"That duty shall be mine alone, To seat him firmly on the throne."

Then Isfendiyar murmured to Bashutan, that the anguish of his wound was wearing him away, and that he had but a short time to live.

"The pace of death is fast and fleet, And nothing my life can save, I shall want no robe, but my winding sheet, No mansion but the grave.

"And tell my father the wish of his heart Has not been breathed in vain, The doom he desired when he made me depart, Has been sealed, and his son is slain!

"And, O! to my mother, in kindliest tone, The mournful tidings bear, And soothe her woes for her warrior gone, For her lost Isfendiyar."

He now groaned heavily, and his last words were:—

"I die, pursued by unrelenting fate, The hapless victim of a father's hate."

Life having departed, his body was placed upon a bier, and conveyed to Iran, amidst the tears and lamentations of the people.

Rustem now took charge of Bahman, according to the dying request of Isfendiyar, and brought him to Sistan. This was, however, repugnant to the wishes of Zuara, who observed to his brother: "Thou hast slain the father of this youth; do not therefore nurture and instruct the son of thy enemy, for, mark me, in the end he will be avenged."—"But did not Isfendiyar, with his last breath, consign him to my guardianship? how can I refuse it now? It must be so written and determined in the dispensations of Heaven."

The arrival of the bier in Persia, at the palace of Gushtasp, produced a melancholy scene of public and domestic affliction. The king took off the covering and wept bitterly, and the mother and sisters exclaimed, "Alas! thy death is not the work of human hands; it is not the work of Rustem, nor of Zal, but of the Simurgh. Thou hast not lived long enough to be ashamed of a gray beard, nor to witness the maturity and attainments of thy children. Alas! thou art snatched away at a moment of the highest promise, even at the commencement of thy glory." In the meanwhile the curses and imprecations of the people were poured upon the devoted head of Gushtasp on account of his cruel and unnatural conduct, so that he was obliged to confine himself to his palace till after the interment of Isfendiyar.

Rustem scrupulously fulfilled his engagement, and instructed Bahman in all manly exercises; in the use of bow and javelin, in the management of sword and buckler, and in all the arts and accomplishments of the warrior. He then wrote to Gushtasp, repeating that he was unblamable in the conflict which terminated in the death of his son Isfendiyar, that he had offered him presents and wealth to a vast extent, and moreover was ready to return with him to Iran, to his father; but every overture was rejected. Relentless fate must have hurried him on to a premature death. "I have now," continued Rustem, "completed the education of Bahman, according to the directions of his father, and await thy further commands." Gushtasp, after reading this letter, referred to Bashutan, who confirmed the declarations of Rustem, and the treacherous king, willing to ascribe the event to an overruling destiny, readily acquitted Rustem of all guilt in killing Isfendiyar. At the same time he sent for Bahman, and on his arrival from Sistan, was so pleased with him that he without hesitation appointed him to succeed to the throne.

"Methinks I see Isfendiyar again, Thou hast the form, the very look he bore, And since thy glorious father is no more, Long as I live thou must with me remain."



THE DEATH OF RUSTEM

Firdusi seems to have derived the account of Shughad, and the melancholy fate of Rustem, from a descendant of Sam and Nariman, who was particularly acquainted with the chronicles of the heroes and the kings of Persia. Shughad, it appears, was the son of Zal, by one of the old warrior's maid-servants, and at his very birth the astrologers predicted that he would be the ruin of the glorious house of Sam and Nariman, and the destruction of their race.

Throughout Sistan the prophecy was heard With horror and amazement; every town And city in Iran was full of woe, And Zal, in deepest agony and grief, Sent up his prayers to the Almighty Power That he would purify the infant's heart, And free it from that quality, foretold As the destroyer of his ancient house. But what are prayers, opposed by destiny?

The child, notwithstanding, was brought up with great care and attention, and when arrived at maturity, he was sent to the king of Kabul, whose daughter he espoused.

