Story of the beggar’s son and the king’s son حکایت در معنی تحمل محب صادق

Story of the beggar’s son and the king’s son حکایت در معنی تحمل محب صادق

Bustan Saadi بوستان سعدی

I have heard that the son of a beggar, one time,
Fell in love with the son of a monarch sublime.
He went and encouraged a passion insane;
Fancy made him believe that his wish he would gain.  
  شنیدم که وقتی گدا زادهای
نظر داشت با پادشا زادهای
همی رفت و میپخت سودای خام
خیالش فرو برده دندان به کام
He always remained, like a post, on his course —
Like the elephant, always alongside the horse.
His heart became blood and the secret there lay,
Yet his feet, from his weeping, remained in the clay.  
  ز میدانش خالی نبودی چو میل
همه وقت پهلوی اسبش چو پیل
دلش خون شد و راز در دل بماند
ولی پایش از گریه در گل بماند
The attendants discovered the cause of his pain,
And said to him, “Wander not hither again
For a moment he went, but the thought of his face
Made him settle again near his friend’s dwelling place.  
  رقیبان خبر یافتندش ز درد
دگر باره گفتندش این جا مگرد
دمی رفت و یاد آمدش روی دوست
دگر خیمه زد بر سر کوی دوست
A slave smashed his head and his feet and his hands,
Saying, “Did we not warn you away from these lands ?”
He departed, with patience and rest at an end ;
No endurance, away from the face of his friend.  
  غلامی شکستش سر و دست و پای
که باری نگفتیمت ایدر میای
دگر رفت و صبر و قرارش نبود
شکیبایی از روی یارش نبود
Like flies from the sugar, they drove him by force,
But he quickly reverted again to his course.
One addressed him: ” Oh rashling ! with reason astray,
‘Neath the rod and the stone you much patience display !”  
  مگس وارش از پیش شکر بجور
براندندی و بازگشتی بفور
کسی گفتش ای شوخ دیوانه رنگ
عجب صبر داری تو بر چوب و سنگ!
At his hand,” he replied, “I this harshness sustain;
At the hand of a friend it is wrong to complain.
The spirit of friendship I breathe, you must know
Whether, me, he accepts as a friend, or a foe.  
  بگفت این جفا بر من از دست اوست
نه شرط است نالیدن از دست دوست
من اینک دم دوستی می‌زنم
گر او دوست دارد وگر دشمنم
When away from him, ask not for patience of mind !
For even when with him, no rest can I find.
No strength to be patient; no strife-ground have I  
  ز من صبر بی او توقع مدار
که با او هم امکان ندارد قرار
نه نیروی صبرم نه جای ستیز
نه امکان بودن نه پای گریز
Do not say, ‘Move your head from this Court-door of hope
Though he pull at my head, like a peg in a rope !
Is the moth not who gives to his mistress life’s spark
Better off, than alive in his own nook so dark ?”
مگو زین در بارگه سر بتاب
وگر سر چو میخم نهد در طناب
نه پروانه جان داده در پای دوست
به از زنده در کنج تاریک اوست؟
He asked, “If a wound from his club you should meet ?”
He replied, “I will drop like a ball at his feet”
He said, “Should he cut off your head with a sword ?”
He replied, “Even that, I will freely afford.
بگفت ار خوری زخم چوگان اوی؟
بگفتا به پایش درافتم چو گوی
بگفتا سرت گر ببرد به تیغ؟
بگفت این قدر نبود از وی دریغ
Regarding my head, I am ignorant, quite,
Whether on it a crown or a hatchet may light
At me, without patience, reproaches don’t fling!
For patience in love’s an impossible thing.
مرا خود ز سر نیست چندان خبر
که تاج است بر تارکم یا تبر
مکن با من ناشکیبا عتیب
که در عشق صورت نبندد شکیب
If, like Jacob’s, my eyes become whiten’d and blind,
To see Joseph, the hope will not pass from my mind.”
چو یعقوبم اردیده گردد سپید
نبرم ز دیدار یوسف امید
If a man has a sweetheart, beloved in his eyes,
He’s not vexed at each trifle that happens to rise.
یکی را که سر خوش بود با یکی
نیازارد از وی به هر اندکی
I have heard that the youth kissed his stirrup, one day
He was angry and twisted the reins from his way.
He said, smiling, “From twisting your reins round, desist
For the king, without reason, his reins does not twist
رکابش ببوسید روزی جوان
برآشفت و برتافت از وی عنان
بخندید و گفتا عنان برمپیچ
که سلطان عنان برنپیچد ز هیچ
While near you, I am of existence bereft;
In thinking of you, no self worship is left
If you see in me crime, do not blame on me bring!
Your own head, you have caused from my collar to spring!
مرا با وجود تو هستی نماند
به یاد توام خودپرستی نماند
گرم جرم بینی مکن عیب من
تویی سر برآورده از جیب من
Hence, boldly, my hand to your stirrup I brought,
For I reckoned myself in the matter as nought
I have taken the pen and erased my own name;
I have planted my feet on my own ardent flame,  
  بدان زهره دستت زدم در رکاب
که خود را نیاوردم اندر حساب
کشیدم قلم در سر نام خویش
نهادم قدم بر سر کام خویش
I am killed by the glance of that love-kindling eye;
What need, then, to flourish your sabre on high? ”
Set fire to the reeds, and then go from the ground!
For nor withered nor moist, in the forest, is found.
مرا خود کشد تیر آن چشم مست
چه حاجت که آری به شمشیر دست؟
تو آتش به نی در زن و درگذر
که نه خشک در بیشه ماند نه تر


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