Chapter II: Story of the Dervish and the Rich Man

A Dervish complained of his state, so distressed,To a hot-tempered person who riches possessed.Not a rap did the black-hearted miser bestow ;But, in arrogance, angrily bawled at him, soThat the poor beggar's heart, at his tyranny, bled;He from grief raised his head, and, "Oh wonderment!" said;"Why at least should one opulent sour-visaged be?From the terror of begging, perhaps, he is free !"The short-sighted ordered; the slave, in due course,Expelled him in perfect disgrace, and by force.As he failed to give thanks to the cherishing Lord,I have heard that good fortune away from him soared.The head of his greatness, on ruin he placed ;And Mercury's pen, his fair fortune effaced.Like a garlic clove, Wretchedness seated him nude;He saved not his baggage nor pack-horses, goodOn his head Fate the dust of starvation then brought ;His purse and his hand, like the juggler's, held nought.His state was completely inverted at last ;With affairs in this pickle, a period passed.To a kind-hearted person his slave was consigned ;Rich of heart and of hand, and enlightened in mind.At the sight of a pauper, in sorrowful plight,He was glad as the poor, to whom wealth gives delight.At night, some one asked for a bit at his door ;Weak in step from the burden of hardship he bore.The clear-sighted man, thus, his servant addressed :—"Go and gladden the heart of that beggar, distressed !"When the slave carried near him a share from the tray,He uttered a cry, he was helpless to stay ;And when he returned to his master again,The tears on his cheeks made his secret quite plain.The chief of the happy in nature, then, said :—" Whose tyranny causes those tears to be shed?"He answered, "My heart grieves as much as it can,At the state of this aged, unfortunate man.For I was his slave in the good days of old;He was owner of property, silver and gold;When, in grandeur and pride, his hand ceased to be strong,In door-to-door begging, his hand became long,"He smiled, saying, "This is not harshness, oh son !The changes of Time bring oppression to none.Is this wretch not that merchant of days long gone by,Who, in haughtiness, carried his head to the sky?I am he whom that day he expelled from his gate—The revolving of Time has placed him in my state.The Sky once again took a look at my case,And washed all the traces of dust from my face.If God in His wisdom one portal should close,By His favour another wide-open He throws.Full many a pauper has satisfied grown ;Many rich men's affairs have become overthrown."