Rustem was accustomed to go to Kabul every year to receive the tribute due to him; but on the last occasion, it is said that he exacted and took a higher rate than usual, and thus put many of the people to distress. The king was angry, and expressed his dissatisfaction to Shughad, who was not slow in uttering his own discontent, saying, "Though I am his brother, he has no respect for me, but treats me always like an enemy. For this personal hostility I long to punish him with death."—"But how," inquired the king, "couldst thou compass that end?" Shughad replied, "I have well considered the subject, and propose to accomplish my purpose in this manner. I shall feign that I have been insulted and injured by thee, and carry my complaint to Zal and Rustem, who will no doubt come to Kabul to redress my wrongs. Thou must in the meantime prepare for a sporting excursion, and order a number of pits to be dug on the road sufficiently large to hold Rustem and his horse, and in each several swords must be placed with their points and edges upwards. The mouths of the pits must then be slightly covered over, but so carefully that there may be no appearance of the earth underneath having been removed. Everything being thus ready, Rustem, on the pretence of going to the sporting ground, must be conducted by that road, and he will certainly fall into one of the pits, which will become his grave." This stratagem was highly approved by the king, and it was agreed that at a royal banquet, Shughad should revile and irritate the king, whose indignant answer should be before all the assembly: "Thou hast no pretensions to be thought of the stock of Sam and Nariman. Zal pays thee no attention, at least, not such attention as he would pay to a son, and Rustem declares thou art not his brother; indeed, all the family treat thee as a slave." At these words, Shughad affected to be greatly enraged, and, starting up from the banquet, hastened to Rustem to complain of the insult offered him by the king of Kabul. Rustem received him with demonstrations of affection, and hearing his complaint, declared that he would immediately proceed to Kabul, depose the king for his insolence, and place Shughad himself on the throne of that country. In a short time they arrived at the city, and were met by the king, who, with naked feet and in humble guise, solicited forgiveness. Rustem was induced to pardon the offence, and was honored in return with great apparent respect, and with boundless hospitality. In the meantime, however, the pits were dug, and the work of destruction in progress, and Rustem was now invited to share the sports of the forest. The champion was highly gratified by the courtesy which the king displayed, and mounted Rakush, anticipating a day of excellent diversion. Shughad accompanied him, keeping on one side, whilst Rustem, suspecting nothing, rode boldly forward. Suddenly Rakush stopped, and though urged to advance, refused to move a step. At last the champion became angry, and struck the noble animal severely; the blows made him dart forward, and in a moment he unfortunately fell into one of the pits.

It was a place, deep, dark, and perilous, All bristled o'er with swords, leaving no chance Of extrication without cruel wounds; And horse and rider sinking in the midst, Bore many a grievous stab and many a cut In limb and body, ghastly to the sight. Yet from that depth, at one prodigious spring, Rakush escaped with Rustem on his back; But what availed that effort? Down again Into another pit both fell together, And yet again they rose, again, again; Seven times down prostrate, seven times bruised and maimed, They struggled on, till mounting up the edge Of the seventh pit, all covered with deep wounds, Both lay exhausted. When the champion's brain Grew cool, and he had power to think, he knew Full well to whom he owed this treachery, And calling to Shughad, said: "Thou, my brother! Why hast thou done this wrong? Was it for thee, My father's son, by wicked plot and fraud To work this ruin, to destroy my life?" Shughad thus sternly answered: "'Tis for all The blood that thou hast shed, God has decreed This awful vengeance—now thy time is come!" Then spoke the king of Kabul, as if pity Had softened his false heart: "Alas! the day That thou shouldst perish, so ignobly too, And in my kingdom; what a wretched fate! But bring some medicine to relieve his wounds— Quick, bring the matchless balm for Rustem's cure; He must not die, the champion must not die!" But Rustem scorned the offer, and in wrath, Thus spoke: "How many a mighty king has died, And left me still triumphant—still in power, Unconquerable; treacherous thou hast been, Inhuman, too, but Feramurz, the brave, Will be revenged upon thee for this crime."

Rustem now turned towards Shughad, and in an altered and mournful tone, told him that he was at the point of death, and asked him to string his bow and give it to him, that he might seem as a scare-crow, to prevent the wolves and other wild animals from devouring him when dead.

Shughad performed the task, and lingered not, For he rejoiced at this catastrophe, And with a smile of fiendish satisfaction, Placed the strong bow before him—Rustem grasped The bended horn with such an eager hand, That wondering at the sight, the caitiff wretch Shuddered with terror, and behind a tree Shielded himself, but nothing could avail; The arrow pierced both tree and him, and they Were thus transfixed together—thus the hour Of death afforded one bright gleam of joy To Rustem, who, with lifted eyes to Heaven, Exclaimed: "Thanksgivings to the great Creator, For granting me the power, with my own hand, To be revenged upon my murderer!" So saying, the great champion breathed his last, And not a knightly follower remained, Zuara, and the rest, in other pits, Dug by the traitor-king, and traitor-brother, Had sunk and perished, all, save one, who fled, And to the afflicted veteran at Sistan Told the sad tidings. Zal, in agony, Tore his white hair, and wildly rent his garments, And cried: "Why did not I die for him, why Was I not present, fighting by his side? But he, alas! is gone! Oh! gone forever."

Then the old man despatched Feramurz with a numerous force to Kabul, to bring away the dead body of Rustem. Upon his approach, the king of Kabul and his army retired to the mountains, and Feramurz laid waste the country. He found only the skeletons of Rustem and Zuara, the beasts of prey having stripped them of their flesh: he however gathered the bones together and conveyed them home and buried them, amidst the lamentations of the people. After that, he returned to Kabul with his army, and encountered the king, captured the cruel wretch, and carried him to Sistan, where he was put to death.

