THE FITZGERALD FIRST EDITION

«Oh Thou who burn'st in Heart for those who burnIn 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 CreedHave loosely strung the Jewel of Good Deed,Let this one thing for my Atonement plead:That One for Two I never did mis-read.»

The reviewer,[9]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 betterhopeas 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 Theatre) discolored with the luridreflex 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, onlydivertedhimself 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!

With regard to the present translation. The original Rubaiyat (as, missing an Arabic guttural, theseTetrastichsare more musically called) are independent stanzas, consisting each of four lines of equal, though varied, prosody; sometimesallrhyming, 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 endeavouring to unshackle his steps from destiny, and to catch some authentic glimpse ofTo-morrow, fell back uponTo-day(which has outlasted so manyTo-morrows!) as the only ground he had got to stand upon, however momentarily slipping from under his feet.

While the second Edition of this version of Omar was preparing, M. 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.

M. 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, etc., 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[10]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 M. Nicolas' if he could.[11]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.

And if more were needed to disprove M. 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. 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 M. Nicolas) in order to excite himself to that pitch of devotion which others reached by cries and «hurlemens.» And yet, whenever wine, wine-bearer, etc., occur in the text—which is often enough—M. Nicolas carefully annotates «Dieu,» «La Divinité,» etc.: so carefully indeed that one is tempted to think that he was indoctrinated by the Sufi with whom he read the Poems. A Persian would naturally wish to vindicate a distinguished countryman: and a Sufi to enrol him in his own sect, which already comprises all the chief poets in Persia.

What historical authority has M. Nicolas to show that Omar gave himself up «avec passion à l'étude de la philosophie des Soufis»? The doctrines of Pantheism, Materialism, Necessity, etc., 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 anda 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 M. 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 Divinité»—by some succeeding Mystic? M. Nicolas himself is puzzled by some «bizarres» and «trop Orientales» allusions and images—«d'une sensualité quelquefois révoltante» indeed—which «les convenances» do not permit him to translate; but still which the reader cannot but refer to «La Divinité».[12]No doubt also many of theQuatrains in the Teheran, as in the Calcutta, Copies, are spurious; suchRubaiyatbeing 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 observe 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—familar 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—thebonhomme—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.

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,issensual 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 bragged more than he drank of it, in very defiance perhaps of that spiritual wine which left its votaries sunk in hypocrisy or disgust.

EDWARD FITZGERALD.

[The first Edition of the translation of Omar Khayyam, which appeared in 1859, differs so much from those which followed, that it has been thought better to print it in full, instead of merely attempting to record the differences.]

Awake! for Morning in the Bowl of NightHas flung the Stone that puts the Stars to Flight:And Lo! the Hunter of the East has caughtThe Sultan's Turret in a Noose of Light.

II.

Dreaming when Dawn's Left Hand was in the SkyI heard a Voice within the Tavern cry,«Awake, my Little ones, and fill the CupBefore Life's Liquor in its Cup be dry.»

III.

And, as the Cock crew, those who stood beforeThe 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 theWhite Hand of Moseson the BoughPuts out, and Jesus from the Ground suspires.

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 divineHigh piping Pehlevi, with «Wine! Wine! Wine!RedWine!»—the Nightingale cries to the RoseThat yellow Cheek of her's to incarnadine.

VII.

Come, fill the Cup, and in the Fire of SpringThe Winter Garment of Repentance fling:The Bird of Time has but a little wayTo fly—and Lo! the Bird is on the Wing.

VIII.

And look—a thousand Blossoms with the DayWoke—and a thousand scatter'd into Clay:And this first Summer Month that brings the RoseShall take Jamshyd and Kaikobad away.

IX.

But come with old Khayyam, and leave the LotOf Kaikobad and Kaikhosru forgot:Let Rustum lay about him as he will,Or Hatim Tai cry Supper—heed them not.

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 ThouBeside 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 adistantDrum!

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 PurseTear, and its Treasure on the Garden throw.»

XIV.

The Worldly Hope men set their Hearts uponTurns Ashes—or it prospers; and anon,Like Snow upon the Desert's dusty FaceLighting 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'dAs, buried once, Men want dug up again.

XVI.

Think, in this batter'd CaravanseraiWhose Doorways are alternate Night and Day,How Sultan after Sultan with his PompAbode his Hour or two, and went his way.

XVII.

They say the Lion and the Lizard keepThe Courts where Jamshyd gloried and drank deep;And Bahram, that great Hunter—the Wild AssStamps o'er his Head, and he lies fast asleep.

XVIII.

I sometimes think that never blows so redThe Rose as where some buried Cæsar bled;That every Hyacinth the Garden wearsDropt in its Lap from some once lovely Head.

XIX.

And this delightful Herb whose tender GreenFledges the River's Lip on which we lean—Ah, lean upon it lightly! for who knowsFrom what once lovely Lip it springs unseen!

XX.

Ah, my Belovéd, fill the Cup that clearsTo-dayof past Regrets and future Fears—To-morrow?—Why, To-morrow I may beMyself with Yesterday's Sev'n Thousand Years.

XXI.

Lo! some we loved, the loveliest and bestThat 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 RoomThey left, and Summer dresses in new Bloom,Ourselves must we beneath the Couch of EarthDescend, 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 forTo-dayprepare,And those that after aTo-morrowstare,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'dOf the Two Worlds so learnedly, are thrustLike foolish Prophets forth; their Words to ScornAre scatter'd and their Mouths are stopt with Dust.

