Story of the saint in love حکایت درویش صاحب نظر و بقراط حکیم

Story of the saint in love حکایت درویش صاحب نظر و بقراط حکیم

Bustan Saadi بوستان سعدی

A certain one saw a most beautiful face;
A change in his state, from love’s tumult, took place.
Out as much perspiration the helpless one threw,
As leaves in the spring season carry, of dew.
یکی صورتی دید صاحب جمال
بگردیدش از شورش عشق حال
برانداخت بیچاره چندان عرق
که شبنم بر اردیبهشتی ورق
Hippocrates, riding, passed by him and said:
” What trouble has- fallen on this person’s head? “
Some one answered, “This man is a pietist chaste,
Who never before by a sin was disgraced;
گذر کرد بقراط بر وی سوار
بپرسید کاین را چه افتاد کار؟
کسی گفتش این عابدی پارساست
که هرگز خطائی ز دستش نخاست
Among deserts and mountains he walks day and night,
From society flying and loathing men’s sight.
His heart has been borne by a charmer, away,
And the foot of his vision has sunk in the clay.
رود روز و شب در بیابان و کوه
ز صحبت گریزان، ز مردم ستوه
ربودهست خاطر فریبی دلش
فرو رفته پای نظر در گلش
When the censure of people arrives at his ear,
He weeps, saying, ‘Cease for a little, to jeer!
If I weep, do not say that excuseless I stand! —
That my wailing has some wicked motive at hand —
چو آید ز خلقش ملامت به گوش
بگرید که چند از ملامت؟ خموش
مگوی اربنالم که معذور نیست
که فریادم از علتی دور نیست
It is not the picture that robs me of mind;
It is He steals my heart Who this picture designed.'”
These remarks reached the ear of the veteran sage
In wisdom mature, showing culture and age —
نه این نقش دل میرباید ز دست
دل آن میرباید که این نقش بست
شنید این سخن مرد کار آزمای
کهنسال پرورده پخته رای
He replied, “Though the fame of well-doing will spread,
Ev’ry man does not credit whatever is said.
To the painter himself that same portrait pertained,
That ravished the heart of the man, crazy-brained.
بگفت ارچه صیت نکویی رود
نه با هر کسی هرچه گویی رود
نگارنده را خو همین نقش بود
که شوریده را دل بیغما ربود؟
Why did not an infant, whose age is one day,
Allure him and carry his senses away?
For in viewing the forms that created have been,
Between child and adult, what distinction is seen?
چرا طفل یک روزه هوشش نبرد؟
که در صنع دیدن چه بالغ چه خرد
A philosopher looks on a camel, the same
As on beauties of Chinese and Chigilan fame! “
محقق همان بیند اندر ابل
که در خوبرویان چین و چگل
In this volume, a veil is my every line,
Hanging down over cheeks, heart-alluring and fine.
There are meanings that under the black letters crowd,
Like beloved beauties veiled or the moon in a cloud.
نقابی است هر سطر من زین کتیب
فرو هشته بر عارضی دل فریب
معانی است در زیر حرف سیاه
چو در پرده معشوق و در میغ ماه
In the lifetime of Sadi no sadness he knows,
Who, in rear of the veil, so much loveliness shows.
In this banquet-illumining language of mine,
Like fire is the light of the fervour divine.
در اوقات سعدی نگنجد ملال
که دارد پس پرده چندین جمال
مرا کاین سخنهاست مجلس فروز
جو آتش در او روشنایی و سوز
If my foes shake from envy, they anger me not!
For by this ” Persian fire ” they become very hot.
نرنجم ز خصمان اگر برتپند
کز این آتش پارسی در تبند


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