Gushtasp having become old and infirm, bequeathed his empire to Bahman, and then died. He reigned one hundred and eight years.



BAHMAN

Bahman, the grandson of Gushtasp, having at the commencement of his sovereignty obtained the approbation of his people, by the clemency of his conduct and the apparent generosity of his disposition, was not long in meditating vindictive measures against the family of Rustem. "Did not Kai-khosrau," said he to his warriors, "revenge himself on Afrasiyab for the murder of Saiawush; and have not all my glorious ancestors pursued a similar course? Why, then, should not I be revenged on the father of Rustem for the death of Isfendiyar?" The warriors, as usual, approved of the king's resolution, and in consequence one hundred thousand veteran troops were assembled for the immediate invasion of Sistan. When Bahman had arrived on the borders of the river Behermund, he sent a message to Zal, frankly declaring his purpose, and that he must sacrifice the lives of himself and all his family as an atonement for Rustem's guilt in shedding the blood of Isfendiyar.

Zal heard his menace with astonishment, Mingled with anguish, and he thus replied: "Rustem was not in fault; and thou canst tell, For thou wert present, how he wept, and prayed That he might not be bound. How frequently He offered all his wealth, his gold, and gems, To be excused that ignominious thrall; And would have followed thy impatient father To wait upon Gushtasp; but this was scorned; Nothing but bonds would satisfy his pride; All this thou know'st. Then did not I and Rustem Strictly fulfil Isfendiyar's commands, And most assiduously endow thy mind With all the skill and virtues of a hero, That might deserve some kindness in return? Now take my house, my treasure, my possessions, Take all; but spare my family and me."

The messenger went back, and told the tale Of Zal's deep grief with such persuasive grace, And piteous accent, that the heart of Bahman Softened at every word, and the old man Was not to suffer. After that was known, With gorgeous presents Zal went forth to meet The monarch in his progress to the city; And having prostrated himself in low Humility, retired among the train Attendant on the king. "Thou must not walk," Bahman exclaimed, well skilled in all the arts Of smooth hypocrisy—"thou art too weak; Remount thy horse, for thou requirest help." But Zal declined the honour, and preferred Doing that homage as illustrious Sam, His conquering ancestor, had always done, Barefoot, in presence of the royal race.

Fast moving onwards, Bahman soon approached Sistan, and entered Zal's superb abode; Not as a friend, or a forgiving foe, But with a spirit unappeased, unsoothed; True, he had spared the old man's life, but there His mercy stopped; all else was confiscate, For every room was plundered, all the treasure Seized and devoted to the tyrant's use.

After remorselessly obtaining this booty, Bahman inquired what had become of Feramurz, and Zal pretended that, unaware of the king's approach, he had gone a-hunting. But this excuse was easily seen through, and the king was so indignant on the occasion, that he put Zal himself in fetters. Feramurz had, in fact, secretly retired with the Zabul army to a convenient distance, for the purpose of acting as necessity might require, and when he heard that Zal was placed in confinement, he immediately marched against the invader and oppressor of his country. Both armies met, and closed, and were in desperate conflict three long days and nights. On the fourth day, a tremendous hurricane arose, which blew thick clouds of dust in the face of the Zabul army, and blinding them, impeded their progress, whilst the enemy were driven furiously forward by the strong wind at their backs. The consequence was the defeat of the Zabul troops. Feramurz, with a few companions, however, kept his ground, though assailed by showers of arrows. He tried repeatedly to get face to face with Bahman, but every effort was fruitless, and he felt convinced that his career was now nearly at an end. He bravely defended himself, and aimed his arrows with great precision; but what is the use of art when Fortune is unfavorable?

When Fate's dark clouds portentous lower, And quench the light of day, No effort, none, of human power, Can chase the gloom away. Arrows may fly a countless shower, Amidst the desperate fray; But not to sword or arrow death is given, Unless decreed by favouring Heaven

And it was so decreed that the exertions of Feramurz should be unsuccessful. His horse fell, he was wounded severely, and whilst insensible, the enemy secured and conveyed him in fetters to Bahman, who immediately ordered him to be hanged. The king then directed all the people of Sistan to be put to the sword; upon which Bashutan said: "Alas! why should the innocent and unoffending people be thus made to perish? Hast thou no fear of God? Thou hast taken vengeance for thy father, by slaying Feramurz, the son of Rustem. Is not that enough? Be merciful and beneficent now to the people, and thank Heaven for the great victory thou hast gained." Bahman was thus withdrawn from his wicked purpose, and was also induced to liberate Zal, whose age and infirmities had rendered him perfectly harmless. He not only did this, but restored to him the possession of Sistan; and divesting himself of all further revenge, returned to Persia. There he continued to exercise the functions of royalty, till one day he happened to be bitten by a snake, whose venom was so excruciating, that remedies were of no avail, and he died of the wound, in the eighth year of his reign. Although he had a son named Sassan, he did not appoint him his successor; but gave the crown and the throne to his wife, Humai, whom he had married a short time before his death, saying: "If Humai should have a son, that son shall be my successor; but if a daughter, Humai continue to reign."



