In Egypt dwelt a man, Mâhân
more beautiful than the full moon.
Like Egypt’s Joseph, fair of face;
a thousand Turks his Hindu slaves.
His friends, companions of his age,
took pleasure at his sight. Some days,
beneath the azure sphere, with song
and pleasant games, they sported long.
Each, for that bright lamp’s happy sake,
in house and garden held a feast.
A noble man, not small but great,
once in his garden made him guest;
A beautiful and pleasant bower,
the friends a hundred times more fair.
Till nightfall they rejoiced therein,
now savouring fruits, now drinking wine;
Each moment some new sport enjoyed;
each moment relished some new food.
When night its musky banner raised,
drew pitch-black lines on silver, they
Took pleasure in that garden, wine
in hand, and in their stories, song.
They to that garden pledged their hearts;
tasted new pleasures, fresh delights.
The moon’s bright glow lit up the sky;
truly the night was bright as day.
When Mâhân’s brain grew hot with wine,
he saw the brilliant moon, and round
That garden like a drunkard ran;
from verdure to a date-grove went.
He saw from quite some distance loom
a figure who seemed known to him.
It was indeed a friend, in trade
and wealth his partner. ‘Why’, he said,
‘Have you come at this hour, without
companion, even slave, about?’
‘From far away I’ve come this night,
my heart impatient for your sight.
I’ve brought immesurable gain
such profit as your thanks will earn.