Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam
Rendered into English Verse by Edward Fitzgerald
Contents:
Introduction.
First
Edition.
Fifth Edition.
Notes.
Introduction
Omar Khayyam,
The Astronomer-Poet of Persia.
Omar Khayyam was born at Naishapur in Khorassan in the latter half
of
our Eleventh, and died within the First Quarter of our
Twelfth
Century. The Slender Story of his Life is curiously twined
about that
of two other very considerable Figures in their Time and
Country: one
of whom tells the Story of all Three. This was Nizam ul
Mulk, Vizier
to Alp Arslan the Son, and Malik Shah the Grandson, of
Toghrul Beg the
Tartar, who had wrested Persia from the feeble
Successor of Mahmud the
Great, and founded that Seljukian Dynasty which
finally roused Europe
into the Crusades. This Nizam ul Mulk, in his
Wasiyat--or
Testament--which he wrote and left as a Memorial for
future
Statesmen--relates the following, as quoted in the Calcutta
Review,
No. 59, from Mirkhond's History of the Assassins.
"'One of the greatest of the wise men
of Khorassan was the Imam
Mowaffak of Naishapur, a man highly honored
and reverenced,--may God
rejoice his soul; his
illustrious years exceeded eighty-five, and it
was the universal belief
that every boy who read the Koran or studied
the traditions in his
presence, would assuredly attain to honor and
happiness.
For this cause did my father send me from Tus to Naishapur
with
Abd-us-samad, the doctor of law, that I might employ myself
in
study and learning under the guidance of that illustrious
teacher.
Towards me he ever turned an eye of favor and kindness, and as
his
pupil I felt for him extreme affection and devotion, so that I
passed
four years in his service. When I first came there, I found two
other
pupils of mine own age newly arrived, Hakim Omar Khayyam, and the
ill-
fated Ben Sabbah. Both were endowed with sharpness of wit and
the
highest natural powers; and we three formed a close
friendship
together. When the Imam rose from his lectures, they used to
join me,
and we repeated to each other the lessons we had heard. Now
Omar was
a native of Naishapur, while Hasan Ben Sabbah's father was one
Ali, a
man of austere life and practise, but heretical in his creed
and
doctrine. One day Hasan said to me and to Khayyam, "It is a
universal
belief that the pupils of the Imam Mowaffak will attain to
fortune.
Now, even if we all do not attain
thereto, without doubt one of us
will; what then shall be our mutual
pledge and bond?" We answered,
"Be it what you
please." "Well," he said, "let us make a vow, that
to
whomsoever this fortune falls, he shall share it equally with
the
rest, and reserve no pre-eminence for himself." "Be it so," we both
replied, and
on those terms we mutually pledged our words. Years
rolled on, and I
went from Khorassan to Transoxiana, and wandered to
Ghazni and Cabul;
and when I returned, I was invested with office, and
rose to be
administrator of affairs during the Sultanate of Sultan
Alp
Arslan.'
"He goes on to state, that years passed by, and both his old
school-
friends found him out, and came and claimed a share in his good
fortune, according to the school-day vow. The
Vizier was generous and
kept his word. Hasan demanded a place in
the government, which the
Sultan granted at the Vizier's request; but
discontented with a
gradual rise, he plunged into the maze of intrigue
of an oriental
court, and, failing in a base attempt to supplant his
benefactor, he
was disgraced and fell. After many mishaps and
wanderings, Hasan
became the head of the Persian sect of the
Ismailians,--a party of
fanatics who had long murmured in obscurity,
but rose to an evil
eminence under the guidance of his strong and evil
will. In A.D.
1090, he seized the castle of Alamut, in the province of
Rudbar, which
lies in the mountainous tract south of the Caspian Sea;
and it was
from this mountain home he obtained that evil celebrity
among the
Crusaders as the OLD MAN OF THE MOUNTAINS, and spread terror
through
the Mohammedan world; and it is yet disputed where the word
Assassin,
which they have left in the language of modern Europe as
their dark
memorial, is derived from the hashish, or opiate of
hemp-leaves (the
Indian bhang), with which they maddened themselves
to the sullen pitch
of oriental desperation, or from the name of the
founder of the
dynasty, whom we have seen in
his quiet collegiate days, at Naishapur.
One of the
countless victims of the Assassin's dagger was Nizam ul
Mulk himself,
the old school-boy friend.<1>
<1>Some of Omar's Rubaiyat warn us of the danger of
Greatness, the
instability of Fortune, and while advocating
Charity to all Men,
recommending us to be too intimate with
none. Attar makes Nizam-ul-
Mulk use the very words of his
friend Omar [Rub. xxviii.], "When
Nizam-ul-Mulk was in the
Agony (of Death) he said, 'Oh God! I am
passing away in the hand of the
wind.'"
"Omar Khayyam also came to the Vizier to claim his share; but not
to
ask for title or office. 'The greatest boon you can confer on me,'
he
said, 'is to let me live in a corner under the shadow of your
fortune,
to spread wide the advantages of Science, and pray for your
long life
and prosperity.' The Vizier tells us, that when he
found Omar was
really sincere in his refusal, he pressed him no
further, but granted
him a yearly pension of 1200 mithkals of gold from
the treasury of
Naishapur.
"At Naishapur thus lived and died Omar Khayyam, 'busied,' adds
the
Vizier, 'in winning knowledge
of every kind, and especially in
Astronomy, wherein he attained to
a very high pre-eminence. Under the
Sultanate of Malik Shah, he came to
Merv, and obtained great praise
for his proficiency in science, and the
Sultan showered favors upon
him.'
"When the Malik Shah determined to reform the calendar, Omar was
one
of the eight learned men employed to do it; the result was the
Jalali
era (so called from Jalal-ud-din, one of the king's
names)--'a
computation of time,' says Gibbon, 'which surpasses the
Julian, and
approaches the accuracy of the Gregorian
style.' He is also the
author of some astronomical tables,
entitled 'Ziji-Malikshahi,' and
the French have lately republished and
translated an Arabic Treatise
of his on Algebra.
"His Takhallus or poetical name (Khayyam) signifies a Tent-maker,
and
he is said to have at one time exercised that trade, perhaps
before
Nizam-ul-Mulk's generosity raised him to independence. Many
Persian
poets similarly derive their names from their occupations; thus
we
have Attar, 'a druggist,' Assar, 'an oil presser,'
etc.<2> Omar
himself
alludes to his name in the following whimsical lines:--
"'Khayyam, who stitched the tents of science,
Has
fallen in grief's furnace and been suddenly
burned;
The shears of Fate have cut the tent ropes of
his life,
And the broker of Hope has sold him for
nothing!'
<2>Though all these, like our Smiths, Archers,
Millers, Fletchers,
etc., may simply retain the Surname of
an hereditary calling.
"We have only one more anecdote to give of his Life, and that relates
to the close; it is told in the anonymous
preface which is sometimes
prefixed to his poems; it has been printed
in the Persian in the
Appendix to Hyde's Veterum Persarum Religio, p.
499; and D'Herbelot
alludes to it in his Bibliotheque, under
Khiam.<3>--
"'It is written in the chronicles of the ancients that this King
of
the Wise, Omar Khayyam, died at Naishapur in the year of the
Hegira,
517 (A.D. 1123); in science he was unrivaled,--the very paragon
of his
age. Khwajah Nizami of Samarcand, who was one of his pupils, relates
the following story: "I often used to hold
conversations with my
teacher, Omar Khayyam, in a garden; and one day
he said to me,
'My tomb shall be in a spot where the north wind may
scatter roses
over it.' I wondered at the words he spake,
but I knew that his were
no idle
words.<4> Years after, when I chanced to revisit
Naishapur, I
went to his final resting-place, and lo! it was just
outside a garden,
and trees laden with fruit stretched their boughs
over the garden
wall, and dropped their flowers upon his tomb, so that
the stone was
hidden under them."'"
<3>"Philosophe Musulman qui a vecu en Odeur de
Saintete dans sa
Religion, vers la Fin du premier et le
Commencement du second
Siecle," no part of which, except
the "Philosophe," can apply to
our
Khayyam.
<4>The
Rashness of the Words, according to D'Herbelot, consisted
in
being so opposed to those in the Koran: "No Man knows
where he shall
die."--This story of Omar reminds me of
another so naturally--and
when one remembers
how wide of his humble mark the noble
sailor
aimed--so pathetically told by Captain Cook--not by
Doctor
Hawkworth--in his Second Voyage (i. 374). When
leaving Ulietea,
"Oreo's last request was for me to return.