HUMAI AND THE BIRTH OF DARAB

Wisdom and generosity were said to have marked the government of Humai. In justice and beneficence she was unequalled. No misfortune happened in her days: even the poor and the needy became rich. She gave birth to a son, whom she entrusted to a nurse to be brought up secretly, and declared publicly that it had died the same day it was born. At this event the people rejoiced, for they were happy under the administration of Humai. Upon the boy attaining his seventh month, however, the queen sent for him, and wrapping him up in rich garments, put him in a box, and when she had fastened down the cover, gave it to two confidential servants, in the middle of the night, to be flung into the Euphrates. "For," thought she, "if he be found in the city, there will be an end to my authority, and the crown will be placed upon his head; wiser, therefore, will it be for me to cast him into the river; and if it please God to preserve him, he may be nurtured, and brought up in another country." Accordingly in the darkness of night, the box was thrown into the Euphrates, and it floated rapidly down the stream for some time without being observed.

Amidst the waters, in that little ark Was launched the future monarch. But, vain mortal! How bootless are thy most ingenious schemes, Thy wisest projects! Such were thine, Humai! Presumptuous as thou wert to think success Would crown that deed unnatural and unjust. But human passions, human expectations Are happily controlled by righteous Heaven.

In the morning the ark was noticed by a washerman; who, curious to know what it contained, drew it to the shore, and opened the lid. Within the box he then saw splendid silk-embroidered scarfs and costly raiment, and upon them a lovely infant asleep. He immediately took up the child, and carried it to his wife, saying: "It was but yesterday that our own infant died, and now the Almighty has sent thee another in its place." The woman looked at the child with affection, and taking it in her arms fed it with her own milk. In the box they also found jewels and rubies, and they congratulated themselves upon being at length blessed by Providence with wealth, and a boy at the same time. They called him Darab, and the child soon began to speak in the language of his foster-parents. The washerman and his wife, for fear that the boy and the wealth might be discovered, thought it safest to quit their home, and sojourn in another country. When Darab grew up, he was more skilful and accomplished, and more expert at wrestling than other boys of a greater age. But whenever the washerman told him to assist in washing clothes, he always ran away, and would not stoop to the drudgery. This untoward behavior grieved the washerman exceedingly, and he lamented that God had given him so useless a son, not knowing that he was destined to be the sovereign of all the world.

How little thought he, whilst the task he prest, A purer spirit warmed the stripling's breast, Whose opening soul, by kingly pride inspired, Disdained the toil a menial slave required; The royal branch on high its foliage flung, And showed the lofty stem from which it sprung.

Darab was now sent to school, and he soon excelled his master, who continually said to the washerman: "Thy son is of wonderful capacity, acute and intelligent beyond his years, of an enlarged understanding, and will be at least the minister of a king." Darab requested to have another master, and also a fine horse of Irak, that he might acquire the science and accomplishments of a warrior; but the washerman replied that he was too poor to comply with his wishes, which threw the youth into despair, so that he did not touch a morsel of food for two days together. His foster-mother, deeply affected by his disappointment, and naturally anxious to gratify his desires, gave an article of value to the washerman, that he might sell it, and with the money purchase the horse required. The horse obtained, he was daily instructed in the art of using the bow, the javelin, and the sword, and in every exercise becoming a young gentleman and a warrior. So devouringly did he persevere in his studies, and in his exertions to excel, that he never remained a moment unoccupied at home or abroad. The development of his talents and genius suggested to him an inquiry who he was, and how he came into the house of a washerman; and his foster-mother, in compliance with his entreaties, described to him the manner in which he was found. He had long been miserable at the thoughts of being the son of a washerman, but now he rejoiced, and looked upon himself as the son of some person of consideration. He asked her if she had anything that was taken out of the box, and she replied: "Two valuable rubies remain." The youth requested them to be brought to him; one he bound round his arm, and the other he sold to pay the expenses of travelling and change of place.

At that time, it is said, the king of Rum had sent an army into the country of Iran. Upon receiving this information, Humai told her general, named Rishnawad, to collect a force corresponding with the emergency; and he issued a proclamation, inviting all young men desirous of military glory to flock to his standard. Darab heard this proclamation with delight, and among others hastened to Rishnawad, who presented the young warriors as they arrived successively to Humai. The queen steadfastly marked the majestic form and features of Darab, and said in her heart: "The youth who bears this dignified and royal aspect, appears to be a Kaianian by birth;" and as she spoke, the instinctive feeling of a mother seemed to agitate her bosom.

