3. From the Sanskrit of Matabîlîwaijo.

Wind! a word with thee! thou goest where my Well-Preservéd lies

On her bed of bonny briers keeping off the wicked flies.

Thou shalt know her by th’ aroma of her bosom, which is musk,

And her ivories that glisten like an elephantine tusk.

Seek her coral-guarded tympanum and whisper “Poppinjai!”

And ( referring to her lover ) kindly add “A-lal-lal-lai!”

Breeze! thou knowest my condition; state it broadly, if you please,

In a smattering of Indo-Turco-Perso-Japanese.

Say my youth is flitting freely, and before the season goes

From the garden of my Tûtsi I am fain to pluck a rose.

Tell her I'm a wanton Sufí ( what a Sufí really is

She may know, perhaps — I count it one of Allah's mysteries ).

Fly, O blessed Breeze, and hither bring me back the net result;

Fly as flies the rude mosquito from Abdullah's catapult.

Fly as flies the rusty rickshaw of the Kurumayasan,

When he scents a Hippopotam down the groves of Gulistan.

Fly and cull, O cull, a section of my Pipkin's purple tress;

Thou shalt find me drinking deeply with the Lords that rule the

Mess;

Quaffing mead and mighty sodas with the Johnís, Lords of War,

Talking‘ jungle in the gun-room,’ underneath the deodar.

Hoo Tawâ! I go to join them; he that cometh late is curst,

For the Lords of War ( by Akbar ) have a most amazing thirst!