When he saw he could not
obtain that promise, he
asked the name of my Marai (burying-place).
As strange a
question as this was, I hesitated not a moment to tell
him
'Stepney'; the parish in which I live when in London. I
was
made to repeat it several times over till they could
pronounce it;
and then 'Stepney Marai no Toote' was echoed
through an hundred
mouths at once. I afterwards found the
same question had been put
to Mr. Forster by a man on
shore; but he gave a different, and
indeed more proper
answer, by saying, 'No man who used the sea could
say where
he should be buried.'"
Thus far--without fear of Trespass--from the Calcutta Review.
The
writer of it, on reading in India this story of Omar's Grave,
was
reminded, he says, of Cicero's Account of finding Archimedes' Tomb
at
Syracuse, buried in grass and weeds. I think
Thorwaldsen desired to
have roses grow over
him; a wish religiously fulfilled for him to the
present day, I
believe. However, to return to Omar.
Though the Sultan "shower'd Favors upon him," Omar's
Epicurean
Audacity of Thought and Speech caused him to be regarded askance
in
his own Time and Country. He is said to have been especially hated
and dreaded by the Sufis, whose Practise he
ridiculed, and whose Faith
amounts to little more than his own, when
stript of the Mysticism and
formal recognition of Islamism under which
Omar would not hide. Their
Poets, including Hafiz, who are (with the
exception of Firdausi) the
most considerable in Persia, borrowed
largely, indeed, of Omar's
material, but turning it to a mystical Use
more convenient to
Themselves and the People they addressed; a People quite
as quick of
Doubt as of Belief; as keen of Bodily sense as of
Intellectual; and
delighting in a cloudy composition of both, in which
they could float
luxuriously between Heaven and Earth, and this World
and the Next, on
the wings of a poetical expression, that might serve
indifferently for
either. Omar was too honest of Heart as well of Head
for this.
Having failed (however mistakenly) of finding any Providence
but
Destiny, and any World but This, he set about making the most of
it;
preferring rather to soothe the Soul
through the Senses into
Acquiescence with Things as he saw them,
than to perplex it with vain
disquietude after what they might be. It
has been seen, however, that
his Worldly Ambition was not
exorbitant; and he very likely takes a
humorous or perverse pleasure
in exalting the gratification of Sense
above that of the Intellect, in
which he must have taken great
delight, although it failed to answer
the Questions in which he, in
common with all men, was most vitally
interested.
For whatever Reason, however, Omar as before said, has never
been
popular in his own Country, and therefore has been but
scantily
transmitted abroad. The MSS. of his Poems, mutilated beyond
the
average Casualties of Oriental Transcription, are so rare in the
East
as scarce to have reacht Westward at all, in spite of all
the
acquisitions of Arms and Science. There is no copy at the
India
House, none at the Bibliotheque Nationale of Paris. We know but
of
one in England: No. 140 of the Ouseley MSS. at the Bodleian,
written
at Shiraz, A.D. 1460. This contains but 158 Rubaiyat. One in
the
Asiatic Society's Library at Calcutta (of which we have a
Copy),
contains (and yet incomplete) 516, though swelled to that by all
kinds
of Repetition and Corruption. So Von Hammer speaks of his Copy
as
containing about 200, while Dr. Sprenger catalogues the Lucknow MS.
at
double that number.<5> The Scribes, too, of the
Oxford and Calcutta
MSS. seem to do their Work under a sort of Protest;
each beginning
with a Tetrastich (whether genuine or not), taken out of
its
alphabetical order; the Oxford with one of Apology; the Calcutta
with
one of Expostulation, supposed (says a Notice prefixed to the
MS.)
to have arisen from a Dream, in
which Omar's mother asked about his
future fate. It may be rendered
thus:--
"O Thou who burn'st in Heart for those who burn
In Hell,
whose fires thyself shall feed in turn,
How
long be crying, 'Mercy on them, God!'
Why, who art Thou to
teach, and He to learn?"
The Bodleian Quatrain pleads Pantheism by way of Justification.
"If I myself upon a looser Creed
Have loosely
strung the Jewel of Good deed,
Let this one thing for my
Atonement plead:
That One for Two I never did misread."
<5>"Since this paper was written" (adds the Reviewer
in a note), "we
have met with a Copy of a very rare
Edition, printed at Calcutta in
1836. This contains 438
Tetrastichs, with an Appendix containing 54
others not
found in some MSS."
The Reviewer,<6> to whom I owe the Particulars of Omar's
Life,
concludes his Review by comparing him with Lucretius, both as
to
natural Temper and Genius, and as acted upon by the Circumstances
in
which he lived. Both indeed were men of subtle, strong,
and
cultivated Intellect, fine Imagination, and Hearts passionate
for
Truth and Justice; who justly revolted from their
Country's false
Religion, and false, or foolish, Devotion to it; but
who fell short of
replacing what they subverted by such better Hope as
others, with no
better Revelation to guide them, had yet made a Law to
themselves.
Lucretius indeed, with such material as
Epicurus furnished, satisfied
himself
with the theory of a vast machine fortuitously constructed,
and acting
by a Law that implied no Legislator; and so composing
himself
into a Stoical rather than Epicurean severity of Attitude,
sat
down to contemplate the mechanical drama of the Universe which he
was
part Actor in; himself and all about him (as in his own
sublime
description of the Roman Theater) discolored with the lurid
reflex of
the Curtain suspended between the Spectator and the Sun.
Omar, more
desperate, or more careless of any so complicated System as
resulted
in nothing but hopeless Necessity, flung his own Genius and
Learning
with a bitter or humorous jest into the general Ruin which
their
insufficient glimpses only served to reveal; and, pretending
sensual
pleasure, as the serious purpose of Life, only diverted
himself
with
speculative problems of Deity, Destiny, Matter and Spirit, Good
and
Evil, and other such questions, easier to start than to run down,
and
the pursuit of which becomes a very weary sport at last!
<6>Professor Cowell.
With regard to the present Translation. The original Rubaiyat
(as,
missing an Arabic Guttural, these Tetrastichs are more
musically
called) are independent Stanzas, consisting each of four
Lines of
equal, though varied, Prosody; sometimes all rhyming, but
oftener (as
here imitated) the third line a blank. Somewhat as in the
Greek
Alcaic, where the penultimate line seems to lift and suspend the
Wave
that falls over in the last. As usual with such kind of
Oriental
Verse, the Rubaiyat follow one another according to
Alphabetic
Rhyme--a strange succession of Grave and Gay. Those here
selected are
strung into something of an Eclogue, with perhaps a less
than equal
proportion of the "Drink and make-merry," which (genuine or
not)
recurs over-frequently in the Original. Either way, the Result is
sad
enough: saddest perhaps when most ostentatiously merry: more apt
to
move Sorrow than Anger
toward the old Tentmaker, who, after vainly
endeavoring to unshackle
his Steps from Destiny, and to catch some
authentic Glimpse of
TO-MORROW, fell back upon TO-DAY (which has
outlasted so many
To-morrows!) as the only Ground he had got to stand
upon, however
momentarily slipping from under his Feet.
[From the Third Edition.]
While the second Edition of this version of Omar was
preparing,
Monsieur Nicolas, French Consul at Resht, published a very
careful and
very good Edition of the Text, from a lithograph copy at
Teheran,
comprising 464 Rubaiyat, with translation and notes of his
own.
Mons. Nicolas, whose Edition has reminded me of several things,
and
instructed me in others, does not consider Omar to be the
material
Epicurean that I have literally taken him for, but a Mystic,
shadowing
the Deity under the figure of Wine, Wine-bearer, &c., as
Hafiz is
supposed to do; in short, a Sufi Poet like Hafiz and the rest.
I cannot see reason to alter my opinion, formed as it was more
than a
dozen years ago when Omar was first shown me by one to whom I am
indebted for all I know of
Oriental, and very much of other,
literature. He admired Omar's Genius
so much, that he would gladly
have adopted any such Interpretation of
his meaning as Mons. Nicolas'
if he could.<7> That he
could not, appears by his Paper in the
Calcutta Review already so
largely quoted; in which he argues from the
Poems themselves, as well as from what records remain of the
Poet's
Life.
<7> Perhaps would have edited the Poems himself
some years ago. He
may now as little approve of my Version
on one side, as of Mons.
Nicolas' Theory on the other.
And if more were needed to disprove Mons. Nicolas' Theory, there
is
the Biographical Notice which he himself
has drawn up in direct
contradiction to the Interpretation of the Poems
given in his Notes.