The queen beheld his form and face, The scion of a princely race; And natural instinct seemed to move Her heart, which spoke a mother's love; She gazed, but like the lightning's ray, That sudden thrill soon passed away.

The army was now in motion. After the first march, a tremendous wind and heavy rain came on, and all the soldiers were under tents, excepting Darab, who had none, and was obliged to take shelter from the inclemency of the weather beneath an archway, where he laid himself down, and fell asleep. Suddenly a supernatural voice was heard, saying:—

"Arch! stand firm, and from thy wall Let no ruined fragment fall! He who sleeps beneath is one Destined to a royal throne. Arch! a monarch claims thy care, The king of Persia slumbers there!"

The voice was heard by every one near, and Rishnawad having also heard it, inquired of his people from whence it came. As he spoke, the voice repeated its caution:—

"Arch! stand firm, and from thy wall Let no ruined fragment fall! Bahman's son is in thy keeping; He beneath thy roof is sleeping. Though the winds are loudly roaring, And the rain in torrents pouring, Arch! stand firm, and from thy wall Let no loosened fragment fall."

Again Rishnawad sent other persons to ascertain from whence the voice proceeded; and they returned, saying, that it was not of the earth, but from Heaven. Again the caution sounded in his ears:—

"Arch! stand firm, and from thy wall Let no loosened fragment fall."

And his amazement increased. He now sent a person under the archway to see if any one was there, when the youth was discovered in deep sleep upon the ground, and the arch above him rent and broken in many parts. Rishnawad being apprised of this circumstance, desired that he might be awakened and brought to him. The moment he was removed, the whole of the arch fell down with a dreadful crash, and this wonderful escape was also communicated to the leader of the army, who by a strict and particular enquiry soon became acquainted with all the occurrences of the stranger's life. Rishnawad also summoned before him the washerman and his wife, and they corroborated the story he had been told. Indeed he himself recognized the ruby on Darab's arm, which convinced him that he was the son of Bahman, whom Humai caused to be thrown into the Euphrates. Thus satisfied of his identity, he treated him with great honor, placed him on his right hand, and appointed him to a high command in the army. Soon afterwards an engagement took place with the Rumis, and Darab in the advanced guard performed prodigies of valor. The battle lasted all day, and in the evening Rishnawad bestowed upon him the praise which he merited. Next day the army was again prepared for battle, when Darab proposed that the leader should remain quiet, whilst he with a chosen band of soldiers attacked the whole force of the enemy. The proposal being agreed to, he advanced with fearless impetuosity to the contest.

With loosened rein he rushed along the field, And through opposing numbers hewed his path, Then pierced the Kulub-gah, the centre-host, Where many a warrior brave, renowned in arms, Fell by his sword. Like sheep before a wolf The harassed Rumis fled; for none had power To cope with his strong arm. His wondrous might Alone, subdued the legions right and left; And when, unwearied, he had fought his way To where great Kaisar stood, night came, and darkness, Shielding the trembling emperor of Rum, Snatched the expected triumph from his hands.

Rishnawad was so filled with admiration at his splendid prowess, that he now offered him the most magnificent presents; but when they were exposed to his view, a suit of armor was the only thing he would accept.

The Rumis were entirely disheartened by his valor, and they said: "We understood that the sovereign of Persia was only a woman, and that the conquest of the empire would be no difficult task; but this woman seems to be more fortunate than a warrior-king. Even her general remains inactive with the great body of his army; and a youth, with a small force, is sufficient to subdue the legions of Rum; we had, therefore, better return to our own country." The principal warriors entertained the same sentiments, and suggested to Kaisar the necessity of retiring from the field; but the king opposed this measure, thinking it cowardly and disgraceful, and said:—

"To-morrow we renew the fight, To-morrow we shall try our might; To-morrow, with the smiles of Heaven, To us the victory will be given."

Accordingly on the following day the armies met again, and after a sanguinary struggle, the Persians were again triumphant. Kaisar now despaired of success, sent a messenger to Rishnawad, in which he acknowledged the aggressions he had committed, and offered to pay him whatever tribute he might require. Rishnawad readily settled the terms of the peace; and the emperor was permitted to return to his own dominions.

