The Book of Akbar 303: CHAPTER LXIII.

303

and knowledge in this unique one of the world were greater than can be recorded. He was thoroughly versant in various sciences, rational and traditional (‘aqli u naqli). Especially was he distinguished in the mathematical sciences. He always consorted with philosophers. Illustrious mathematicians obtained bliss at the foot of his throne. He desired to establish observatories and had collected the equipments thereof. He had fixed upon several sites for observatories. He also regarded with favour poetry and poets. And as he had a metrical turn he spent the intervals of time, between spiritual and temporal obligations, in composing poetry. The divan of his poems is in the grand library. The following quatrains are taken from that frontispiece of marvels:—
Quatrain.
Oh! heart, fret not in presence of the rival. Tell not thy heart's condition to any physician. What has happened to thee from that tyrant Is a woeful tale, and a very strange event.
Another.
Oh! heart, rejoice in the presence of the friend, In his service faithfully consume thyself. Each night sit rejoicing in the thought of the friend, Each day make a New Year by meeting him.
Another.
Oh thou, whose tyranny is a world's flag. The day when I see not oppression from thee is oppressive. The sorrow that comes from the tyrannous sphere, What sorrow is it to me when there is the sorrow of love for thee?
God be praised! the exposition of this noble catena which, like the catena of the skies, is upheld by God and hath a holy refuge, and of which one extremity is bound to Adam Safi, the morning of Creation, while the other is linked with the ascension of the sun of the Shahinshah's personality, has been set forth with concision and brevity and in a fresh style other than that coming from the tainted pen of the deckers (basmatdān) of epistolary models. By drawing up this grand catalogue and glorious preamble, Abu-l-fazl—that airy particle—has obtained benediction, and many mysteries and points of wisdom have found insertion as ancillaries. Were these truths, and mysteries separated from the main chronicle, they would form a choice book brimful of the marrow of wisdom.
Verse.
I made a cup of wine out of my blood. Not a jar of vinegar that blisters the breast. There are many truths in each dot of it, Who does not perpend them, comprehends them not.
Though in so far as regards ordinary readers what I have recounted up till now of the events of the ancestors may seem superfluous and a flux of words, yet the great society of truth-knowers is well aware that into this book of Divine praise—may no evil eye approach it!—I have not introduced, from the beginning to the end, a single superfluous letter. An account has been given of divers screens—veils of the sacred Shahinshah-beauty,—and behind each screen there is the bridal face of genius. Away, away! Where is the screen, and where is the secluded bride? One beauty, there is which assumes several manifestations, and within these is one genius which is full of radiance and which informs the world-illuminating Beauty.
Verse.
He who knows speech knows What kind of speech this is.
How can I, whose heart is pawned in one place, turn towards the two worlds? What profit is there in the writing of histories? Two swords will not lie in one scabbard, or two purposes in one heart.