(See pp. 13-14 of his Preface.) Indeed I
hardly knew poor Omar was so
far gone till his Apologist
informed me. For here we see that,
whatever were the Wine that Hafiz drank and
sang, the veritable Juice
of the Grape it was which Omar used, not only
when carousing with his
friends, but (says Mons. Nicolas) in order to
excite himself to that
pitch of Devotion which others
reached by cries and "hurlemens." And
yet, whenever Wine,
Wine-bearer, &c., occur in the Text--which is
often enough--Mons.
Nicolas carefully annotates "Dieu," "La Divinite,"
&c.: so
carefully indeed that one is tempted to think that
he was
indoctrinated by the Sufi with whom he read the Poems. (Note to
Rub.
ii. p. 8.) A Persian would naturally wish to vindicate
a
distinguished Countryman; and a Sufi to enroll him in his own
sect,
which already comprises all the chief Poets of Persia.
What historical Authority has Mons. Nicolas to show that Omar
gave
himself up "avec passion a l'etude de la philosophie des
Soufis"?
(Preface, p. xiii.) The Doctrines of Pantheism,
Materialism,
Necessity, &c., were not peculiar to the Sufi; nor to
Lucretius before
them; nor to Epicurus before him; probably the very
original
Irreligion of Thinking men from the first; and very likely to be
the
spontaneous growth of a Philosopher living in an Age of social
and
political barbarism, under shadow of one of the Two and
Seventy
Religions supposed to divide the world. Von Hammer (according
to
Sprenger's Oriental Catalogue) speaks of Omar as "a Free-thinker,
and
a great opponent of Sufism;" perhaps because, while holding much
of
their Doctrine, he would not pretend to any inconsistent severity
of
morals. Sir W. Ouseley has written a note to something of the
same
effect on the fly-leaf of the Bodleian MS. And in two
Rubaiyat of
Mons. Nicolas' own Edition Suf and Sufi are both
disparagingly named.
No doubt many of these Quatrains seem unaccountable unless
mystically
interpreted; but many more as unaccountable unless
literally. Were
the Wine spiritual,
for instance, how wash the Body with it when dead?
Why make cups of the
dead clay to be filled with--"La Divinite," by
some succeeding Mystic?
Mons. Nicolas himself is puzzled by some
"bizarres" and "trop
Orientales" allusions and images--"d'une
sensualite quelquefois
revoltante" indeed--which "les convenances" do
not permit him to
translate; but still which the reader cannot but
refer to "La
Divinite."<8> No doubt also
many of the Quatrains in the
Teheran, as in the Calcutta, Copies, are
spurious; such Rubaiyat being
the common form of
Epigram in Persia. But this, at best, tells as
much one way as another;
nay, the Sufi, who may be considered the
Scholar and Man of Letters in
Persia, would be far more likely than
the careless Epicure to
interpolate what favours his own view of the
Poet. I observed that very
few of the more mystical Quatrains are in
the Bodleian MS., which must
be one of the oldest, as dated at Shiraz,
A.H. 865, A.D. 1460. And
this, I think, especially distinguishes Omar
(I cannot help
calling him by his--no, not Christian--familiar name)
from all other
Persian Poets: That, whereas with them the Poet is lost
in his Song,
the Man in Allegory and Abstraction; we seem to have the
Man--the
Bon-homme--Omar himself, with all his Humours and Passions,
as
frankly before us as if we were really at
Table with him, after the
Wine had gone round.
<8> A note to Quatrain 234 admits that, however clear
the mystical
meaning of such Images must be to Europeans,
they are not quoted
without "rougissant" even by laymen in
Persia--"Quant aux termes de
tendresse qui commencent ce
quatrain, comme tant d'autres dans ce
recueil, nos
lecteurs, habitues maintenant a 1'etrangete des
expressions
si souvent employees par Kheyam pour rendre ses pensees
sur
l'amour divin, et a la singularite des images trop
orientales,
d'une sensualite quelquefois revoltante,
n'auront pas de peine a se
persuader qu'il s'agit de la
Divinite, bien que cette conviction
soit vivement discutee
par les moullahs musulmans, et meme par
beaucoup de
laiques, qui rougissent veritablement d'une
pareille
licence de leur compatriote a 1'egard des choses
spirituelles."
I must say that I, for one, never wholly believed in the Mysticism
of
Hafiz. It does not appear there was any danger in holding and
singing
Sufi Pantheism, so long as the Poet made his Salaam to Mohammed
at the
beginning and end of his Song. Under such conditions
Jelaluddin,
Jami, Attar, and others sang; using Wine and Beauty indeed
as Images
to illustrate, not as a Mask to hide, the Divinity they
were
celebrating. Perhaps some Allegory less liable to mistake or
abuse
had been better among so inflammable a People: much more so when,
as
some think with Hafiz and Omar, the abstract is not only
likened to,
but identified with, the sensual Image; hazardous, if not
to the
Devotee himself, yet to his weaker Brethren; and worse for the
Profane
in proportion as the Devotion of the Initiated grew
warmer. And all
for what? To be tantalized with Images of sensual enjoyment
which
must be renounced if one would approximate a God, who according
to the
Doctrine, is Sensual Matter as well as Spirit,
and into whose Universe
one expects unconsciously to merge after Death,
without hope of any
posthumous Beatitude in another world to compensate
for all one's self-
denial in this. Lucretius' blind Divinity certainly
merited, and
probably got, as much self-sacrifice as this of the Sufi; and the
burden of
Omar's Song--if not "Let us eat"--is assuredly--"Let us
drink, for
To-morrow we die!" And if Hafiz meant quite otherwise by
a
similar language, he surely miscalculated when he devoted his Life
and
Genius to so equivocal a Psalmody as, from his Day to this, has
been
said and sung by any rather than spiritual
Worshippers.
However, as there is some traditional presumption, and certainly
the
opinion of some learned men, in favour of Omar's being a
Sufi--and
even something of a Saint--those who please may so interpret
his Wine
and Cup-bearer. On the other hand, as there is far more
historical
certainty of his being a
Philosopher, of scientific Insight and
Ability far beyond that of the
Age and Country he lived in; of such
moderate worldly Ambition as
becomes a Philosopher, and such moderate
wants as rarely satisfy a
Debauchee; other readers may be content to
believe with me that, while
the Wine Omar celebrates is simply the
Juice of the Grape, he bragg'd
more than he drank of it, in very
defiance perhaps of that Spiritual
Wine which left its Votaries sunk
in Hypocrisy or Disgust.
Edward J. Fitzgerald
First Edition
I.
Awake! for Morning in the Bowl of Night
Has flung the
Stone that puts the Stars to Flight:
And Lo! the
Hunter of the East has caught
The Sultan's Turret in a Noose of
Light.
II.
Dreaming when Dawn's Left Hand was in the Sky
I heard a
Voice within the Tavern cry,
"Awake, my
Little ones, and fill the Cup
Before Life's Liquor in its Cup be
dry."
III.
And, as the Cock crew, those who stood before
The Tavern
shouted--"Open then the Door.
You know how
little while we have to stay,
And, once departed, may return no
more."
IV.
Now the New Year reviving old Desires,
The thoughtful
Soul to
Solitude retires,
Where the WHITE HAND OF MOSES on
the Bough
Puts out, and Jesus from the Ground suspires.
V.
Iram indeed is gone with all its Rose,
And Jamshyd's Sev'n-ring'd
Cup where no one knows;
But still the Vine her
ancient Ruby yields,
And still a Garden by the Water blows.
VI.
And David's Lips are lock't; but in divine
High piping Pelevi, with
"Wine! Wine! Wine!
Red Wine!"--the Nightingale cries
to the Rose
That yellow Cheek of hers to'incarnadine.
VII.
Come, fill the Cup, and in the Fire of Spring
The Winter Garment of
Repentance fling:
The Bird of Time has but a little
way
To fly--and Lo! the Bird is on the Wing.
VIII.
And look--a thousand Blossoms with the Day
Woke--and a thousand
scatter'd into Clay:
And this first Summer Month that
brings the Rose
Shall take Jamshyd and Kaikobad away.
IX.
But come with old Khayyam, and leave the Lot
Of Kaikobad and
Kaikhosru forgot:
Let Rustum lay about him as he
will,
Or Hatim Tai cry Supper--heed them not.
X.
With me along some Strip of Herbage strown
That just divides the
desert from the sown,
Where name of Slave and Sultan
scarce is known,
And pity
Sultan Mahmud on his Throne.
XI.