After this event Rishnawad sent to Humai intelligence of the victories he had gained, and of the surprising valor of Darab, transmitting to her the ruby as an evidence of his birth. Humai was at once convinced that he was her son, for she well remembered the day on which he was enrolled as one of her soldiers, when her heart throbbed with instinctive affection at the sight of him; and though she had unfortunately failed to question him then, she now rejoiced that he was so near being restored to her. She immediately proceeded to the Atish-gadeh, or the Fire-altar, and made an offering on the occasion; and ordering a great fire to be lighted, gave immense sums away in charity to the poor. Having called Darab to her presence, she went with a splendid retinue to meet him at the distance of one journey from the city; and as soon as he approached, she pressed him to her bosom, and kissed his head and eyes with the fondest affection of a mother. Upon the first day of happy omen, she relinquished in his favor the crown and the throne, after having herself reigned thirty-two years.



DARAB AND DARA

When Darab had ascended the throne, he conducted the affairs of the kingdom with humanity, justice, and benevolence; and by these means secured the happiness of his people. He had no sooner commenced his reign, than he sent for the washerman and his wife, and enriched them by his gifts. "But," said he, "I present to you this property on these conditions—you must not give up your occupation—you must go every day, as usual, to the river-side, and wash clothes; for perhaps in process of time you may discover another box floating down the stream, containing another infant!" With these conditions the washerman complied.

Some time afterwards the kingdom was invaded by an Arabian army, consisting of one hundred thousand men, and commanded by Shaib, a distinguished warrior. Darab was engaged with this army three days and three nights, and on the fourth morning the battle terminated, in consequence of Shaib being slain. The booty was immense, and a vast number of Arabian horses fell into the hands of the victor; which, together with the quantity of treasure captured, strengthened greatly the resources of the state. The success of this campaign enabled Darab to extend his military operations; and having put his army in order, he proceeded against Failakus (Philip of Macedon), then king of Rum, whom he defeated with great loss. Many were put to the sword, and the women and children carried into captivity. Failakus himself took refuge in the fortress of Amur, from whence he sent an ambassador to Darab, saying, that if peace was only granted to him, he would willingly consent to any terms that might be demanded. When the ambassador arrived, Darab said to him: "If Failakus will bestow upon me his daughter, Nahid, peace shall be instantly re-established between us—I require no other terms." Failakus readily agreed, and sent Nahid with numerous splendid presents to the king of Persia, who espoused her, and took her with him to his own country. It so happened that Nahid had an offensive breath, which was extremely disagreeable to her husband, and in consequence he directed enquiries to be made everywhere for a remedy. No place was left unexplored; at length an herb of peculiar efficacy and fragrance was discovered, which never failed to remove the imperfection complained of; and it was accordingly administered with confident hopes of success. Nahid was desired to wash her mouth with the infused herb, and in a few days her breath became balmy and pure. When she found she was likely to become a mother she did not communicate the circumstance, but requested permission to pay a visit to her father. The request was granted; and on her arrival in Rum she was delivered of a son. Failakus had no male offspring, and was overjoyed at this event, which he at once determined to keep unknown to Darab, publishing abroad that a son had been born in his house, and causing it to be understood that the child was his own. When the boy grew up, he was called Sikander; and, like Rustem, became highly accomplished in all the arts of diplomacy and war. Failakus placed him under Aristatalis, a sage of great renown, and he soon equalled his master in learning and science.

Darab married another wife, by whom he had another son, named Dara; and when the youth was twenty years of age, the father died. The period of Darab's reign was thirty-four years.

Dara continued the government of the empire in the same spirit as his father; claiming custom and tribute from the inferior rulers, with similar strictness and decision. After the death of Failakus, Sikander became the king of Rum; and refusing to pay the demanded tribute to Persia, went to war with Dara, whom he killed in battle; the particulars of these events will be presently shown. Failakus reigned twenty-four years.



SIKANDER

Failakus, before his death, placed the crown of sovereignty upon the head of Sikander, and appointed Aristu, who was one of the disciples of the great Aflatun, his vizir. He cautioned him to pursue the path of virtue and rectitude, and to cast from his heart every feeling of vanity and pride; above all he implored him to be just and merciful, and said:—

"Think not that thou art wise, but ignorant, And ever listen to advice and counsel; We are but dust, and from the dust created; And what our lives but helplessness and sorrow!"

Sikander for a time attended faithfully to the instructions of his father, and to the counsel of Aristu, both in public and private affairs.

