Story of the archer and the youth clothed in felt حکایت تیرانداز اردبیلی

Bustan Saadi بوستان سعدی

There dwelt in Ardbil, once, a man of strong thew,
Who could pierce with his arrows a spade through and through.
To fight him a man clothed in felt came from far
A strife-raising youth and promoter of war
یکی آهنین پنجه در اردبیل
همی بگذرانید پیلک ز پیل
نمد پوشی آمد به جنگش فراز
جوانی جهان سوز پیکار ساز
He was like Bihram-Ghor, in his search for a fray;
On his shoulder a noose of wild ass’s skin lay.
به پرخاش جستن چو بهرام گور
کمندی به کتفش بر از خام گور
چو دید اردبیلی نمد پاره پوش
کمان در زه آورده و زه را به گوش
Fifty arrows of poplar he shot at this foe;
Through the armour of felt not an arrow would go.
Like the hero Dastan the brave youth joined the fight;
In the coil of his noose snared his enemy tight
به پنجاه تیر خدنگش بزد
که یک چوبه بیرون نرفت از نمد
درآمد نمدپوش چون سام گرد
به خم کمندش درآورد و برد
To the door of his tent, in the camp-pitching ground,
His hands to his neck, like a robber’s, he bound.
He slept not, from pride and from shame, all the night;
A slave shputed out from a tent, at daylight:
به لشکرگهش برد و در خیمه دست
چو دزدان خونی به گردن ببست
شب از غیرت و شرمساری نخفت
سحرگه پرستاری از خیمه گفت
” As the felt-clad one’s prisoner, why are you here,
Who can penetrate iron with arrows and spear?
I have heard he wept blood, and thus said in reply:
“Don’t you know you can’t live when the Fates bid you die?
تو کهن به ناوک بدوزی و تیر
نمدپوش را چون فتادی اسیر؟
شنیدم که می‌گفت و خون می‌گریست
ندانی که روز اجل کس نزیست؟
xI am he who in using the sword and the dart,
Could the tactics of war unto Rustam impart.
When the arm of my fortune was strong in degree,
A thick iron spade seemed like felt unto me.
من آنم که در شیوه طعن و ضرب
به رستم در آموزم آداب حرب
چو بازوی بختم قوی حال بود
ستبری پیلم نمد می‌نمود
But now that good luck from my fingers has strayed,
Felt in front of my shafts, is as good as a spade.”
When Death comes, a spear will pierce armour, indeed,
But will not pierce a shirt, if it is not decreed. 
کنونم که در پنجه اقبیل نیست
نمد پیش تیرم کم از پیل نیست
به روز اجل نیزه جوشن درد
ز پیراهن بی اجل نگذرد
He who has the fell sabre of death at his rear,
Will be mide, though his armour should triple appear.
And should Fortune befriend -and Time’s aid he obtain,
Though naked, he cannot by dagger be slain.
کرا تیغ قهر اجل در قفاست
برهنه‌ست اگر جوشنش چند لاست
ورش بخت یاور بود، دهر پشت
برهنه نشاید به ساطور کشت
The sage by his striving escaped not from fate,
And the fool did not die from the rubbish he ate.
نه دانا به سعی از اجل جان ببرد
نه نادان به ناساز خوردن بمرد


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