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| Funny in Farsi
by Firoozeh Dumas) 54 Text 15 If thou beest he; But O how fall’n! how chang’d 85 From him, who in the happy Realms of Light Cloth’d with transcendent brightness didst out-shine Myriads though bright: If he whom mutual league, United thoughts and counsels, equal hope And hazard in the Glorious Enterprize, 90 Joynd with me once, now misery hath joynd In equal ruin: into what Pit thou seest From what highth fall’n, so much the stronger prov’d He with his Thunder: and till then who knew The force of those dire Arms? yet not for those, 95 Nor what the Potent Victor in his rage Can else inflict, do I repent, or change, Though chang’d in outward lustre; that fixt mind, And high disdain, from sense of injur’d merit, That with the mightiest rais’d me to contend, 100 And to the fierce contention brought along Innumerable force of Spirits arm’d, That durst dislike his reign, and me preferring, His utmost power with adverse power oppos’d In dubious Battel on the Plains of Heav’n, 105 And shook his throne. What though the field be lost? All is not lost; the unconquerable Will, And study of revenge, immortal hate, And courage never to submit or yield: And what is else not to be overcome? 110 That Glory never shall his wrath or might Extort from me. To bow and sue for grace 54 Dumas F. Funny in Farsi. A Memoir of Growing Up Iranian in America. New York, 2004. P. 3–7. 105 With suppliant knee, and deifie his power Who, from the terrour of this Arm so late Doubted his Empire, that were low indeed; 115 That were an ignominy and shame beneath This downfall; since by Fate the strength of Gods And this Empyreal substance cannot fail, Since through experience of this great event In Arms not worse, in foresight much advanc’t, 120 We may with more successful hope resolve To wage by force or guile eternal Warr Irreconcileable, to our grand Foe, Who now triumphs, and in th’ excess of joy Sole reigning holds the Tyranny of Heav’n. 125 So spake th’ Apostate Angel, though in pain, Vaunting aloud, but rackt with deep despare: And him thus answer’d soon his bold Compeer. O Prince, O Chief of many Throned Powers That led th’ imbattelld Seraphim to Warr 130 Under thy conduct, and in dreadful deeds Fearless, endanger’d Heav’ns perpetual King, And put to proof his high Supremacy, Whether upheld by strength, or Chance, or Fate, Too well I see and rue the dire event, 135 That with sad overthrow and foul defeat Hath lost us Heav’n, and all this mighty Host In horrible destruction laid thus low, As far as Gods and Heav’nly Essences Can perish: for the mind and spirit remains 140 Invincible, and vigour soon returns, Though all our Glory extinct, and happy state Here swallow’d up in endless misery. But what if he our Conquerour, (whom I now Of force believe Almighty, since no less 145 Than such could hav orepow’rd such force as ours) Have left us this our spirit and strength intire, Strongly to suffer and support our pains, That we may so suffice his vengeful ire, Or do him mightier service as his thralls 106 150 By right of Warr, what e’re his business be Here in the heart of Hell to work in Fire, Or do his Errands in the gloomy Deep; What can it then avail though yet we feel Strength undiminisht, or eternal being 155 To undergo eternal punishment? Whereto with speedy words th’Arch-fiend reply’d. Fall’n Cherube, to be weak is miserable Doing or Suffering: but of this be sure, To do ought good never will be our task, 160 But ever to do ill our sole delight, As being the contrary to his high will Whom we resist. If then his Providence Out of our evil seek to bring forth good, Our labour must be to pervert that end, 165 And out of good still to find means of evil; Which oft times may succeed, so as perhaps Shall grieve him, if I fail not, and disturb His inmost counsels from thir destind aim. But see the angry Victor hath recall’d 170 His Ministers of vengeance and pursuit Back to the Gates of Heav’n: the Sulphurous Hail Shot after us in storm, oreblown hath laid The fiery Surge, that from the Precipice Of Heav’n receiv’d us falling, and the Thunder, 175 Wing’d with red Lightning and impetuous rage, Perhaps hath spent his shafts, and ceases now To bellow through the vast and boundless Deep. Let us not slip th’ occasion, whether scorn, Or satiate fury yield it from our Foe. 180 Seest thou yon dreary Plain, forlorn and wilde, The seat of desolation, voyd of light, Save what the glimmering of these livid flames Casts pale and dreadful? Thither let us tend From off the tossing of these fiery waves, 185 There rest, if any rest can harbour there, And reassembling our afflicted Powers, 107 Consult how we may henceforth most offend Our Enemy, our own loss how repair, How overcome this dire Calamity, 190 What reinforcement we may gain from Hope, If not what resolution from despare. (From жүктеу/скачать 6,13 Mb. Достарыңызбен бөлісу:
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