Book E4Anooshirvan’s Last Years

The ancient book records a truthful sage,Whose words preserved the matter age by age.

The news from Rum reached Anooshirvan’s throne;The message made the death of Caesar known:

“May you live long; great Caesar is no more,For time has closed upon his earthly door.

Another now receives his realm and crown;On him alone the kingship passes down.”

Death filled the Shah’s great soul with grief and care;His ruddy face grew yellow with despair.

He chose from Iran one of noble birth,An envoy skilled in courts across the earth.

He sent an envoy to the youthful heir,The grandson seated on the Roman chair.

He charged him first with many words of grace,And said, “From death no man can hide his face.”

Then wrote the Shah, his face grown pale with grief,His tearful eyes still finding no relief:

“May God grant life and kindness still to you,Though your grandfather’s mortal days are through.

All things are born to perish; none may stayWithin this house of dread upon our way.

Though crowned or helmed, no head escapes its fate;Death seizes all, the humble and the great.

What is a Caesar, Khan, or king of might,When fate at last extinguishes his light?

May memory of your grandfather remain,And Christ befriend his soul beyond all pain.

Now, seated on his throne, your reign is known;You wear the fortune that was once his own.

Ask us for strength in any hour of need:For arms and treasure, troops and noble steeds.”

The envoy took his leave with quickened pace,And hurried down the road from that proud place.

He reached the court and climbed the palace stair,And brought the Shah’s own letter to the heir.

When Caesar saw the title on the scroll,The Shah’s high style inflamed his youthful soul.

He was a hasty youth, new to the crown,And met the Shah’s high pride with his own frown.

He met the Shah’s own envoy with a stare,And gave him neither welcome nor due care.

He lodged him far from court; the letter layUnanswered as the hours slipped away.

A week went by; his counselors drew near,And Caesar spoke, that all his court might hear:

“Now weigh this letter; form a fit reply,And set forth good and ill before my eye.

Draw up the answer with a Roman hand,And let your judgment make our meaning stand.”

The priest replied, “Your servant I remain;I serve your royal will through loss or gain.”

The bishops, priests, and counselors withdrew,And gathered in their chamber to review.

They wrote at once, as Caesar had decreed,And shaped their words to match his will and need:

“No tribute from our realm shall ever flow,Nor Roman wealth to Persia’s coffers go;

No sovereign serves another as a slave,Nor yields the riches that his fathers gave.”

To every throne he wrote in terms made plain,To lieges, princes, rulers of his reign.

His heading names him Caesar, Rum’s own crown,The lord of all its country, field, and town.

“The envoy you have sent will bring you wordOf all he saw at court and all he heard.

He will report our grief and joy to all;He knows each rise of fortune and each fall.

One Caesar died; another, in his stead,Now lifts Rum’s lofty banner overhead.

He lifts his head above both chiefs and kings,Above all lesser lords and lesser things.

If Rum’s wise king must bow to your command,What king will still respect our crown and land?”

The envoy heard their counsel had been weighed,And came to claim the answer they had made.

They gave him robes of honor, poor and slight,A gift unworthy of his master’s might.

Then Caesar said, “I am no slave to you,Nor less than Chin’s or Heytal’s rulers too.

To slight a mighty ruler is not wise,Though your Shah rules the world beneath the skies.

A man with many foes is truly great;Both foes and friends cling close around my state.

Why grudge the greatness justly mine to hold,And set a candle by the sun’s pure gold?

No trial can diminish what I own,Nor blood of battle shake my royal throne.

Go tell your Shah that Caesar is no slave,Nor owes his crown to any grace he gave!

If fortune crowned him master of his land,Rum also placed her scepter in my hand.

Report what you have witnessed, plain and true;We yield no tribute and no dread to you!”

They placed the robe upon the envoy’s frame,Then brought his charger, worthy of his name.

He left and made no halt upon the road,Until he reached the Shah’s august abode.

He told the Shah what Caesar’s court had done,What words were spoken by the Roman son.

The Shah was grieved by all he had to say:“You bore much hardship on that weary way.

I know that one who follows passion’s will,In blindness earns the pain that waits him still.