Here with a Loaf of Bread beneath the Bough,
A Flask of Wine, a Book
of Verse--and Thou
Beside me singing in the
Wilderness--
And Wilderness is Paradise enow.
XII.
"How sweet is mortal Sovranty!"--think some:
Others--"How blest the
Paradise to come!"
Ah, take the Cash in hand and
waive the Rest;
Oh, the brave Music of a distant Drum!
XIII.
Look to the Rose that blows about us--"Lo,
Laughing," she says,
"into the World I blow:
At once the silken Tassel of
my Purse
Tear, and its Treasure on the Garden throw."
XIV.
The Worldly Hope men set their Hearts upon
Turns Ashes--or it
prospers; and anon,
Like Snow upon the Desert's dusty
Face
Lighting a little Hour or two--is gone.
XV.
And those who husbanded the Golden Grain,
And those who flung it to
the Winds like Rain,
Alike to no such aureate Earth
are turn'd
As, buried once, Men want dug up again.
XVI.
Think, in this batter'd Caravanserai
Whose Doorways
are alternate Night and Day,
How Sultan after Sultan
with his Pomp
Abode his Hour or two, and went his way.
XVII.
They say the Lion and the Lizard keep
The Courts where Jamshyd
gloried and drank deep:
And Bahram, that great
Hunter--the Wild Ass
Stamps o'er his Head, and he lies fast asleep.
XVIII.
I sometimes think that never blows so red
The Rose as where some
buried Caesar bled;
That every Hyacinth the Garden
wears
Dropt in its Lap from some once lovely Head.
XIX.
And this delightful Herb whose tender Green
Fledges the River's Lip
on which we lean--
Ah, lean upon it lightly! for who
knows
From what once lovely Lip it springs
unseen!
XX.
Ah! my Beloved, fill the Cup that clears
TO-DAY of past Regrets and
future Fears-
To-morrow?--Why, To-morrow I may
be
Myself with Yesterday's Sev'n Thousand Years.
XXI.
Lo! some we loved, the loveliest and the best
That Time and Fate of
all their Vintage prest,
Have drunk their Cup a Round
or two before,
And one by one crept silently to Rest.
XXII.
And we, that now make merry in the Room
They left, and Summer
dresses in new Bloom,
Ourselves
must we beneath the Couch of Earth
Descend, ourselves
to make a Couch--for whom?
XXIII.
Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend,
Before we too into the
Dust Descend;
Dust into Dust, and under Dust, to
lie,
Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer and--sans End!
XXIV.
Alike for those who for TO-DAY prepare,
And those that after a
TO-MORROW stare,
A Muezzin from the Tower of Darkness
cries
"Fools! your Reward is neither Here nor There."
XXV.
Why, all the Saints and Sages who
discuss'd
Of the Two Worlds so learnedly, are
thrust
Like foolish Prophets forth; their Words to
Scorn
Are scatter'd, and their Mouths are stopt with Dust.
XXVI.
Oh, come with old Khayyam, and leave the Wise
To talk; one thing is certain, that Life
flies;
One thing is certain, and the Rest is
Lies;
The Flower that once has blown for ever dies.
XXVII.
Myself when young did eagerly frequent
Doctor and
Saint, and heard great Argument
About it and
about: but evermore
Came out by the same Door as in I went.
XXVIII.
With them the Seed of Wisdom did I sow,
And with my own hand labour'd it to
grow:
And this was all the Harvest
that I reap'd--
"I came like Water, and like Wind I go."
XXIX.
Into this Universe, and why not knowing,
Nor whence, like Water willy-nilly
flowing:
And out of it, as Wind along the Waste,
I
know
not whither, willy-nilly blowing.
XXX.
What, without asking, hither hurried whence?
And, without asking,
whither hurried hence!
Another and another Cup to
drown
The Memory of this Impertinence!
XXXI.
Up from Earth's Centre through the seventh Gate
I rose, and on the
Throne of Saturn sate,
And many Knots unravel'd by
the Road;
But not the Knot of Human Death and Fate.
XXXII.
There was a Door to which I found no Key:
There was a Veil past
which I could not see:
Some little Talk awhile of ME
and THEE
There seemed--and then no more of THEE and ME.
XXXIII.
Then to the rolling Heav'n itself I cried,
Asking, "What Lamp had
Destiny to guide
Her little Children stumbling in the
Dark?"
And--"A blind understanding!" Heav'n replied.
XXXIV.
Then to this earthen Bowl did I adjourn
My Lip the secret Well of
Life to learn:
And Lip to Lip it murmur'd--"While you
live,
Drink!--for once dead you never shall return."
XXXV.
I think the Vessel, that with fugitive
Articulation
answer'd, once did live,
And merry-make; and the cold
Lip I kiss'd
How many Kisses might it take--and give.
XXXVI.
For in the Market-place, one Dusk of Day,
I watch'd the Potter
thumping his wet Clay:
And with its all obliterated
Tongue
It murmur'd--"Gently, Brother, gently, pray!"
XXXVII.
Ah, fill the Cup:--what boots it to repeat
How Time is slipping
underneath our Feet:
Unborn TO-MORROW and dead
YESTERDAY,
Why fret about them if TO-DAY be sweet!
XXXVIII.
One Moment in Annihilation's Waste,
One moment, of the Well of Life
to taste--
The Stars are setting, and the
Caravan
Starts for the dawn of Nothing--Oh, make haste!
XXXIX.
How long, how long, in infinite Pursuit
Of This and That endeavour
and dispute?
Better be merry with the fruitful
Grape
Than sadden after none, or bitter,
Fruit.
XL.
You know, my Friends, how long since in my House
For a
new Marriage I did make Carouse:
Divorced old barren
Reason from my Bed,
And took the Daughter of the Vine to Spouse.
XLI.
For "IS" and "IS-NOT" though with Rule and Line,
And, "UP-AND-DOWN"
without, I could define,
I yet in all I only cared to
know,
Was never deep in anything but--Wine.
XLII.
And lately, by the Tavern Door agape,
Came stealing through the Dusk
an Angel Shape,
Bearing a vessel on his Shoulder;
and
He bid me taste of it; and 'twas--the Grape!
XLIII.
The Grape that can with Logic absolute
The Two-and-Seventy jarring Sects
confute:
The subtle Alchemist that in a
Trice
Life's leaden Metal into Gold transmute.
XLIV.
The mighty Mahmud, the victorious Lord,
That all the misbelieving
and black Horde
Of Fears and
Sorrows
that infest the Soul
Scatters and slays with his enchanted Sword.
XLV.
But leave the Wise to wrangle, and with me
The Quarrel of the
Universe let be:
And, in some corner of the Hubbub
coucht,
Make Game of that which makes as much of Thee.
XLVI.
For in and out, above, about, below,
'Tis nothing but a Magic
Shadow-show,
Play'd in a Box whose Candle is the
Sun,
Round which we Phantom Figures come and go.
XLVII.
And if the Wine you drink, the Lip you press,
End in the Nothing all
Things end in--Yes-
Then fancy while Thou art, Thou
art but what
Thou shalt be--Nothing--Thou shalt not be less.
XLVIII.
While the Rose blows along the River Brink,
With old Khayyam the
Ruby Vintage drink:
And when the Angel with his
darker Draught
Draws up to thee--take that, and do not shrink.
XLVIX.
'Tis all a Chequer-board of Nights and Days
Where Destiny with Men
for Pieces plays:
Hither and thither moves, and
mates, and slays,
And one by one back in the Closet lays.
L.
The Ball no Question makes of Ayes and Noes,
But Right or Left as
strikes the Player goes;
And He that toss'd Thee down
into the Field,
He knows about it all--HE knows--HE knows!
LI.
The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy
Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel
half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.
LII.
And that inverted Bowl we call The Sky,
Whereunder crawling coop't
we live and die,
Lift not thy hands to IT for
help--for It
Rolls impotently on as Thou or I.
LIII.
With Earth's first Clay They did the Last Man's knead,
And then of
the Last Harvest sow'd the Seed:
Yea, the first
Morning of Creation wrote
What the Last Dawn of Reckoning shall
read.
LIV.
I tell Thee this--When, starting from the Goal,
Over the shoulders of the flaming
Foal
Of Heav'n Parwin and Mushtari they flung,
In
my predestin'd Plot of Dust and Soul
LV.
The Vine had struck a Fibre; which about
It clings my Being--let the
Sufi flout;
Of my Base Metal may be filed a
Key,
That shall unlock the Door he howls without.
LVI.
And this I know: whether the one True
Light,
Kindle to Love, or Wrath consume me
quite,
One Glimpse of It within the Tavern
caught
Better than in the Temple lost outright.