Upon Sikander's elevation to the throne, Dara sent an envoy to him to claim the customary tribute, but he received for answer: "The time is past when Rum acknowledged the superiority of Persia. It is now thy turn to pay tribute to Rum. If my demand be refused, I will immediately invade thy dominions; and think not that I shall be satisfied with the conquest of Persia alone, the whole world shall be mine; therefore prepare for war." Dara had no alternative, not even submission, and accordingly assembled his army, for Sikander was already in full march against him. Upon the confines of Persia the armies came in sight of each other, when Sikander, in the assumed character of an envoy, was resolved to ascertain the exact condition of the enemy. With this view he entered the Persian camp, and Dara allowing the person whom he supposed an ambassador, to approach, enquired what message the king of Rum had sent to him. "Hear me!" said the pretended envoy: "Sikander has not invaded thy empire for the exclusive purpose of fighting, but to know its history, its laws, and customs, from personal inspection. His object is to travel through the whole world. Why then should he make war upon thee? Give him but a free passage through thy kingdom, and nothing more is required. However if it be thy wish to proceed to hostilities, he apprehends nothing from the greatness of thy power." Dara was astonished at the majestic air and dignity of the envoy, never having witnessed his equal, and he anxiously said:—

"What is thy name, from whom art thou descended? For that commanding front, that fearless eye, Bespeaks illustrious birth. Art thou indeed Sikander, whom my fancy would believe thee, So eloquent in speech, in mien so noble?" "No!" said the envoy, "no such rank is mine, Sikander holds among his numerous host Thousands superior to the humble slave Who stands before thee. It is not for me To put upon myself the air of kings, To ape their manners and their lofty state."

Dara could not help smiling, and ordered refreshments and wine to be brought. He filled a cup and gave it to the envoy, who drank it off, but did not, according to custom, return the empty goblet to the cup-bearer. The cup-bearer demanded the cup, and Dara asked the envoy why he did not give it back. "It is the custom in my country," said the envoy, "when a cup is once given into an ambassador's hands, never to receive it back again." Dara was still more amused by this explanation, and presented to him another cup, and successively four, which the envoy did not fail to appropriate severally in the same way. In the evening a feast was held, and Sikander partook of the delicious refreshments that had been prepared for him; but in the midst of the entertainment one of the persons present recognized him, and immediately whispered to Dara that his enemy was in his power.

Sikander's sharp and cautious eye now marked The changing scene, and up he sprang, but first Snatched the four cups, and rushing from the tent, Vaulted upon his horse, and rode away. So instantaneous was the act, amazed The assembly rose, and presently a troop Was ordered in pursuit—but night, dark night, Baffled their search, and checked their eager speed.

As soon as he reached his own army, he sent for Aristatalis and his courtiers, and exultingly displayed to them the four golden cups. "These," said he, "have I taken from my enemy, I have taken them from his own table, and before his own eyes. His strength and numbers too I have ascertained, and my success is certain." No time was now lost in arrangements for the battle. The armies engaged, and they fought seven days without a decisive blow being struck. On the eighth, Dara was compelled to fly, and his legions, defeated and harassed, were pursued by the Rumis with great slaughter to the banks of the Euphrates. Sikander now returned to take possession of the capital. In the meantime Dara collected his scattered forces together, and again tried his fortune, but he was again defeated. After his second success, the conqueror devoted himself so zealously to conciliate and win the affections of the people, that they soon ceased to remember their former king with any degree of attachment to his interests. Sikander said to them: "Persia indeed is my inheritance: I am no stranger to you, for I am myself descended from Darab; you may therefore safely trust to my justice and paternal care, in everything that concerns your welfare." The result was, that legion after legion united in his cause, and consolidated his power.

When Dara was informed of the universal disaffection of his army, he said to the remaining friends who were personally devoted to him: "Alas! my subjects have been deluded by the artful dissimulation and skill of Sikander; your next misfortune will be the captivity of your wives and children. Yes, your wives and children will be made the slaves of the conquerors." A few troops, still faithful to their unfortunate king, offered to make another effort against the enemy, and Dara was too grateful and too brave to discountenance their enthusiastic fidelity, though with such little chance of success. A fragment of an army was consequently brought into action, and the result was what had been anticipated. Dara was again a fugitive; and after the defeat, escaped with three hundred men into the neighboring desert. Sikander captured his wife and family, but magnanimously restored them to the unfortunate monarch, who, destitute of all further hope, now asked for a place of refuge in his own dominions, and for that he offered him all the buried treasure of his ancestors. Sikander, in reply, invited him to his presence; and promised to restore him to his throne, that he might himself be enabled to pursue other conquests; but Dara refused to go, although advised by his nobles to accept the invitation. "I am willing to put myself to death," said he with emotion, "but I cannot submit to this degradation. I cannot go before him, and thus personally acknowledge his authority over me." Resolved upon this point, he wrote to Faur, one of the sovereigns of Ind, to request his assistance, and Faur recommended that he should pay him a visit for the purpose of concerting what measures should be adopted. This correspondence having come to the knowledge of Sikander, he took care that his enemy should be intercepted in whatever direction he might proceed.

Dara had two ministers, named Mahiyar and Jamusipar, who, finding that according to the predictions of the astrologers their master would in a few days fall into the hands of Sikander, consulted together, and thought they had better put him to death themselves, in order that they might get into favor with Sikander. It was night, and the soldiers of the escort were dispersed at various distances, and the vizirs were stationed on each side of the king. As they travelled on, Jamusipar took an opportunity of plunging his dagger into Dara's side, and Mahiyar gave another blow, which felled the monarch to the ground. They immediately sent the tidings of this event to Sikander, who hastened to the spot, and the opening daylight presented to his view the wounded king.

