Classic Poem

From whence has to us this Spring-tide returned,
Which on all sides has spread us a garden.
See the Anemone, sweet Basil, the Lily, the Hyacinth,
The Jasmine, Narcissus. Wild Rose, and Pomegranate;
Many are Spring's flowers, of all kinds are they,
But conspicuous amongst all is the Tulip.
The maidens place bouquets of flowers in their bosoms,
With bunches of flowers are the youths' turbans dressed.
Come, Minstrel, draw the bow across the violin,
Come, Cup-bearer, bring tankards brimming over,
That with the joy of wine I may be filled.
The Pathan youths again have dyed their hands,
As dyes his claws the Hawk in the blood of his prey.
Blushing are now their pale swords with red blood,
In Summer how strangely the Tulip bed has blossomed,
Acmal Khan and Darya Khan from death God preserve them,
Never have they failed me at the time of need.
Khaibar's pass have they reddened with the blood of the foe,
In Krappa is the roar of their cannon still heard,
To Krappa to Bajore straight the mountains
Have been seized with quakes and trembling time after time.
Five years now are passed that in all these regions
Of bright swords every day the flashing is seen;
The first fight was in the lofty ridge of Tahtar,
When scattered were forty thousand Moghal foe,
Their sisters and daughters became captives of the Pathan,
Their horses, camels, elephants, and baggages.
The second battle was with Mir Hussein in Doabah;
Where crushed was his head as of a snake.
Again after that was the fight of Naushahr,
When drunk with the slaughter of the Moghals was I;
Then came the fights with Jeswant, Singh and Shujaa Khan,
On whom Acmal brought destruction in Gandab.
The sixth fight was with Mukarram Khan and Shamsher Khan,
Whom in Khapash Acmal scattered to the winds.
These are the fights worthy of men that I remember,
Of the contests of boys on all sides is no account;
Every victory has been ours up to now,
For the future we must trust to the Omnipotent.
Now is a year that Aurangzeb is camped against us,
Haggard in his features and wounded in his heart;
Year after year it is that fall his nobles,
Of his armies destroyed what account is there?
The Treasures of Hindustan have been scattered before us,
Swallowed by the mountains has been his ruddy gold.
Still of the Emperor's folly there is no lessening,
It must be that from his father is this infatuation;
Between him and us there is no result apparent,
Save that either the Moghals be removed or else the Pathans ruined.
The Pathan who holds any other idea, it is futile,
Except from the sword no other relief is there;
The Pathans are more skilled in the sword than the Moghals,
Would only a little more understanding were theirs,
Would the tribes but be of one mind amongst themselves,
Emperors would prefer to bow down before them;
I alone amongst them am concerned for my nation's honour.
At ease are the Yusufzaies cultivating their fields
The Afridis, Mohmunds, Shinwaris, what are they about?
Spread is the Moghal army in Nangrahar,
With calls for succour to them am I wearied,
Deaf are they, no attention is paid to my cries,
While all the other Pathans from Candahar to Attock,
Are openly or secretly combined in honour's cause.
Sweeter to me far is death than such a life,
As is passed from day to day without honour.
Ever in this world will he not be living,
But yet of Khush-hal Khan will the memory abide.