LVII.
Oh Thou who didst with Pitfall and with Gin
Beset the Road I was to
wander in,
Thou wilt not with Predestination
round
Enmesh me, and impute my Fall to Sin?
LVIII.
Oh Thou, who Man of baser Earth didst make,
And who with Eden didst
devise the Snake;
For all the Sin wherewith the Face
of Man
Is blacken'd, Man's Forgiveness give--and take!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
KUZA--NAMA. ("Book of Pots")
LIX.
Listen again. One Evening at the Close
Of Ramazan, ere the better
Moon arose,
In that old Potter's Shop I stood alone
With the clay Population round in Rows.
LX.
And strange to tell, among that Earthen Lot
Some could articulate,
while others not:
And suddenly one more impatient
cried--
"Who is the Potter, pray, and who the Pot?"
LXI.
Then said another--"Surely not in vain
My substance from the common
Earth was ta'en,
That He who subtly wrought me into
Shape
Should stamp me back to common Earth again."
LXII.
Another said--"Why, ne'er a peevish Boy
Would break the Bowl from
which he drank in Joy;
Shall He that made the Vessel
in pure Love
And Fansy, in an after Rage destroy!"
LXIII.
None answer'd this; but after Silence spake
A Vessel of a more
ungainly Make:
"They sneer at me for leaning all
awry;
What? did the Hand then of the Potter shake?"
LXIV.
Said one--"Folks of a surly Tapster tell,
And daub his Visage with
the Smoke of Hell;
They talk of some strict Testing
of us--Pish!
He's a Good Fellow, and 'twill all be well."
LXV.
Then said another with a long-drawn Sigh,
"My Clay with long
oblivion is gone dry:
But, fill me with the old
familiar Juice,
Methinks I might recover by-and-bye!"
LXVI.
So, while the Vessels one by one were speaking,
One spied the little
Crescent all were seeking:
And then they jogg'd each
other, "Brother! Brother!
Hark to
the Porter's Shoulder-knot a-creaking!"
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
LXVII.
Ah, with the Grape my fading Life provide,
And wash my Body whence
the life has died,
And in a Windingsheet of Vineleaf
wrapt,
So bury me by some sweet Gardenside.
LXVIII.
That ev'n my buried Ashes such a Snare
Of Perfume shall fling up
into the Air,
As not a True
Believer passing by
But shall be overtaken unaware.
LXIX.
Indeed, the Idols I have loved so long
Have done my Credit in Men's
Eye much wrong:
Have drown'd my Honour in a shallow
Cup,
And sold my Reputation for a Song.
LXX.
Indeed, indeed, Repentance oft before
I swore--but was I sober when
I swore?
And then and then came Spring, and
Rose-in-hand
My thread-bare Penitence a-pieces tore.
LXXI.
And much as Wine has play'd the Infidel,
And robb'd me of my Robe of
Honour--well,
I often wonder what the Vintners
buy
One half so precious as the Goods they sell.
LXXII.
Alas, that Spring should vanish with the Rose!
That Youth's
sweet-scented Manuscript should close!
The
Nightingale that in the Branches sang,
Ah, whence, and whither flown
again, who knows!
LXXIII.
Ah, Love! could thou and I with Fate conspire
To grasp this sorry
Scheme of Things entire,
Would not we shatter it to
bits--and then
Re-mould it nearer to the Heart's Desire!
LXXIV.
Ah, Moon of my Delight who know'st no wane,
The Moon of Heav'n is
rising once again:
How oft hereafter rising shall she
look
Through this same Garden after me--in vain!
LXXV.
And when Thyself with shining Foot shall pass
Among the Guests
Star-scatter'd on The Grass,
And in Thy joyous
Errand reach the Spot
Where I made one--turn down an empty Glass!
TAMAM SHUD.
Fifth Edition
I.
WAKE! For the Sun, who scatter'd into flight
The Stars before him
from the Field of Night,
Drives Night along with them
from Heav'n, and strikes
The Sultan's Turret with a Shaft of Light.
II.
Before the phantom of False morning died,
Methought
a Voice within the Tavern cried,
"When all the Temple
is prepared within,
"Why nods the drowsy Worshiper outside?"
III.
And, as the Cock crew, those who stood before
The Tavern
shouted--"Open then the Door!
"You know how
little while we have to stay,
And, once departed, may return no
more."
IV.
Now the New Year reviving old Desires,
The thoughtful
Soul to
Solitude retires,
Where the WHITE HAND OF MOSES on
the Bough
Puts out, and Jesus from the Ground suspires.
V.
Iram indeed is gone with all his Rose,
And Jamshyd's Sev'n-ring'd
Cup where no one knows;
But still a Ruby kindles in
the Vine,
And many a Garden by the Water blows.
VI.
And David's lips are lockt; but in divine
High-piping Pehlevi, with
"Wine! Wine! Wine!
"Red Wine!"--the Nightingale cries
to the Rose
That sallow cheek of hers to' incarnadine.
VII.
Come, fill the Cup, and in the fire of Spring
Your Winter garment of
Repentance fling:
The Bird of Time has but a little
way
To flutter--and the Bird is on the Wing.
VIII.
Whether at Naishapur or Babylon,
Whether the Cup with sweet or bitter
run,
The Wine of Life keeps oozing drop by
drop,
The Leaves of Life keep falling one by one.
IX.
Each Morn a thousand Roses brings, you say:
Yes, but where leaves
the Rose of Yesterday?
And this first Summer month
that brings the Rose
Shall take Jamshyd and Kaikobad away.
X.
Well, let it take them! What have we to do
With Kaikobad the Great,
or Kaikhosru?
Let Zal and Rustum bluster as they
will,
Or Hatim call to Supper--heed not you.
XI.
With me along the strip of Herbage strown
That just divides the
desert from the sown,
Where name of Slave and Sultan
is forgot--
And Peace to Mahmud on his golden Throne!
XII.
A Book of Verses underneath the Bough,
A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of
Bread--and Thou
Beside me singing in the
Wilderness--
Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!
XIII.
Some for the Glories of This World; and some
Sigh for the Prophet's
Paradise to come;
Ah, take the Cash, and let the
Credit go,
Nor heed the rumble of a distant Drum!
XIV.
Look to the blowing Rose about us--"Lo,
Laughing," she says, "into
the world I blow,
At once the silken tassel of my
Purse
Tear, and its Treasure on the Garden throw."
XV.
And those who husbanded the Golden grain,
And those who flung it to
the winds like Rain,
Alike to no such aureate Earth
are turn'd
As, buried once, Men want dug up again.
XVI.
The Worldly Hope men set their Hearts upon
Turns Ashes--or it
prospers; and anon,
Like Snow upon the Desert's dusty
Face,
Lighting a little hour or two--is gone.
XVII.
Think, in this batter'd Caravanserai
Whose Portals
are alternate Night and Day,
How Sultan after Sultan
with his Pomp
Abode his destined Hour, and went his way.
XVIII.
They say the Lion and the Lizard keep
The courts where Jamshyd
gloried and drank deep:
And Bahram, that great
Hunter--the Wild Ass
Stamps o'er his Head, but cannot break his
Sleep.
XIX.
I sometimes think that never blows so red
The Rose as where some
buried Caesar bled;
That every Hyacinth the Garden
wears
Dropt in her Lap from some once lovely Head.
XX.
And this reviving Herb whose tender Green
Fledges the River-Lip on
which we lean--
Ah, lean upon it lightly! for who knows
From what once lovely Lip it springs
unseen!
XXI.
Ah, my Beloved, fill the Cup that clears
TO-DAY of past Regrets and
future Fears:
To-morrow--Why, To-morrow I
may be
Myself with Yesterday's Sev'n thousand Years.
XXII.
For some we loved, the loveliest and the best
That from his Vintage
rolling Time hath prest,
Have drunk their Cup a Round
or two before,
And one by one crept silently to rest.
XXIII.
And we, that now make merry in the Room
They left, and Summer
dresses in new bloom,
Ourselves
must we beneath the Couch of Earth
Descend--ourselves to make a
Couch--for whom?
XXIV.
Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend,
Before we too into the
Dust descend;
Dust into Dust, and under Dust to
lie,
Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and--sans End!
XXV.
Alike for those who for TO-DAY prepare,
And those that after some
TO-MORROW stare,
A Muezzin from the Tower of Darkness
cries,
"Fools! your Reward is neither Here nor There."
XXVI.
Why, all the Saints and Sages who
discuss'd
Of the Two Worlds so wisely--they are
thrust
Like foolish Prophets forth; their Words to
Scorn
Are scatter'd, and their Mouths are stopt with Dust.