If he mistakes a foe for one who standsAs friend, his heart has slipped from reason’s hands.

He thinks no friend but him is ours to win,As though he were not blood and brain and skin.

By holy God, by sun and moon on high,By crown and throne that rule beneath the sky,

By Azargashasp’s fire, I swear that heShall find no joy upon his throne through me.

If not, I forfeit all my father’s fame,And stand unworthy of great Qobad’s name.

Let no man speak my name in any hallIf I do not make Roman honor fall.

I shall set his thriving provinces aflame,And leave their fields a ruin to his shame.

He shall fill ox-skins full with gems and gold,And yield the treasures Rum has long controlled.

My sword-point shall not rest within its sheath,Until Rum’s pride lies humbled underneath.

He boasts, ‘I am the Caesar!’ Must I standAmong the chiefs who wait on his command?”

He ordered horns and Indian bells to sound;On elephants the kousts shook all the ground.

The dust rose dark, the daylight seemed to wane;From Madain marched the troops across the plain.

So vast their ranks, the green sea seemed to quail,While flags and karnays stirred along the trail.

The horsemen rode in golden boots arrayed;Their streaming banners filled the sky with shade.

The stars themselves seemed wholly drowned from sight,And turning heaven reeled beneath their might.

When Caesar heard the Shah had left Iran,And wrath had stirred great Anooshirvan,

The Shah from Amuriyah to Halab came;The world grew loud with war’s resounding flame.

Three hundred thousand horsemen took the field,And Halab’s walls were ringed by spear and shield.

From every side the troops came on for strife,And war rose up with steel and hungry knife.

The Roman chiefs set engines on each wall,Prepared to fight and guard against its fall.

They cleared Sakila’s fortress for the fight,And launched their raids from there with all their might.

Halab became a sea of blood and cries,Where Roman hope fell dark before their eyes.

Batarun’s battered legions reeled in dread;And countless Romans lay among the dead.

Within two weeks, the troops before their kingBrought thirty thousand captives from the ring.

The Romans dug a trench to block the way,And flooded it to keep the Shah at bay.

They barred the Shah’s advance with ditch and flood;His army halted there in steel and blood.

A long time passed with neither side relieved;The troops required more funds than they received.

He called his battle-captains to his side,And weighed the field’s condition far and wide.

He said, “This brings us toil and loss; no wayAcross the flooded trench appears today.

The troops need coin, food, steeds, and jowshans too,And Roman helms, if we would see this through.”

The commissaries, scribes, and treasurers wentTo count the Shah’s supply and what was spent.

They found three hundred thousand dirhams moreWere needed than remained within the store.

A Mobad came like dust before the throne,And told the Shah what reckoning had shown.

The Shah’s face darkened, and he bade draw nearHis High Mobad, whose judgment he held dear:

“If all our treasury lies drained and bare,What use are throne and crown that I must wear?

Go call the camel-drivers; let them goadBactrian camels down the desert road.

From Mazandaran’s treasure-house conveyA hundred loads of coin without delay.”

The High Mobad, in wisdom deeply grown,Replied, “O loving Shah, by justice known,

Our treasure lies in Iran; it comes late,And troops stand needy; war will never wait.

In towns nearby are men with wealth to lend;One hundredth meets the sums we need to spend.

Seek loans from nobles and from merchants near;Their ready aid will soon remove our fear.”

The Shah agreed with what the wise man said,And by that counsel let the search be led;

The priest then chose an envoy rich in grace,Wise-hearted, cheerful, fair in speech and face.

He said, “Take three swift horses for the road,And find a man whose wealth can bear this load.

Choose from the merchants or the nobles oneWhose honored name is known beneath the sun.

Request a loan of money for the force;The Shah will pay it back in due course.”

That fair-tongued envoy, young but ripe in thought,Went to a neighboring town for what he sought.

He asked a loan for matters of the crown;The wealthy gathered, men of high renown.

A certain shoemaker who made and soldShoes listened closely to the tale he told.

He asked, “How much?” The envoy answered then,“O man of wealth and wisdom among men,

Three hundred thousand silver coins we need,To pay the troops and buy the battle-steed.”

The shoemaker said, “Gladly shall I lend;The treasurer may thank me in the end.”

