The Good Book_ A Secular Bible - A. C. Grayling [87]
Clouds gather low, fogs enfold the sea
And gleaming ice drifts past:
O thoughts go not east,
To where dangerous surges
Toss the fragile ships of men and flood them over,
Bearing them to the bottom of the deep!
O thoughts go not south, where mile on mile
The earth is burnt away and poisonous serpents
Slither through the flames;
Where on precipitous paths and deep in woods
Tigers and leopards prowl, water-scorpions wait,
And the king python rears his giant head.
O thoughts, go not south,
Where the slow-moving tortoise breathes disease
And beasts’ eyes glare from the black forest shade!
O thoughts go not west,
Where desert wastes of sand stretch endlessly;
And barbarians rage, swine-headed, hairy-skinned,
With bulging eyes, who in wild laughter shake their weapons
And prey on travellers lost in the waste of burning dunes.
O thoughts go not west where thirst and perils wait!
O thoughts go not north, to the frozen peaks
Where trees and grasses dare not grow;
Where a river runs too wide to cross, too deep to plumb,
And the sky is white with snow.
Go not north where cold winds cut and kill.
O thoughts seek not the north’s treacherous icy voids!
O thoughts come back to idleness and peace.
In quietude enjoy the meadows of your home,
There work your will and follow your desires
Till sorrow is forgotten;
Let carefree hours bring you many pleasant days
And length of life.
O thoughts come back to joys beyond all telling!
Where at harvest-time the corn stacks high,
Where pies are cooked of millet and bearded maize,
And guests enjoy steaming bowls of soup
And savour the pungency of peppered herbs,
To which the artful cook adds slices of sweet fowl,
Pigeon and yellow heron and black crane.
Come back, O thoughts;
Taste again the feasts of your youth, succulent and rich,
With salad of minced radishes in brine,
With hot spice of southernwood.
O thoughts come back to taste the meats you love!
The four strong liquors are warming at the fire
To be smooth on the drinker’s throat.
How fragrant rise their fumes, how cool their taste!
Unfermented spirit blended with white yeast
Distils the essence of cheer and forgetfulness.
O thoughts come back and let your yearnings cease!
Tunes from small-throated flutes
Gladden the feasters, and old songs are sung:
The ballad-singer’s voice rises alone, and recalls memories.
O thoughts come back to the hollow mulberry tree!
There eight and eight the dancers sway,
Weaving their steps to the poet’s voice.
Musicians tap their bells and beat their chimes
Keeping harp and flute to their measure.
Then rival singers compete in melody, till not a tune
Is left unsung that human voice could sing.
O thoughts come back and listen to their song!
Then women enter whose red lips and dazzling teeth
Entrance the eye;
Trained in every art they discourse of poetry
And strum the lute,
And to their knowledge of history and letters
Add soft hands and delicate wrists, graceful as the spring.
O thoughts come back and let them ease your woe!
Then enter other girls with laughing lips
And sidelong glances under moth-eye brows;
Whose cheeks are fresh and red;
Girls soft of heart and long of limb,
Whose beauty by intelligence is matched.
Rose-glowing cheeks and ears with curving rim,
High-arching eyebrows, as with compass drawn,
Soft hearts and loving gestures – all are there;
Small waists and necks as slender as the clasp of brooches.
O thoughts come back to those whose tenderness
Drives anger and sadness away!
Last enter those whose every action is contrived to please;
Black-painted eyebrows and white-powdered cheeks.
They diffuse sweet scents; their long sleeves brush
The faces of feasters whom they pass,
They pluck the coats of those who will not stay.
O thoughts come back to pleasures of the night!
And at the first ray of dawn already is hung
The shooting target, where bow in hand
And arrows under arm, archers salute each other,
Each willing to yield his rights of precedence
Who shall go first;
Here is courtesy,