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Title: The Rubiyt
Author: Omar Khayym (1048-1131)
Translator: FitzGerald, Edward (1809-1883)
Illustrator: MacManus [_also spelt_ McManus], Blanche (1869-1935)
Dates of first publication: 1859 (translation);
possibly 1900, 1903 at the latest (illustrations)
Place and date of edition used as base for this ebook:
   London: De La More Press, 1925
Date first posted: 26 April 2008
Date last updated: 26 April 2008
Project Gutenberg Canada ebook #109

This ebook was produced by: Brownfox & the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net




THE SAINT GEORGE SERIES
PUBLISHED BY ALEXANDER
MORING LIMITED, THE DE
LA MORE PRESS, 2a CORK
STREET, BOND STREET,
LONDON, W. 1


[Illustration: shield and three roses]

[Illustration: AND WILDERNESS IS PARADISE ENOW
QUATRAIN XI]

[Illustration: RUBIYT OF OMAR KHAYYM

EDWARD FITZGERALD'S TRANSLATION. WITH TWELVE ILLUSTRATIONS BY BLANCHE
MACMANUS

LONDON  MCMXXV  AT THE DE LA MORE PRESS]

[Illustration: QUATRAIN V]




                         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 Sultn'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

    Irm indeed is gone with all its Rose,
    And Jamshd'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 Phlevi, with "Wine! Wine! Wine!
      _Red_ Wine!"--the Nightingale cries to the Rose
    That yellow Cheek of her's 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 Jamshd and Kaikobd away.

[Illustration: QUATRAIN VII]

[Illustration: QUATRAIN VIII]


                        IX

    But come with old Khayym and leave the Lot
    Of Kaikobd and Kaikhosr forgot:
      Let Rustum lay about him as he will,
    Or Htim 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 Sultn scarce is known,
    And pity Sultn Mhmd 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 Sultn after Sultn with his Pomp
    Abode his Hour or two, and went his way.

[Illustration: QUATRAIN XIII]

[Illustration: QUATRAIN XIV]


                      XVII

    They say the Lion and the Lizard keep
    The Courts where Jamshd gloried and drank deep:
      And Bahrm, 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 Csar 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 Belovd, 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 Muezzn from the Tower of Darkness cries
    "Fools! your Reward is neither Here nor There!"

[Illustration: QUATRAIN XIX]

[Illustration: QUATRAIN XXI]


                       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 Khayym, 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 definite Pursuit
    Of This and That endeavour and dispute?
      Better be merry with the fruitful Grape
    Than sadder 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 Mahmd, 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 shall not be less.


                    XLVIII

    While the Rose blows along the River Brink,
    With old Khayym the Ruby Vintage drink:
      And when the Angel with his darker Draught
    Draws up to Thee--take that, and do not shrink.

[Illustration: QUATRAIN XLVI]

[Illustration: QUATRAIN XLVIII]


                      XLIX

    '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 Parwn and Mushtara they flung,
    In my predestin'd Plot of Dust and Soul.


                        LV

    The Vine had struck a Fibre; which about
    If clings my Being--let the Sfi 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 did'st 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 did'st make,
    And who with Eden did'st devise the Snake;
      For all the Sin wherewith the Face of Man
    Is blacken'd, Man's forgiveness give--and take!

           *       *       *       *       *


                    KZA-NMA


                       LIX

    Listen again. One Evening at the Close
    Of Ramazn, 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 the 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 answered 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 Vine-leaf wrapt,
    So bury me by some sweet Garden-side


                    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 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 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!

[Illustration: QUATRAIN LXXII]

[Illustration: QUATRAIN LXXV]


                    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!

[Illustration: TAMM SHUD]




The first translation or paraphrase by Edward Fitzgerald of the
Rubiyt, of which this is a reprint, was published in 1859. The
foregoing text has been carefully collated with the original edition,
and printed at the DE LA MORE PRESS.




TRANSCRIBERS' NOTES

Quatrain V: Comma replaced by period at end of last line.

Quatrain VI: her's as in original.

Quatrain VI: Single quote between to and incarnadine left as in original.

Quatrain X and XLIV have Mhmd and Mahmd respectively. Left as in
original.

Quatrain XII: Quote at end of last line removed.

Quatrain XXXIV: Closing single quote replaced by double quote.

[End of _The Rubiyt_ by Omar Khayym]