He brought the scales and weights and weighed the whole;It needed no receipt, no written scroll.

Then said the shoemaker: “Commend my pleaBefore the High Mobad, that I may see

My dearest wish fulfilled, and from his graceA blessing fall upon my dwelling-place.

I have a son who stands in need of lore;His schooling is the favor I implore.

Perhaps the monarch of the world may showA private favor, letting kindness flow.

Let me place my boy where learned sages teach,That wisdom’s art may come within his reach.

He has the wealth and years to learn their art,And gain the knowledge they can all impart.”

The messenger replied, “With joy I will;Your generous loan has answered all our ill.”

The High Mobad approached the royal seat;The Shah rejoiced to hear the loan complete.

He said, “Thanks be to God upon His throne,Whose grace throughout my life I long have known.

Within our realm, a shoemaker can showSuch wealth and let his bounty freely flow.

May he who owns such silver never fearThe weight of royal power drawing near.

Discover what desire lies in his heart,So this goodwill from him may not depart.

A hundred thousand silver coins bestowBeyond his loan, that he our thanks may know.

May all our children prosper, rich and great,And rise to crowns and thrones of royal state.

May no ill-wisher see the throne decline;Through all the years may royal glory shine.”

Then spoke the High Mobad: “O monarch, hear:This shoemaker has made a plea sincere.

He said, ‘May wisdom guide the monarch’s mind;I have one son, mature and well-inclined.

He seeks a teacher’s hand and learned art,That skill may settle firmly in his heart.

If you will help him gain a scribe’s career,I shall pray for you through each coming year.

May this throne-worthy monarch ever live,And may God crown the justice he can give.’”

The Shah replied, “What Div has clouded sight,And led your judgment from the path of right?

Go, turn the camels back; I will not holdA claim upon his silver or his gold.

If merchants’ sons become both skilled and wise,And through the scribe’s profession come to rise,

When my son sits upon the throne one day,He will need a scribe to guide his way.

Must he then trust a shoemaker’s trained son,His eyes and ears, with all that must be done?

Then wise men born of noble stock will sigh,And watch their hopes of honored service die.

Discerning men will bow to him in shame,Men’s curses, when I die, will stain my name.

We will not take the money he supplied;Seek coin elsewhere, and put your grief aside.

Send back the camels with the silver store,And seek out shoemakers for loans no more.”

The envoy brought the silver back that day,And left the shoemaker in deep dismay.

Night fell; a bell rang from the royal tent,While scouts around the sleeping army went.

At dawn the sun revealed its shining crown,And spread white robes on field and sleeping town.

The trench-side scouts returned with urgent speed,And reached the Shah to tell him of the deed.

They said, “From Caesar envoys now appear,To sue in grief for pardon, filled with fear.”

The envoys entered, prayers upon each tongue,And blessings for Iran’s great monarch sung.

The Roman saw his crown and royal head,And sighed a frozen sigh of inward dread.

He thought, “Behold a Shah of towering state,With manhood, kingship, court, and fortune great.”

Two score philosophers from Rum drew near,With fluent tongues, their hearts in gloom severe.

Each laid before the king a weighty hoard,Full thirty thousand gold coins were outpoured.

His splendor made the Roman envoys quake;Each twisted in his anguish like a snake.

The king of kings received them with due grace,And seated each according to his place.

Their spokesman then addressed the Shah and said:“O king, the elder Caesar now is dead;

This tender grandson sits upon the throne,To whom the world’s affairs are yet unknown.

We all are tributaries under you,Your sheltered servants, faithful, bound, and true.

For you, Iran and Rum are both the same;Why split one household with a double name?

The king of kings holds wisdom in his hand,And Caesar stands upright at his command.

The Khan of Chin, the king of Hind, both oweTheir thrones and crowns to favors you bestow.

If one raw youth has rashly spoken ill,New-fledged in wisdom, lacking judgment still,

Let heaven’s crowned king turn his wrath away;Let no rash words make vengeance rule the day.

We will pay tribute fixed on Rum of old,And keep the pact in loyalty and gold.”

