Bird-Parliament — trans. Edward FitzGerald (1889)

Others were sure that all he said was true:
They were extremely wicked, that they knew:
And much they long'd to go at once—but some,
They said, so unexpectedly had come 800
Leaving their Nests half-built—in bad Repair—
With Children in—Themselves about to pair—
'Might he not choose a better Season—nay,
Better perhaps a Year or Two's Delay,
Till all was settled, and themselves more stout
And strong to carry their Repentance out—
And then'—

'And then, the same or like Excuse,
With harden'd Heart and Resolution loose
With dallying: and old Age itself engaged
Still to shirk that which shirking we have aged: 810
And so with Self-delusion, till, too late,
Death upon all Repentance shuts the Gate;
Or some fierce blow compels the Way to choose,
And forced Repentance half its Virtue lose.'

As of an aged Indian King they tell Who, when his Empire with his Army fell Under young Mahmud's Sword of Wrath, was sent At sunset to the Conqueror in his Tent; But, ere the old King's silver head could reach The Ground, was lifted up—with kindly Speech, 820 And with so holy Mercy reassured, That, after due Persuasion, he abjured His idols, sate upon Mahmud's Divan, And took the Name and Faith of Musulman. But when the Night fell, in his Tent alone The poor old King was heard to weep and groan And smite his Bosom; which, when Mahmud knew, He went to him and said 'Lo, if Thou rue Thy lost Dominion, Thou shalt wear the Ring Of thrice as large a Realm.' But the dark King 830 Still wept, and Ashes on his Forehead threw And cried 'Not for my Kingdom lost I rue: But thinking how at the Last Day, will stand The Prophet with The Volume in his Hand, And ask of me "How was't that, in thy Day Of Glory, Thou didst turn from Me and slay My People; but soon as thy Infidel Before my True Believers' Army fell Like Corn before the Reaper—thou didst own His Sword who scoutedst Me." Of seed so sown 840 What profitable Harvest should be grown?'

Then after cheering others who delay'd,
Not of the Road but of Themselves afraid,
The Tajidar the Troop of those address'd,
Whose uncomplying Attitude confess'd
Their Souls entangled in the old Deceit,
And hankering still after forbidden Meat—
'O ye who so long feeding on the Husk
Forgo the Fruit, and doting on the Dusk
Of the false Dawn, are blinded to the True: 850
That in the Maidan of this World pursue
The Golden Ball which, driven to the Goal,
Wins the World's Game but loses your own Soul:
Or like to Children after Bubbles run
That still elude your Fingers; or, if won,
Burst in Derision at your Touch; all thin
Glitter without, and empty Wind within.
So as a prosperous Worldling on the Bed
Of Death—"Behold, I am as one," he said,
"Who all my Life long have been measuring Wind, 860
And, dying, now leave even that behind"—
This World's a Nest in which the Cockatrice
Is warm'd and hatcht of Vanity and Vice:
A false Bazaar whose Wares are all a lie,
Or never worth the Price at which you buy:
A many-headed Monster that, supplied
The faster, faster is unsatisfied;
So as one, hearing a rich Fool one day
To God for yet one other Blessing pray,
Bid him no longer bounteous Heaven tire 870
For Life to feed, but Death to quench, the Fire.
And what are all the Vanities and Wiles
In which the false World decks herself and smiles
To draw Men down into her harlot Lap?
Lusts of the Flesh that Soul and Body sap,
And, melting Soul down into carnal Lust,
Ev'n that for which 'tis sacrificed disgust:
Or Lust of worldly Glory—hollow more
Than the Drum beaten at the Sultan's Door,
And fluctuating with the Breath of Man 880
As the Vain Banner flapping in the Van.
And Lust of Gold—perhaps of Lusts the worst;
The mis-created Idol most accurst
That between Man and Him who made him stands:
The Felon that with suicidal hands
He sweats to dig and rescue from his Grave,
And sets at large to make Himself its Slave.