XXVII.
Myself when young did eagerly frequent
Doctor and
Saint, and heard great argument
About it and
about: but evermore
Came out by the same door where in I went.
XXVIII.
With them the seed of Wisdom did I sow,
And with mine own hand wrought to
make it grow;
And this was all the Harvest
that I reap'd--
"I came like Water, and like Wind I go."
XXIX.
Into this Universe, and Why not knowing
Nor Whence, like Water willy-nilly
flowing;
And out of it, as Wind along the Waste,
I
know
not Whither, willy-nilly blowing.
XXX.
What, without asking, hither hurried Whence?
And, without asking,
Whither hurried hence!
Oh, many a Cup of this
forbidden Wine
Must drown the memory of
that insolence!
XXXI.
Up from Earth's Center through the Seventh Gate
I rose, and on the
Throne of Saturn sate,
And many a Knot unravel'd by
the Road;
But not the Master-knot of Human Fate.
XXXII.
There was the Door to which I found no Key;
There was the Veil
through which I might not see:
Some little talk awhile of ME
and THEE
There was--and then no more of THEE and ME.
XXXIII.
Earth could not answer; nor the Seas that mourn
In flowing Purple,
of their Lord Forlorn;
Nor rolling Heaven, with all
his Signs reveal'd
And hidden by the sleeve of Night and Morn.
XXXIV.
Then of the THEE IN ME who works behind
The Veil, I lifted up my
hands to find
A lamp amid the Darkness; and I heard,
As from Without--"THE ME WITHIN THEE
BLIND!"
XXXV.
Then to the Lip of this poor earthen Urn
I lean'd, the Secret of my
Life to learn:
And Lip to Lip it murmur'd--"While you
live,
"Drink!--for, once dead, you never shall return."
XXXVI.
I think the Vessel, that with fugitive
Articulation
answer'd, once did live,
And drink; and Ah! the passive
Lip I kiss'd,
How many Kisses might it take--and give!
XXXVII.
For I remember stopping by the way
To watch a Potter
thumping his wet Clay:
And with its all-obliterated
Tongue
It murmur'd--"Gently, Brother, gently, pray!"
XXXVIII.
And has not such a Story from of Old
Down Man's successive
generations roll'd
Of such a clod of saturated
Earth
Cast by the Maker into Human mold?
XXXIX.
And not a drop that from our Cups we throw
For Earth to drink of,
but may steal below
To quench the fire of Anguish in
some Eye
There hidden--far beneath, and long ago.
XL.
As then the Tulip for her morning sup
Of Heav'nly Vintage from the
soil looks up,
Do you devoutly do the like, till
Heav'n
To Earth invert you--like an empty Cup.
XLI.
Perplext no more with Human or Divine,
To-morrow's tangle to the
winds resign,
And lose your fingers in the tresses
of
The Cypress-slender Minister of Wine.
XLII.
And if the Wine you drink, the Lip you press,
End in what All begins
and ends in--Yes;
Think then
you are TO-DAY what YESTERDAY
You were--TO-MORROW you shall not be
less.
XLIII.
So when that Angel of the darker Drink
At last shall find you by the
river-brink,
And, offering his Cup, invite your Soul
Forth to your Lips to quaff--you shall not
shrink.
XLIV.
Why, if the Soul can fling the Dust aside,
And naked on the Air
of Heaven ride,
Were't not a Shame--were't not a
Shame for him
In this clay carcass crippled to abide?
XLV.
'Tis but a Tent where takes his one day's rest
A
Sultan to the realm of Death addrest;
The Sultan
rises, and the dark Ferrash
Strikes, and prepares it for another
Guest.
XLVI.
And fear not lest Existence
closing your
Account, and mine, should know the
like no more;
The Eternal Saki from that Bowl has
pour'd
Millions of Bubbles like us, and will pour.
XLVII.
When You and I behind the Veil are past,
Oh, but the long, long
while the World shall last,
Which of our Coming and
Departure heeds
As the Sea's self
should heed a pebble-cast.
XLVIII.
A Moment's Halt--a momentary taste
Of BEING from the Well amid the
Waste--
And Lo!--the phantom Caravan has
reach'd
The NOTHING it set out from--Oh, make haste!
XLIX.
Would you that spangle of Existence
spend
About THE SECRET--quick about it, Friend!
A
Hair perhaps divides the False from True--
And upon what, prithee, may
life depend?
L.
A Hair perhaps divides the False and True;
Yes; and a single Alif were the
clue--
Could you but find it--to the
Treasure-house,
And peradventure to THE MASTER too;
LI.
Whose secret Presence through Creation's veins
Running
Quicksilver-like eludes your pains;
Taking all shapes from Mah
to Mahi and
They change and perish all--but He remains;
LII.
A moment guessed--then back behind the Fold
Immerst of Darkness
round the Drama roll'd
Which, for the Pastime of
Eternity,
He doth Himself contrive, enact, behold.
LIII.
But if in vain, down on the stubborn floor
Of Earth, and up to
Heav'n's unopening Door,
You gaze TO-DAY, while You
are You--how then
TO-MORROW, when You shall be You no more?
LIV.
Waste not your Hour, nor in the vain pursuit
Of This and That
endeavor and dispute;
Better be jocund with the
fruitful Grape
Than sadden after none, or bitter,
Fruit.
LV.
You know, my Friends, with what a brave Carouse
I made a
Second Marriage in my house;
Divorced old barren
Reason from my Bed,
And took the Daughter of the Vine to Spouse.
LVI.
For "Is" and "Is-not" though with Rule and Line
And "UP-AND-DOWN" by
Logic I define,
Of all that one should care to
fathom, I
was never deep in anything but--Wine.
LVII.
Ah, by my Computations, People say,
Reduce the Year to better
reckoning?--Nay,
'Twas only striking from the
Calendar
Unborn To-morrow and dead Yesterday.
LVIII.
And lately, by the Tavern Door agape,
Came shining through the Dusk
an Angel Shape
Bearing a Vessel on his Shoulder;
and
He bid me taste of it; and 'twas--the Grape!
LIX.
The Grape that can with Logic absolute
The Two-and-Seventy jarring Sects
confute:
The sovereign Alchemist that in a
trice
Life's leaden metal into Gold transmute;
LX.
The mighty Mahmud, Allah-breathing Lord,
That all the misbelieving
and black Horde
Of Fears and
Sorrows
that infest the Soul
Scatters before him with his whirlwind
Sword.
LXI.
Why, be this Juice the growth of God, who dare
Blaspheme the twisted tendril
as a Snare?
A Blessing, we should use it, should we
not?
And if a Curse--why, then, Who set it there?
LXII.
I must abjure the Balm of Life, I must,
Scared by some
After-reckoning ta'en on trust,
Or lured with Hope of
some Diviner Drink,
To fill the Cup--when crumbled into Dust!
LXIII.
Of threats of Hell and Hopes of Paradise!
One thing at least is
certain--This Life flies;
One thing is certain and
the rest is Lies;
The Flower that once has blown for ever
dies.
LXIV.
Strange, is it not? that of the myriads who
Before us pass'd the
door of Darkness through,
Not one returns to tell us
of the Road,
Which to discover we must travel too.
LXV.
The Revelations of Devout and Learn'd
Who rose before us, and as
Prophets burn'd,
Are all but Stories, which, awoke
from Sleep
They told their comrades, and to Sleep return'd.
LXVI.
I sent my Soul through the Invisible,
Some letter of that
After-life to spell:
And by and by my Soul
return'd to me,
And answer'd "I Myself am
Heav'n and Hell:"
LXVII.
Heav'n but the Vision of fulfill'd Desire,
And Hell the Shadow from a Soul on
fire,
Cast on the Darkness into which Ourselves,
So late emerged from, shall so soon
expire.
LXVIII.
We are no other than a moving row
Of Magic Shadow-shapes that come
and go
Round with the Sun-illumined Lantern
held
In Midnight by the Master of the Show;
LXIX.
But helpless Pieces of the Game He plays
Upon this Chequer-board of
Nights and Days;
Hither and thither moves, and
checks, and slays,
And one by one back in the Closet lays.
LXX.
The Ball no question makes of Ayes and Noes,
But Here or There as
strikes the Player goes;
And He that toss'd you down
into the Field,
He knows about it all--HE knows--HE knows!
LXXI.
The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all your
Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel
half a Line,
Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it.
LXXII.