The Shah smiled gently at the words they spoke,And answered, turning to the Roman folk:

“The boy is noble, yet his judgment small;What sense has guided him in this at all?

What Caesar? What is Batarun’s renown,Now time has seized and roughly cast him down?

The wise from Iskandar’s bloodline have wonHigh place and triumph underneath the sun.

Yet if one spurns our counsel and command,And casts alliance from his reckless hand,

We shall raise dust from all his thriving lands,Nor fear the wealth or legions he commands.”

The envoys kissed the ground with humble prayer,As courtiers do before the royal chair.

“Conquering Shah, supreme in might and fame,Let anger pass; do not prolong its flame.

We are the dust beneath your feet, and standAs guardians of the treasure you command.

If you receive us into favor now,Misfortune leaves our hearts and clears our brow.

The toils the king of kings has borne in fightAre no small matter in the Romans’ sight.

To meet that cost, ten ox-hide sacks of goldWe offer from the wealth our coffers hold.

Ask less or more, as you see fit to do;Accept this humble gift we bring to you.”

“As for this treasure,” Anooshirvan replied,“My minister shall weigh and then decide.”

The Romans sought the High Mobad in fear,And poured their loud laments into his ear.

They pleaded fully, stating Caesar’s aim,And spoke of Rum’s desire to end its shame.

They told of ox-hides filled with Roman gold,And all the terms by which the peace might hold.

The Mobad asked, “What brocade will you sendAlong with all the gold you mean to spend?

Along with all this gold, you must provideA thousand pieces, gold-worked, finely dyed;

A thousand Roman youths of noble grace,To serve as hostages before his face.”

The Romans gave consent to that demand,Then bowed again before the Shah’s command.

The Shah remained a while upon that ground;Both king and troops at last their comfort found.

He chose a soldier skilled in keeping count,Who could record and judge each due amount.

He gave him troops to gather what was due,And bring the Roman tribute safely through.

The Shah turned homeward, to Tisfoon now bound,With troops ahead, behind, and all around.

All moved well furnished on the shining road,With silver, gold, and many a precious load.

Their silver bridles glittered on the way;Their golden girdles flashed in light of day.

The very air seemed woven silk made bright,With chiefs’ high banners streaming in the light.

The hills and plains seemed golden to the eye;Their jeweled belts shone like the stars on high.

When Anooshirvan neared the city wall,A multitude came out to greet his call.

They all dismounted, glad to see his face,And stood with open hearts before his grace.

All those who had attended on their lordWent toward the palace gate with one accord.

The mighty chiefs called blessings on his name,The just and watchful Shah of deathless fame.

The greatest men brought jewels as their gift;The Shah’s return made every spirit lift.

He sat in state and showed the chiefs his grace,And honored each according to his place.

The chiefs returned to homes they called their own,Their names throughout the world more widely known.

A learned dehqan spoke of fortune’s wheel,And all the changes that the years reveal.

At times we feast; at times we grieve and weep;At last, beneath dark earth, we all must sleep.

Do not rejoice in evil you have done;Its pain will find you when your course is run.

Our words and deeds remain when we depart,A lasting record of the hand and heart.

I give these royal tales new life in rhyme,And fear that death may leave me short of time.

Now hear what ardent wisdom has disclosedOf plans the aging monarch’s heart composed.

The monarch, in his seventy-fourth year,Was seized by thoughts of death and endings near.

He sought a master fit to guard the realm,A just king’s hand to hold the royal helm.

He wished for one whose gifts the poor would bless,Whose kindly heart would ease their sore distress.

Four sons he had, all noble in their birth,All great and shrewd among the men of earth.

They bore a kingly air and valor’s flame,With learning, self-command, and noble fame.

Young, generous, and eager still to learn,Their minds to knowledge readily would turn.

The foremost, Hormizd, stood without a peer,A prince of worth, discerning, held most dear.

He was astute, discerning, fair in face,And well disposed toward the noble race.

The Shah sent trusted watchers, out of sight,To note the prince’s conduct, wrong or right.

They marked in secret all he chose to say,And watched his conduct on the royal way.

They were to tell the Shah both good and ill,Each act that showed the temper of his will.

To Bozorgmehr he said, “Within my heartI hold a plan that I would now impart.

