1Cademy - بخش ۱۷ - داستان اسکندر که خود را بر خاک تواضع انداخت و از خاک تواضع سر بر اوج ترفع افراخت / Section 17 - The Tale of Alexander Who Cast Himself upon the Dust of Humility and from the Dust of Humility Raised His Head to the Peak of Exaltation

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بخش ۱۷ - داستان اسکندر که خود را بر خاک تواضع انداخت و از خاک تواضع سر بر اوج ترفع افراخت / Section 17 - The Tale of Alexander Who Cast Himself upon the Dust of Humility and from the Dust of Humility Raised His Head to the Peak of Exaltation

Original content

چنین گفت دانشور روم و روس
که چون رخت بست از جهان فیلقوس

سکندر برآمد به تخت بلند
صلایی به بالغ دلان درفکند

که ای واقفان از معاد و معاش
که هستیم با یکدگر خواجه تاش

سفر کرد ازین ملک شاه شما
به هر نیک و بد نیکخواه شما

نباشد شما را ز شاهی گزیر
که باشد به فرمان او دار و گیر

ندارم ز کس پایه برتری
که باشد مرا وایه سروری

ز خیل شما من یکی دیگرم
خیال سری نبود اندر سرم

مرا با شما نیست رای خلاف
ازین تیرگی دارم آیینه صاف

پسند شماها پسند من است
گزند شما هم گزند من است

به پاتان اگر زخم خاری فتد
مرا در جگر خار خاری فتد

بجویید از بهر خود مهتری
کرم پروری معدلت گستری

بود او چو چوپان شما چون رمه
به روز و به شب مهربان همه

اگر روز باشد شبانی کند
وگر شب رسد پاسبانی کند

بود از خداوند خود ترسگار
به احسان و افضالش امیدوار

کف دوستان را چو بارنده میغ
صف دشمنان را چو برنده تیغ

کند پست از همت عرش سای
سر شهوت و آز را زیر پای

دهد آب از چشمه بخردی
بدان را کند شست و شوی از بدی

بود با رعایا همه چرب و نرم
نگهدار ایشان ز هر سرد و گرم

ز شرش نکوکار ایمن بود
ز خیرش بد اندیش ساکن بود

سکندر چو شد زین حکایت خموش
ز جان خموشان برآمد خروش

که شاها سر و سرور ما تویی
ز شاهان مه و مهتر ما تویی

ندیده چو تو هیچ جا هیچ گاه
پسندیده تر هیچ کس هیچ شاه

وز آن پس به بیعت گشادند دست
به سر تاج بر تخت شاهی نشست

زبان را به تحسین مردم گشاد
که نقد حیات از شما گم مباد

چو مهرم به گردون سرافراختید
چو سایه به خاکم نینداختید

ز اقبال سکه به نامم زدید
دم از خطبه احترامم زدید

امیدم چنانست از کردگار
کزان گونه کز شاهیم ساخت کار

ز الهام عدلم کند بهره مند
نیفتد به جز عدل هیچم پسند

نتابم پی وایه خویشتن
چو دونان سر از وایه مرد و زن

رهانم ز غم هر غم اندیش را
کنم مرهمی هر دل ریش را

چو شاه از رعیت بود کامخواه
گدا باشد اندر حقیقت نه شاه

ز دانندگان داستانیست راست
که خواهنده هر کس که باشد گداست

نرسته دل از ننگ حاجتوری
چه حاصل از اورنگ اسکندری

سکندر زیان خود و سود خلق
همی خواست از بهر بهبود خلق

ازین سود هرگز زیانی نداشت
ز دست زیان داستانی نداشت

گر او شاه بود این گدایان که اند
ور او روشن این تیره رایان که اند

بر او ختم شد شیوه خسروی
ندید این کهن شیوه از کس نوی

English translation

Thus spoke the sage of Rome and Rus: That when Philip departed from the world, Alexander ascended the lofty throne, And cast a summons to the mature of heart: Saying, O you who are aware of the afterlife and of livelihood, We are fellow servants of one master together, Your king has journeyed away from this realm, He who in all good and ill wished you well, You cannot do without a king, By whose command are the seizing and the holding, I hold no rank above anyone, That I should have a claim to lordship, Of your host I am but one more, No thought of headship is within my head, I have no mind of dispute with you, From this darkness I hold a clear mirror, Your approval is my approval, Your harm is likewise my harm, If a thorn's wound falls upon your foot, A thorn's prick falls within my liver, Seek for yourselves a leader, A cultivator of generosity, a spreader of justice, He is like a shepherd, you like the flock, Kind to all by day and by night, If it be day he tends the flock, And if night comes he keeps the watch, He is fearful of his own Lord, Hopeful of His beneficence and bounty, To the palm of friends like a raining cloud, To the ranks of foes like a cutting sword, With lofty, throne-touching aspiration he lowers The head of lust and greed beneath his feet, He gives water from the spring of wisdom, And washes the wicked clean of their wickedness, He is all smooth and gentle with the subjects, Guarding them from every cold and heat, From his malice the virtuous is safe, By his goodness the ill-thinker is quieted, When Alexander fell silent from this speech, From the souls of the silent a cry arose: O King, you are our head and our chief, Of kings you are our moon and our greatest, Never anywhere, at any time, has one been seen More worthy, no person, no king than you, And after that they opened their hands in allegiance, With the crown upon his head he sat on the throne of kingship, He opened his tongue in praise of the people: May the coin of life never be lost from you, You raised me high like the sun to the heavens, You did not cast me down to the dust like a shadow, By fortune you struck coinage in my name, You uttered the sermon of my honor, My hope from the Creator is such, That in the way He ordered my affairs of kingship, He will make me profit from the inspiration of justice, Nothing but justice falls to my liking, I will not turn aside for my own gain, Like base ones, turning my head from the claims of man and woman, I will free from sorrow every sorrow-burdened one, I will make a balm for every wounded heart, When a king is covetous of gain from his subjects, He is in truth a beggar, and not a king, From those who know there is a true tale, That whoever is a wanter is a beggar, If the heart is not freed from the shame of neediness, What profit comes from the throne of Alexander? Alexander desired his own loss and the people's gain, For the sake of the people's betterment, From this gain he never suffered a loss, No tale of loss lay at his hand, If he was a king, then who are these beggars, And if he was luminous, who are these dark of mind, Upon him was sealed the way of kingship, This ancient way saw no renewal from anyone.

Updated 2026-07-19

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