden of Roses, whose leaves the rude hands of autumn cannot affect, and the blitheness of whose spring the revolutions of time cannot change into the disorder of the waning year.

"What use to thee that flower-vase of thine?

Thou wouldst have rose-leaves; take, then, rather mine.
Those roses but five days or six will bloom;

This garden ne'er will yield to winter's gloom."

As soon as I had pronounced these words he cast the flowers from his lap, and took hold of the skirt of my garment, saying: "When the generous promise, they perform."-It befell that in a few days a chapter or two were entered in my note-book on the Advantages of Study and the Rules of Conversation, in a style that may be useful to augment the eloquence of tale-writers. In short, the rose of the flower-garden still continued to bloom when the book of the Rose-Garden was finished. It will, however, be really perfected when it is approved and condescendingly perused at the Court of the Asylum of the World, the Shadow of the Creator, and the Light of the Bounty of the All-powerful, the Treasury of the Ages, the Retreat of the True Religion, the Aided by Heaven, the Victorious Arm of the Empire, the Lamp of Excelling Faith, the Beauty of Mankind, the Glory of Islam, Sâd, the Son of the Most Puissant King of Kings, Master of Attending Nations, Lord of the Kings of Arabia and Persia, Sovereign of the Land and the Sea, Heir to the Throne of Suleiman, Atabak the Great, Muzaffu'd-din, Abu-bakr-bin-Sadbin-Zangi May God Most High perpetuate the good fortune of both, and prosper all their righteous undertakings. Translation of EASTWICK.

SÆMUND-SIGFUSSON, an Icelandic scholar, born about 1055; died in 1133. He is the reputed author of the Sæmundar Edda hins Frodha; that is, the Edda of Sæmund the Scholar," now known, however, as the Elder or Poetic Edda, and believed to have been written before the time of Sæmund. He was a scion of the royal house of Norway, and was famous as a scholar and churchman. His learning so impressed the age in which he lived, that he got the reputation of a magician. He was the friend of Bishop John, founder of the great Odd-Verjar family of Iceland, and the author of a Book of Kings from Harold Fairhair to Magnus the Good; but it is now generally believed that all he had to do with the Poetic Edda in general, or the Sun's Song in particular, was at most confined to the work of compilation. The Sæmundar Edda was entirely unknown until about 1643, when it came into the hands of Brynjulf Sveinson, who, puzzled to classify it, gave it the title of Edda Sæmundi Multiscii. The poems themselves date in all probability from the eighth or ninth century, and are many of them only fragments of longer heroic chants now otherwise entirely lost. They treat of mythical and religious legends of an early Scandinavian civilization, and are composed in the simplest and most archaic forms of Icelandic verse. The author of no one of them is mentioned. They were collected from