When I passed seventy, my musky hairTook on the camphor hue that age must wear.

And when I leave this passing house behind,The world will need a master wise and kind.

He must give freely to the poor in need,To kin and strangers, generous in deed.

He must be generous, free from treasure’s snare,Nor bind his heart to worldly wealth and care.

His words must serve the cause of justice well,With wisdom and a heart where good thoughts dwell.

I thank God that my sons are wise and learned,With hearts to worship Him devoutly turned.

Yet none is dearer in my heart or eyesThan Hormizd, skilled in counsel, firm and wise.

I find no fault in all his generous ways,Nor in the upright conduct of his days.

Summon the Mobadan, the learned and true,And let them test his learning through and through.”

The learned Mobadan convened as one,With officers who served the monarch’s son.

They called Hormizd, the royal prince, inside,And set him by the chiefs in princely pride.

Then Bozorgmehr began: “O prince of grace,Whose fortune shines in every glance and face,

What knowledge brightens wisdom and the soul,And makes the body fruitful, sound, and whole?”

Hormizd replied, “Best knowledge rules the rest;The men of understanding are most blessed.

In knowledge lies the safety men require;It guards the heart from Ahriman’s desire.

Next, patience and forgiveness bring release,And clothe the troubled heart in robes of peace.

Be humble, just, and patient; seek to growIn faith and virtue through the things you know.”

The sage then asked, “What shows true virtue best,And raises man to rank above the rest?”

Hormizd replied, “First, modesty and shameThat keep a man from deeds deserving blame.

Next, strive to grieve as few hearts as one can;Third, show your kindness to the upright man

Who deals with you in justice; thus you mayFind peace within the life you lead each day.”

The pure prince’s face drew Bozorgmehr’s eyes;He spoke more gravely, seeking full replies:

“Now I will ask you questions grave and deep;Count each upon your hand, and each one keep.

Remember all I ask, and then replyIn that same order, clear to every eye.

Bring justice and high-mindedness to bear;If you are heedful, heaven’s gate stands fair.

I question broadly; answer all I ask;May God on high instruct you in the task.

May wit be bright, and Fortune be your mate;Now answer fairly, worthy of your state.

The wise man is discerned by his replies;His will and measure show before men’s eyes.

Inquiry is the lock, response the key;The answer shows what good and ill may be.

Who is the child dear in his father’s sight,Well-born in conduct, free of blame and blight?

What man deserves compassion from the heart,So grief at his misfortune makes tears start?

What man repents the good that he has done,And feels regret within his heart begun?

Who is the man whom all the wise should blame,When every deed is weighed against his name?

Who should escape the land in which he dwells,And flee the tyrant whose oppression swells?

What gives us happiness within this life?What do we most recall beyond our strife?

What time is fit for praise? What profits most?Who is the dearest friend a heart can boast?

Whose voice becomes a garden to the heart?What friend can make our inward grief depart?

Who has the greatest store of friends on earth,Whose friendship gladdens others with its worth?

Who has the greatest multitude of foes,Whose malice troubles all the peace he knows?

What thing is most injurious when done,And gives good cause for tears beneath the sun?

Of all the things that mortals cherish here,What proves most fickle, false, and insincere?

Who is the tyrant, shameless in his will,The most irreverent and loveless still?

Whose words bring harm that others must endure,While he himself sits sheltered and secure?

What fault brings shame and rue that hold him fast,And makes a man repent his language past?”

All day until the night rose on the hills,The sage’s questions flowed in ordered rills.

When darkness brought the hour of lamps and light,The chiefs sat rapt in wonder at the sight.

And when the Shah grew weary of the strain,The sage grew still; the prince made answer plain.

Great Hormizd rose and praised the Shah, and said,“May royal Fortune ever crown your head.

Long may you rule, your throne and glory shown;May crown and ivory seat be still your own.

May none behold the throne or royal stateDevoid of you, bright master over fate.

May all the world be dust before your feet;May heaven cure whatever ills you meet.

Now I will answer what the sage has sought,And set before you all my ordered thought.

He first inquired about the son most dear;Concerning sons, my answer now is clear.

