Release

In this ancient lodge ’tis a well-known tale
That ne’er without bitter may sweet prevail.
When the weary days of the moons have passed,
The mother looks on her babe at last.
In the rock pines the ruby till, one by one,
Its veins are filled full of the light of the sun.
The night of Yusuf was long and drear,
But it fled at last and the dawn was clear.
Long on his heart lay a mountain of woes,
But bright o’er its summit the sun arose.
To welcome him back with due honour, all
The courtiers who stood in the monarch’s hall,
Were straightway commanded to line the way
From the court to the prison in full array.
There youths apparelled in rich brocade
And glittering girdles with gold inlaid ;
There skilful riders were fair to see,
On the noblest chargers of Araby ;
There, bright as the sun, was a minstrel throng
Skilled in all Hebrew and Syrian song ;
And the lords of Egypt on every side
Scattered their silver coin far and wide,
While the poor and needy flocked round to gain
A share of the wealth of the shining rain.
Forth from the prison came Yusuf, gay
In the pomp and sheen of a king’s array.
The stately steed by his hand controlled
Was a mountain covered with pearl and gold.
Bags full of jewels and coin, and trays
Of musk and ambergris strewed the ways,
Thrown from each side at the feet of his steed,
And from want the poor were for ever freed.
He passed through the street of the royal town ;
At the gate of the palace he lighted down,
And silk and satin and gold brocade
Beneath his feet— yea, and heads — were laid,
And o’er azure carpets his steps he bent
Like a moon sailing on through the firmament.
Swift as the wind the glad monarch pressed.
Warned of his coming, to meet the guest.
He clasped him close to his bosom : so
A box-tree her arms round a cypress might throw.
He made him sit on his royal seat :
He questioned him long, and his words were sweet.
First the drift of his dream would the monarch hear,
And Yusuf’s words made the meaning clear.
Then of many an action and place and thing
He plied him with eagerest questioning.
Each answer of Yusuf was clear and true,
And the king’s delight with his wonder grew,
“ Help me with counsel,” at last he said ;
“This dream which thy lips have interpreted —
How shall I meet the woe threatened? How drain
The bitter cup of my country’s pain ? ”
“ In the years of abundance,” he thus replied,
“When the clouds the blessing of rain provide,
Send out thine orders that all shall till
The fields of the land with one heart and will ;
With sharp nails harrow each stony place,
And scatter the seed with the blood of the face.
Let the grain, which the ears when they ripen, afford
For the food of the future be gathered and stored.
In the days of famine each laden ear
Bends the heart of thy foe with its pointed spear.
Let the gathered corn in the granaries lie ;
Then, when the drought and the dearth are nigh,
From the ample stores thou hast gathered give
Enough to each man that his soul may live.
But o’er every business should one preside
Whose skill and knowledge are proved and tried ;
Whose keen-eyed prudence each end foresees,
And his hand performs what his head decrees.
Search through the world for such heart and brain,
A. man like me will be sought in vain.
This weighty task to my charge commit,
Tor none in the land wilt thou find so fit.”
The king was glad at his sage reply ;
Mid the lords of Egypt he raised him high.
He bade the soldiers his word obey,
And gave him the land for his own to sway.
He was Grand Vizier by the monarch’s grace,
And sate on the throne in the ruler’s place.
Enthroned he sate in his seat of pride,
And the people bowed prostrate on every side.
The shouts of the heralds, as forth he went
To the plain, rose up to the firmament.
To every place, as his fancy led,
By thousands his coming was heralded ;
And near their lord, when he chose to ride,
Was a countless army to guard and guide.
When thus to Yusuf the Lord Supreme
Gave the highest rank in the king’s esteem,
The Grand Vizier saw his sun go down,
And low sank the flag of his old renown.
Crushed was his heart by his loss of state,
And he fell a prey to the dart of Fate.
To the wall of sorrow Zulaikha turned,
And her back was bowed as she pined and yearned
The beautiful palace was hers no more,
And the burthen of love on her heart was sore.
J Tis the way of Heaven in this world of woe,
That its hate is swift and its love is slow.
One is east down to the earth, and one
Is lifted on high like the glorious sun.
Blessed is he who has wit to learn
How the favour of fortune may change and turn
Whose head is not raised in his high estate,
Nor his heart in misfortune made desolate.