XXVI.

Oh, come with old Khayyam, and leave the WiseTo 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 frequentDoctor and Saint, and heard great ArgumentAbout it and about: but evermoreCame 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, andwhynot knowing,Norwhence, like Water willy-nilly flowing:And out of it, as Wind along the Waste,I know notwhither, willy-nilly blowing.

XXX.

What, without asking, hither hurriedwhence?And, without asking,whitherhurried hence!Another and another Cup to drownThe Memory of this Impertinence!

XXXI.

Up from Earth's Centre through the Seventh GateI 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 seeSome little Talk awhile ofMeandTheeThere seem'd—and then no more ofTheeandMe.

XXXIII.

Then to the rolling Heav'n itself I cried,Asking, «What Lamp had Destiny to guideHer little Children stumbling in the Dark?»And—«A blind Understanding!» Heav'n replied.

XXXIV.

Then to this earthen Bowl did I adjournMy Lip the secret Well of Life to learn:And Lip to Lip it murmur'd—«While you liveDrink!—for once dead you never shall return.»

XXXV.

I think the Vessel, that with fugitiveArticulation answer'd, once did live,And merry-make; and the cold Lip I kiss'dHow 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 TongueIt murmur'd—«Gently, Brother, gently, pray!»

XXXVII.

Ah, fill the Cup:—what boots it to repeatHow Time is slipping underneath our Feet:UnbornTo-morrow, and deadYesterday,Why fret about them ifTo-daybe sweet!

XXXVIII.

One Moment in Annihilation's Waste,One Moment, of the Well of Life to taste—The Stars are setting and the CaravanStarts for the Dawn of Nothing—Oh, make haste!

XXXIX.

How long, how long, in infinite PursuitOf This and That endeavour and dispute?Better be merry with the fruitful GrapeThan sadden after none, or bitter, Fruit.

XL.

You know, my Friends, how long since in my HouseFor 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» thoughwithRule and LineAnd «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 ShapeBearing a Vessel on his Shoulder; andHe bid me taste of it; and 'twas—the Grape!

XLIII.

The Grape that can with Logic absoluteThe Two-and-Seventy jarring Sects confute:The subtle Alchemist that in a TriceLife's leaden Metal into Gold transmute.

XLIV.

The mighty Mahmud, the victorious Lord,That all the misbelieving and black HordeOf Fears and Sorrows that infest the SoulScatters and slays with his enchanted Sword.

XLV.

But leave the Wise to wrangle, and with meThe 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 whatThou 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 DraughtDraws up to Thee—take that, and do not shrink.

XLIX.

'Tis all a Chequer-board of Nights and DaysWhere Destiny with Men for Pieces plays:Hither and thither moves, and mates, and slays,And one by one back in the Closet lays.

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,Heknows about it all—Heknows—HE knows!

LI.

The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor WitShall 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 toItfor help—for ItRolls 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 SeedYea, the first Morning of Creation wroteWhat the Last Dawn of Reckoning shall read.

LIV.

I tell Thee this—When, starting from the Goal,Over the shoulders of the flaming FoalOf Heav'n Parwin and Mushtara they flung,In my predestined Plot of Dust and Soul

LV.

The Vine had struck a Fibre; which aboutIf 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 caughtBetter than in the Temple lost outright.

LVII.

Oh, Thou, who didst with Pitfall and with GinBeset the Road I was to wander in,Thou wilt not with Predestination roundEnmesh 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 ManIs blacken'd, Man's Forgiveness give—and take

* * * * * * *

LIX.

Listen again. One evening at the CloseOf Ramazan, ere the better Moon arose,In that old Potter's Shop I stood aloneWith the clay Population round in Rows.

LX.

And, strange to tell, among that Earthen LotSome could articulate, while others not:And suddenly one more impatient cried—«Whoisthe Potter, pray, and who the Pot?»

LXI.

Then said another—«Surely not in vainMy substance from the common Earth was ta'en,That he who subtly wrought me into ShapeShould 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 thatmadethe Vessel in pure LoveAnd Fancy, in an after Rage destroy!»

LXIII.

None answer'd this; but after Silence spakeA 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 Vine-leaf wrapt,So bury me by some sweet Garden-side.

LXVIII.

That ev'n my buried Ashes such a SnareOf Perfume shall fling up into the Air,As not a True Believer passing byBut shall be overtaken unaware.

LXIX.

Indeed the Idols I have loved so longHave 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 beforeI swore—but was I sober when I swore?And then and then came Spring, and Rose-in-handMy thread-bare Penitence apieces 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 buyOne 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 conspireTo grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire,Would not we shatter it to bits—and thenRe-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 lookThrough this same Garden after me—in vain!

LXXV.

And when Thyself with shining Foot shall passAmong the Guests Star-scatter'd on the Grass,And in thy joyous Errand reach the SpotWhere I made one—turn down an empty Glass!

TAMAM SHUD.

(StanzaII.) The «False Dawn»;Subhi kazib, a transient Light on the Horizon about an hour before theSubhi 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 clumsyLunarYear that dates from the Mohammedan Hegira) 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,[13]«are very striking. Before the Snow is well off the Ground, the Trees burst into Blossom, and the Flowers start forth from the Soil. AtNow Rooz[theirNew Year's Day] the Snow was lying in patches on the Hills and in the shaded Valleys, while the Fruit-trees in the Gardens were budding beautifully, and green Plants and Flowers springing up on the Plains on every side—

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