A son makes glad his father’s heart and breast,And frees that inward house from grief’s unrest,

If love for father guides his heart to good,And he acts justly, as a true son should.

Next, who deserves our pity and our care,Whose plight is such that we his sorrow share?

It is the noble man whom fate has placedBeneath a base-born lord, his worth debased.

His lot deserves our pity and our grief,For serving base men brings him no relief.

Who helps the base and thankless comes to findRegret for being generous and kind.

One who forgets the good once done to himWould make the lamp of wisdom fade and dim.

Then came the question: who should leave the landAnd seek a home beyond a tyrant’s hand?

The wise man has the liberty to goFrom lands where unjust kings make sorrow grow.

Escape is needful from an unjust king;He brings the world its Doomsday and its sting.

The sage asked next: ‘In what does joy arise?’A faithful friend whose loyalty we prize.

He asked: ‘What memory never fades away?’A good deed done to brighten someone’s day;

When breath departs, good actions still remain,Untouched by death, oblivion, and pain.

He asked, ‘When does the time deserve our praise?’When fewer ill-wishers beset our days.

And as for friends, their aid is good to gain;The wealthy shield us when our fortunes wane.

If they are poor, then share their toil and need;True friendship proves itself in word and deed.

The more his modesty and bounty grow,The more delight his friends in him will know.

The sage next asked, ‘Who gathers foes that keepHis heart forever vexed and rob his sleep?’

The man whose tongue speaks evil without endWill make an enemy of every friend.

He asked what deed most injures heart and mind,And leaves repentant tears and grief behind.

When passion rules the heart, it soon is past,But afterward repentance rises fast.

So do not touch the blossom of desire;Its scented bloom becomes remorseful fire.

He asked, ‘What bond is fickle from the start,And proves untrue to those who give their heart?’

It is the friendship of a foolish man,Of evil nature, shifting plan to plan.

He asked, ‘Who is the shameless tyrant still,Whose nature lies beyond all cure or skill?’

The worst tyrant is he whose shameless headCasts his own guilt on blameless men instead;

He strikes the innocent to clear his name,And crowns the righteous with his private shame.

He asked whose words bring ruin and distress,Yet leave the speaker free from all duress.

The tale-bearer, deceitful and unjust,Fills kings with grief, and slowly saps their trust.

He asked what fault brings shame and bitter rue,And makes a man repent his boasting too.

It is the foolish talker, proud and vain,Who boasts before the crowd of wit and gain.

But when alone and private, he repentsThe vaunting words his empty pride invents.

Yet when he speaks again, his boasts revive,And all his vain pretensions come alive.

The master and the novice undergoA test that lets their true attainments show.

These were the questions; these are my replies;May blessings crown the Shah beneath the skies.

May every tongue speak only by his will,And may his noble heart be gladder still.”

The king of kings was lost in wondering thought;All gathered there rejoiced at what was taught.

The monarch’s heart was loosened from its care,And gladness filled the courtiers everywhere.

By royal order, scribes then wrote it down:To Hormizd passed the right to throne and crown.

The Chinese paper dried beneath the breeze;They sealed the writing with its firm decrees.

The Shah entrusted it to one most wise,A watchful Mobad, versed in sage replies.

He took the pledge of Shah Anooshirvan,And blessed his son, the heir to all Iran.

The world is faithless, filled with grief and pain;No crown can grant its wearer lasting reign.

O aged man, repent before your end;Let wisdom guide you, let your spirit mend.

Long ages pass when earthly life is done;Where goes the soul when dust and flesh are one?

What did the aged chronicler declareOf Anooshirvan’s last counsel and his care?

When Hormizd’s answers had been fully heard,The High Mobad arose and spoke a word.

The counselors and scribes, at his command,Wrote down on silk the counsel for his land.

To young Hormizd the royal letter ran,With praise of God, the Judge of every man.

“Receive this counsel from Qobad’s own son;Write on your heart the words that now are spun.

Perhaps through these my living words may stay:This faithless world must fade and pass away.

It teems with toil and trouble, grief and woe;Its smiling face conceals the pain below.

When you rejoice in it, in gladness drowned,Know happiness has no abiding ground.