And that inverted Bowl they call the Sky,
Whereunder crawling coop'd
we live and die,
Lift not your hands to It for
help--for It
As impotently moves as you or I.
LXXIII.
With Earth's first Clay They did the Last Man knead,
And there of
the Last Harvest sow'd the Seed:
And the first
Morning of Creation wrote
What the Last Dawn of Reckoning shall
read.
LXXIV.
YESTERDAY This Day's Madness did prepare;
TO-MORROW's Silence,
Triumph, or Despair:
Drink! for you not know
whence you came, nor why:
Drink! for you know not
why you go, nor where.
LXXV.
I tell you this--When, started from the Goal,
Over the flaming shoulders of the
Foal
Of Heav'n Parwin and Mushtari they flung,
In
my predestined Plot of Dust and Soul.
LXXVI.
The Vine had struck a fiber: which about
It clings my Being--let the
Dervish flout;
Of my Base metal may be filed a
Key
That shall unlock the Door he howls without.
LXXVII.
And this I know: whether the one True
Light
Kindle to Love, or Wrath consume me
quite,
One Flash of It within the Tavern
caught
Better than in the Temple lost outright.
LXXVIII.
What! out of senseless Nothing to provoke
A conscious
Something to resent the yoke
Of unpermitted Pleasure,
under pain
Of Everlasting Penalties, if broke!
LXXIX.
What! from his helpless Creature be repaid
Pure Gold for what he
lent him dross-allay'd--
Sue for a Debt he never did
contract,
And cannot answer--Oh the sorry
trade!
LXXX.
Oh Thou, who didst with pitfall and with gin
Beset the Road I was to
wander in,
Thou wilt not with Predestined Evil
round
Enmesh, and then impute my Fall to Sin!
LXXXI.
Oh Thou, who Man of baser Earth didst make,
And ev'n with Paradise
devise the Snake:
For all the Sin wherewith the Face
of Man
Is blacken'd--Man's forgiveness give--and take!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
LXXXII.
As under cover of departing Day
Slunk hunger-stricken Ramazan
away,
Once more within the Potter's house alone
I
stood, surrounded by the Shapes of Clay.
LXXXIII.
Shapes of all Sorts and Sizes, great and small,
That stood along the
floor and by the wall;
And some loquacious Vessels
were; and some
Listen'd perhaps, but never talk'd at all.
LXXXIV.
Said one among them--"Surely not in vain
My substance of the common
Earth was ta'en
And to this Figure molded, to be
broke,
Or trampled back to shapeless Earth again."
LXXXV.
Then said a Second--"Ne'er a peevish Boy
Would break the Bowl from
which he drank in joy;
And He that with his hand the
Vessel made
Will surely not in after Wrath destroy."
LXXXVI.
After a momentary silence spake
Some Vessel of a more ungainly
Make;
"They sneer at me for leaning all
awry:
What! did the Hand then of the Potter shake?"
LXXXVII.
Whereat some one of the loquacious Lot--
I think a
Sufi pipkin--waxing hot--
"All this of Pot and
Potter--Tell me then,
Who is the Potter, pray, and who the Pot?"
LXXXVIII.
"Why," said another, "Some there are who tell
Of one who threatens
he will toss to Hell
The luckless Pots he marr'd in
making--Pish!
He's a Good Fellow, and 'twill all be well."
LXXXIX.
"Well," murmured one, "Let whoso make or buy,
My Clay with long
Oblivion is gone dry:
But fill me with the old
familiar Juice,
Methinks I might recover by and by."
XC.
So while the Vessels one by one were speaking,
The little Moon
look'd in that all were seeking:
And then they jogg'd
each other, "Brother! Brother!
Now for the Porter's shoulders' knot
a-creaking!"
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
XCI.
Ah, with the Grape my fading life provide,
And wash the Body whence
the Life has died,
And lay me, shrouded in the living
Leaf,
By some not unfrequented Garden-side.
XCII.
That ev'n buried Ashes such a snare
Of Vintage shall fling up into
the Air
As not a True-believer passing by
But
shall be overtaken unaware.
XCIII.
Indeed the Idols I have loved so long
Have done my credit in this
World much wrong:
Have drown'd my Glory in a shallow
Cup,
And sold my reputation for a Song.
XCIV.
Indeed, indeed, Repentance oft before
I swore--but was I sober when
I swore?
And then and then came Spring, and
Rose-in-hand
My thread-bare Penitence apieces tore.
XCV.
And much as Wine has play'd the Infidel,
And robb'd me of my Robe of
Honor--Well,
I wonder often what the Vintners
buy
One half so precious as the stuff they sell.
XCVI.
Yet Ah, that Spring should vanish with the Rose!
That Youth's
sweet-scented manuscript should close!
The
Nightingale that in the branches sang,
Ah whence, and whither flown
again, who knows!
XCVII.
Would but the Desert of the Fountain yield
One glimpse--if dimly,
yet indeed, reveal'd,
To which the fainting Traveler
might spring,
As springs the trampled herbage of the field!
XCVIII.
Would but some winged Angel ere too late
Arrest the yet unfolded
Roll of Fate,
And make the stern Recorder
otherwise
Enregister, or quite obliterate!
XCIX.
Ah Love! could you and I with Him conspire
To grasp this sorry
Scheme of Things entire,
Would not we shatter it to
bits--and then
Re-mold it nearer to the Heart's Desire!
C.
Yon rising Moon that looks for us again--
How oft hereafter will she
wax and wane;
How oft hereafter rising look for
us
Through this same Garden--and for one in vain!
CI.
And when like her, oh Saki, you shall pass
Among the Guests
Star-scatter'd on the Grass,
And in your joyous
errand reach the spot
Where I made One--turn down an empty Glass!
TAMAM.
Notes
[The references are, except in the first note only, to the stanzas
of
the Fifth edition.]
(Stanza I.) Flinging a Stone into the Cup was the signal for
"To
Horse!" in the Desert.
(II.) The "False Dawn"; Subhi Kazib, a transient Light on the
Horizon
about an hour before the Subhi sadik or True
Dawn; a well-known
Phenomenon in the East.
(IV.) New Year. Beginning with the Vernal Equinox, it must be
remembered; and (howsoever the old Solar Year is
practically
superseded by the clumsy Lunar Year that dates from the
Mohammedan
Hijra) still commemorated by a Festival that is said to have
been
appointed by the very Jamshyd whom Omar so often talks of, and
whose
yearly Calendar he helped to
rectify.
"The sudden approach and rapid advance of the Spring," says
Mr.
Binning, "are very striking. Before the Snow is well off the
Ground,
the Trees burst into Blossom, and the Flowers start from the
Soil. At
Naw Rooz (their New Year's Day) the Snow was lying in patches
on the
Hills and in the shaded Vallies, while the Fruit-trees in the
Garden
were budding beautifully, and green Plants and Flowers springing
upon
the Plains on every side--
'And on old Hyems' Chin and icy
Crown
An odorous Chaplet of sweet Summer
buds
Is, as in mockery, set--'--
Among the Plants newly appear'd I recognized some Acquaintances I
had
not seen for many a Year: among these, two varieties of the
Thistle; a
coarse species of the Daisy, like the Horse-gowan; red and
white
clover; the Dock; the blue Cornflower; and that vulgar Herb
the
Dandelion rearing its yellow crest on the Banks of the
Water-courses."
The Nightingale was not yet heard, for
the Rose was not yet blown: but
an almost identical Blackbird and
Woodpecker helped to make up
something of a North-country
Spring.
"The White Hand of Moses." Exodus iv. 6; where Moses draws
forth his
Hand--not, according to the Persians, "leprous as Snow," but
white, as
our May-blossom in Spring perhaps. According to them also the
Healing
Power of Jesus resided in his Breath.
(V.) Iram, planted by King Shaddad, and now sunk somewhere in
the
Sands of Arabia. Jamshyd's Seven-ring'd Cup was typical of the
7
Heavens, 7 Planets, 7 Seas, &c., and was a Divining Cup.
(VI.) Pehlevi, the old Heroic Sanskrit of Persia. Hafiz also
speaks
of the Nightingale's Pehlevi, which did not change with the
People's.
I am not sure
if the fourth line refers to the Red Rose looking
sickly, or to the
Yellow Rose that ought to be Red; Red, White, and
Yellow Roses all
common in Persia. I think that Southey in his Common-
Place Book, quotes
from some Spanish author about the Rose being
White
till 10 o'clock; "Rosa Perfecta" at 2; and "perfecta incarnada"
at 5.