You too must leave this world of dust and pain;No throne can break the grave’s appointed chain.

As I resign the world to you by right,You must resign it too when comes your night.

By day and through the night’s deepening gloom,My thoughts dwell on the silence of the tomb.

I seek a head fit for the royal crown,A ruler fit for every field and town.

Four sons we have, the luster of our heart,Wise, just, and generous in every part.

Of these I make my choice, and choose the oneWho leads in years and wisdom: you, my son.

You are a wise man, ornament of state,Fit for the crown and for imperial fate.

Qobad, at eighty, chose me for the throne,And named me heir to all that was his own.

At seventy-four, I make my wishes plain:I choose you now to take the crown and reign.

I seek but peace, and hope that when I die,A blessing follows where my bones shall lie.

I hope almighty God will make you glad,And grant you fortune greater than you had.

If by your justice folk are kept secure,Your own repose will stand as firm and sure.

Through righteous dealing you will rest in peace,And by good works your heavenly joys increase.

For blessed is the man whose seed is good,And whose right labor ripens as it should.

Be patient; let restraint direct your ways;A patient king is worthy of our praise.

The prudent Shah, instructed, self-restrained,Will keep the honor that his wisdom gained.

Do not devise deceit or lies at all,Or Fortune’s face will darken toward your fall.

Keep haste far from your heart and from your brain;For wisdom flees when haste begins to reign.

Incline toward good in every turn of woe;Hear sages’ counsel whether high or low.

Let evil never lead your heart astray;It bears a bitter harvest in its day.

Let food and raiment both be pure and clean;Keep all your father’s counsel fresh and green.

Make God your refuge; turn your heart to Him,And seek His guidance when your star grows dim.

Rule justly, let the realm grow rich and great;Wealth fills your coffers, joy attends your state.

Reward men promptly when their deeds are right;Let not good toil grow old before your sight.

Make glad the men of worth and draw them near;And show the ill-disposed a face severe.

In all affairs take counsel with the wise;Let not the cares of kingship dim your eyes.

When sages have free access to your throne,Troops, treasure, crown, and Fortune stay your own.

Let no friend suffer poverty or need;Relieve his hardship through a generous deed.

Let potentates and nobles share your food,But trust no office to the unjust brood.

Give ear and heart to mendicants in woe,And make their sorrows yours, and let it show.

The king who gives his people justice dueWill share the joy his righteous deeds renew.

Do not withhold your wealth from men of worth,But show the virtuous bounty on the earth.

Yet if your enemy becomes your friend,Do not on salty soil your seed expend.

If you will heed the counsel I bestow,Your crown will flourish and your honor grow.

May He who grants good wishes favor you;May wisdom crown your throne in all you do.

May God preserve my counsel in your ear,Though I am hidden and no longer near.

May head and heart be flourishing and bright,Your person safe from foes and all their spite.

May wisdom be your watchman, never sleeping,And righteousness hold all your ways in keeping.

When I depart this wide and turning sphere,Perform the rites that I have ordered here.

A noble palace must be raised alone,Far from all roads and every dwelling known.

Where no swift-winged vulture wheels on high,Raise it toward the turning, vaulted sky.

Let it rise high, some ten kamands in span,And paint my court within, as best you can.

Show all the chiefs and warriors of renown;Preserve the memory of my court and crown.

Let tapestries of every kind hang fair,With color, scent, and perfume in the air.

Embalm my corpse with camphor, as is due,And set a crown of musk and amber too.

Bring five fine lengths of rich brocade, all new;Let none be worn before it comes to you.

Dress me in Kayanian royal mode,As Sasanian Shahs observed that code.

Prepare an ivory throne to bear my weight;Suspend the crown above in royal state.

Bring all my golden vessels to the hall,Both cups and censers; there arrange them all.

Set twenty filled with rosewater and wine,And saffron with its fragrance rich and fine.

Two hundred more with musk and camphor fill,And ambergris, according to my will.

Arrange them left and right in ordered rows;No more, no less, than this command bestows.

Anoint my head with camphor, clean and sweet,And bathe with rosewater from head to feet;

Let musk and precious ambergris be spread,To guard from taint the body of the dead.