(X.) Rustum, the "Hercules" of Persia, and Zal his Father,
whose
exploits are among the most celebrated in the Shahnama. Hatim
Tai, a
well-known type of Oriental Generosity.
(XIII.) A Drum--beaten outside a Palace.
(XIV.) That is, the Rose's Golden Centre.
(XVIII.) Persepolis: call'd also Takht-i-Jam-shyd--THE THRONE
OF
JAMSHYD, "King Splendid," of the mythical Peshdadian Dynasty,
and
supposed (according to the Shah-nama) to have been founded and
built
by him. Others refer it to the Work of the Genie King, Jan
Ibn
Jan--who also built the Pyramids--before the time of Adam.
BAHRAM GUR.--Bahram of the Wild Ass--a Sassanian Sovereign--had
also
his Seven Castles (like the King of Bohemia!) each of a
different
Colour: each with a Royal Mistress within; each of whom tells
him a
Story, as told in one of the most famous Poems of Persia, written
by
Amir Khusraw: all these Sevens also figuring (according to
Eastern
Mysticism) the Seven Heavens; and perhaps the Book itself that
Eighth,
into which the mystical Seven transcend, and within which they
revolve. The Ruins
of Three of those Towers are yet shown by the
Peasantry; as also the
Swamp in which Bahram sunk, like the Master of
Ravenswood, while
pursuing his Gur.
The Palace that to Heav'n his pillars
threw,
And Kings the forehead on his threshold
drew--
I saw the
solitary Ringdove there,
And "Coo, coo, coo," she cried;
and "Coo, coo, coo."
[Included in Nicolas's edition as No. 350 of the Rubaiyat, and also
in
Mr. Whinfield's translation.]
This Quatrain Mr. Binning found, among several of Hafiz and
others,
inscribed by some stray hand among the ruins of Persepolis.
The
Ringdove's ancient Pehlevi Coo, Coo, Coo, signifies also in
Persian
"Where? Where? Where?" In Attar's "Bird-parliament"
she is reproved
by the Leader of the Birds for sitting still, and for
ever harping on
that one note of lamentation for her lost Yusuf.
Apropos of Omar's Red Roses in Stanza xix, I am reminded
of an old
English Superstition, that our Anemone Pulsatilla, or purple
"Pasque
Flower," (which grows
plentifully about the Fleam Dyke, near
Cambridge,) grows only
where Danish Blood has been spilt.
(XXI.) A thousand years to each Planet.
(XXXI.) Saturn, Lord of the Seventh Heaven.
(XXXII.) ME-AND-THEE: some dividual Existence
or Personality distinct
from the Whole.
(XXXVII.) One of the Persian Poets--Attar, I think--has a pretty
story
about this. A thirsty Traveller dips his hand into a Spring of
Water
to drink from. By-and-by comes another who draws up and drinks
from
an earthen bowl, and then departs, leaving his Bowl behind him.
The
first Traveller takes it up for another draught; but is surprised
to
find that the same Water which had tasted
sweet from his own hand
tastes bitter
from the earthen Bowl. But a Voice--from Heaven, I
think--tells him the
clay from which the Bowl is made was once Man;
and, into whatever shape
renew'd, can never lose the bitter
flavour of
Mortality.
(XXXIX.) The custom of throwing a little Wine on the ground
before
drinking still continues in Persia, and perhaps generally in the
East.
Mons. Nicolas considers it "un signe de liberalite, et en meme
temps
un avertissement que le buveur doit vider sa coupe jusqu'a la
derniere
goutte." Is it not more likely an ancient
Superstition; a Libation to
propitiate Earth, or make her an Accomplice
in the illicit Revel? Or,
perhaps, to divert the Jealous
Eye by some sacrifice of superfluity,
as with the Ancients of the West?
With Omar we see something more is
signified; the precious Liquor
is not lost, but sinks into the ground
to refresh the dust of some poor
Wine-worshipper foregone.
Thus Hafiz, copying Omar in so many ways: "When thou drinkest
Wine
pour a draught on the ground. Wherefore fear the
Sin which brings to
another Gain?"
(XLIII.) According to one beautiful Oriental Legend,
Azrael
accomplishes his mission by holding to the nostril an Apple from
the
Tree of Life.
This, and the two following Stanzas would have been withdrawn,
as
somewhat de trop, from the Text, but for advice which I least like
to
disregard.
(LI.) From Mah to Mahi; from Fish to Moon.
(LVI.) A Jest, of course, at his Studies. A curious
mathematical
Quatrain of Omar's has been pointed out to me; the more
curious
because almost exactly parallel'd by some Verses of Doctor
Donne's,
that are quoted in Izaak Walton's Lives! Here is Omar: "You
and I are
the image of a pair of compasses; though we have two heads
(sc. our
feet) we have one body; when we have fixed the centre for our
circle,
we bring our heads (sc. feet) together at the
end." Dr. Donne:
If we be two, we two are
so
As stiff twin-compasses are
two;
Thy Soul, the fixt foot, makes no
show
To move, but does if the other
do.
And though thine in the centre
sit,
Yet when my other far does
roam,
Thine leans and hearkens
after it,
And rows erect as mine comes
home.
Such thou must be to me, who
must
Like the other foot obliquely
run;
Thy firmness makes my circle
just,
And me to end where I begun.
(LIX.) The Seventy-two Religions supposed to divide the
World,
including Islamism, as some think: but
others not.
(LX.) Alluding to Sultan Mahmud's Conquest of India and its
dark
people.
(LXVIII.) Fanusi khiyal, a Magic-lanthorn still used in India;
the
cylindrical Interior being
painted with various Figures, and so
lightly poised and ventilated as
to revolve round the lighted Candle
within.
(LXX.) A very mysterious Line in the Original:
O danad O danad O danad O--
breaking off something like our Wood-pigeon's Note, which she is
said
to take up just where she left off.
(LXXV.) Parwin and Mushtari--The Pleiads and Jupiter.
(LXXXVII.) This Relation of Pot and Potter to Man and his
Maker
figures far and wide in the Literature of the World, from the
time of
the Hebrew Prophets to the present; when it may finally take
the name
of "Pot theism," by which Mr. Carlyle ridiculed
Sterling's
"Pantheism." My Sheikh, whose knowledge
flows in from all quarters,
writes to me--
"Apropos of old Omar's Pots, did I ever tell you the sentence I
found
in 'Bishop Pearson on the Creed'? 'Thus are we wholly at the disposal
of His will, and our present and future condition
framed and ordered
by His free, but wise and
just, decrees. Hath not the potter power
over the clay, of the same
lump to make one vessel unto honour, and
another unto dishonour? (Rom.
ix. 21.) And can that earth-artificer
have a freer power
over his brother potsherd (both being made
of the
same metal), than God hath over him, who, by the strange
fecundity of
His omnipotent power, first made the clay out of nothing,
and then him
out of that?'"
And again--from a very different quarter--"I had to refer the
other
day to Aristophanes, and came by chance on a curious
Speaking-pot
story in the Vespae, which I had quite forgotten.
"The Pot calls a bystander to be a witness to his bad treatment.
The
woman says, 'If, by Proserpine, instead of all this
'testifying'
(comp. Cuddie and his mother in 'Old Mortality!') you
would buy
yourself a rivet, it would show more sense in
you!' The Scholiast
explains echinus as"
One more illustration for the oddity's sake from the "Autobiography
of
a Cornish Rector," by the late James Hamley Tregenna. 1871.
"There was one odd Fellow in our Company--he was so like a Figure
in
the 'Pilgrim's Progress' that Richard always called him
the
'ALLEGORY,' with a long white beard--a rare Appendage in
those
days--and a Face the colour of which seemed to have been baked
in,
like the Faces one used to see on
Earthenware Jugs. In our Country-
dialect Earthenware is called
'Clome'; so the Boys of the Village used
to shout out after him--'Go
back to the Potter, Old Clomeface, and get
baked over
again.' For the 'Allegory,' though shrewd enough in
most
things, had the reputation of being
'saift-baked,' i.e., of weak
intellect."
(XC.) At the Close of the Fasting Month, Ramazan (which makes
the
Mussulman unhealthy and unamiable), the first Glimpse of the New
Moon
(who rules their division of the Year) is looked for with the
utmost
Anxiety, and hailed with Acclamation. Then it is that the
Porter's
Knot maybe heard--toward the Cellar. Omar has elsewhere a
pretty
Quatrain about the same Moon--
"Be of Good Cheer--the sullen Month will
die,
And a young Moon requite us by and
by:
Look how the Old one meagre, bent, and
wan
With Age and Fast, is fainting from the Sky!"
The
End