Then bar the entrance, seal the chamber tight;Let no king open it to mortal sight.

Let none discover how to reach that hall,Or find a path that leads beyond its wall.

Let sons and noble kin, in mourning, shunAll feasts and pleasure till two months are done.

Such custom fits the death of kings, and stillThe good may weep upon this final will.

Remain beneath King Hormizd’s firm command;Obey his word when death has stilled my hand.”

All wept upon that testament with fear,And Anooshirvan lived one further year.

Before his death, one night, the monarch prayed;Before Yazdan his reverent praise was laid.

His lucid spirit saw within a dreamA sun rise through the night with sudden gleam.

A stairway rose through forty steps on high,Its summit reaching Saturn in the sky.

From the Hijaz, in stately joy and light,That sun rose upward through the folds of night.

It filled the world with brilliance, and its glowSpread Kaf to Kaf, and grief dissolved like snow.

The farthest rims of earth, the nearest hills,Took luster from the light its glory spills.

Light entered everywhere beneath the dome,Except the Shah’s own hall, still dark at home.

The Shah rose from his sleep at midnight’s hour,Yet spoke to none about that dream of power.

When dawn unveiled the sun in golden light,He summoned Bozorgmehr before his sight.

In private, then, the king of kings made knownWhat sleep before his inward sight had shown.

Bozorgmehr weighed the dream within his mind,And sought the hidden meaning he might find.

He said, “O king supreme in power and fame,A mystery lies concealed within this flame.”

The king said, “Speak the truth and do not hide;Suspense has drained the life I bear inside.”

Then Bozorgmehr replied, “O king of might,Whose counsel climbs beyond the heavens’ height,

I have well studied this strange dream’s design;Attend the marvel and its inward sign.

From this day forth, in forty years and more,One shall arise upon Arabia’s shore.

He will pursue the path of truth and right,And shun deceit, oppression, hate, and spite.

He will confound the faith of Zardosht’s fire,And raise another law that men desire.

He lifts his finger toward the moon on high;At once the orb splits open in the sky.

No man will see his back in battle’s hour;No Jew or Christian will withstand his power.

Old creeds and royal crowns will be cast down;His law will rule in every land and town.

He will ascend a pulpit of three stairs,And all the world will heed the truth he bears.

When he shall leave this passing house behind,The treasure of his speech will guide mankind.

The world will long rejoice in all his lore,While all your royal splendor is no more.

When he has died, an heir of yours will reignWith elephants and tabiras in train.

From far Hijaz an army will arise,With scanty arms, yet burning for the prize.

They will cast him down from his throne to dust,And fill the world with faith in God and trust.

Then Sadeh’s feast will fade from mortal sight,And fire-temples lose their ancient light.

No more will men revere the sun and fire;The old heroic fortunes will expire.

Jamasp himself foretold this coming age,And spoke before Goshtasb as prophet-sage.”

When Shah Anooshirvan had heard him speak,The color of his royal face grew weak.

All day he kept his company with grief;At night he slept, but sleep brought no relief.

When three night-watches passed in dread and fear,A sudden crash assailed the monarch’s ear;

The vault of proud Madain rocked and shook,As though the earth its ancient sleep forsook:

Full fourteen battlements came crashing down,And tumbled from the terrace of renown.

He told the sage the tidings of that night,And spoke about the cry that caused his fright.

The sage looked on the hall and made reply:“O Shah, your dream foretold this fearful cry.

The sun you saw last night has brought this sign;It marks the coming fall of your own line.

Know that your palace cried that very nightThe moonlike child first came into the light.

Soon will a rider with two steeds appearAnd say, ‘The fire no longer blazes here.’”

Then swiftly as the flying dust is hurled,A horseman came with tidings through the world:

“The sacred Fire of Fars has died away;Its flame went cold before the dawn of day!”

Then Bozorgmehr said, “Shah, why grieve at this?What are the world’s brief sorrows and its bliss,

When time has drawn your body from the throne,And palace, crown, and realm are no more known?”

The Shah survived that omen not for long;He died, and all the world took up grief’s song.

So passed the monarch from the turning sphere;His dream foretold the fate his heirs would fear.