Dismounting quickly, he in sorrow placed The head of Dara on his lap, and wept In bitterness of soul, to see that form Mangled with ghastly wounds.

Dara still breathed; and when he lifted up his eyes and beheld Sikander, he groaned deeply. Sikander said, "Rise up, that we may convey thee to a place of safety, and apply the proper remedies to thy wounds."—"Alas!" replied Dara, "the time for remedies is past. I leave thee to Heaven, and may thy reign give peace and happiness to the empire."—"Never," said Sikander, "never did I desire to see thee thus mangled and fallen—never to witness this sight! If the Almighty should spare thy life, thou shalt again be the monarch of Persia, and I will go from hence. On my mother's word, thou and I are sons of the same father. It is this brotherly affection which now wrings my heart!" Saying this, the tears chased each other down his cheeks in such abundance that they fell upon the face of Dara. Again, he said, "Thy murderers shall meet with merited vengeance, they shall be punished to the uttermost." Dara blessed him, and said, "My end is approaching, but thy sweet discourse and consoling kindness have banished all my grief. I shall now die with a mind at rest. Weep no more—

"My course is finished, thine is scarce begun; But hear my dying wish, my last request: Preserve the honour of my family, Preserve it from disgrace. I have a daughter Dearer to me than life, her name is Roshung; Espouse her, I beseech thee—and if Heaven Should bless thee with a boy, O! let his name be Isfendiyar, that he may propagate With zeal the sacred doctrines of Zerdusht, The Zendavesta, then my soul will be Happy in Heaven; and he, at Nau-ruz tide, Will also hold the festival I love, And at the altar light the Holy Fire; Nor will he cease his labour, till the faith Of Lohurasp be everywhere accepted, And everywhere believed the true religion."

Sikander promised that he would assuredly fulfil the wishes he had expressed, and then Dara placed the palm of his brother's hand on his mouth, and shortly afterwards expired. Sikander again wept bitterly, and then the body was placed on a golden couch, and he attended it in sorrow to the grave.

After the burial of Dara, the two ministers, Jamusipar and Mahiyar, were brought near the tomb, and executed upon the dar.

Just vengeance upon the guilty head, For they their generous monarch's blood had shed.

Sikander had now no rival to the throne of Persia, and he commenced his government under the most favorable auspices. He continued the same customs and ordinances which were handed down to him, and retained every one in his established rank and occupation. He gladdened the heart by his justice and liberality. Keeping in mind his promise to Dara, he now wrote to the mother of Roshung, and communicating to her the dying solicitations of the king, requested her to send Roshung to him, that he might fulfil the last wish of his brother. The wife of Dara immediately complied with the command, and sent her daughter with various presents to Sikander, and she was on her arrival married to the conqueror, acceding to the customs and laws of the empire. Sikander loved her exceedingly, and on her account remained some time in Persia, but he at length determined to proceed into Ind to conquer that country of enchanters and enchantment.

On approaching Ind he wrote to Kaid, summoning him to surrender his kingdom, and received from him the following answer: "I will certainly submit to thy authority, but I have four things which no other person in the world possesses, and which I cannot relinquish. I have a daughter, beautiful as an angel of Paradise, a wise minister, a skilful physician, and a goblet of inestimable value!" Upon receiving this extraordinary reply, Sikander again addressed a letter to him, in which he peremptorily required all these things immediately. Kaid not daring to refuse, or make any attempt at evasion, reluctantly complied with the requisition. Sikander received the minister and the physician with great politeness and attention, and in the evening held a splendid feast, at which he espoused the beautiful daughter of Kaid, and taking the goblet from her hands, drank off the wine with which it was filled. After that, Kaid himself waited upon Sikander, and personally acknowledged his authority and dominion.

Sikander then proceeded to claim the allegiance and homage of Faur, the king of Kanuj, and wrote to him to submit to his power; but Faur returned a haughty answer, saying:—

"Kaid Indi is a coward to obey thee, But I am Faur, descended from a race Of matchless warriors; and shall I submit, And to a Greek!"

Sikander was highly incensed at this bold reply. The force he had now with him amounted to eighty thousand men; that is, thirty thousand Iranians, forty thousand Rumis, and ten thousand Indis. Faur had sixty thousand horsemen, and two thousand elephants. The troops of Sikander were greatly terrified at the sight of so many elephants, which gave the enemy such a tremendous superiority. Aristatalis, and some other ingenious counsellors, were requested to consult together to contrive some means of counteracting the power of the war-elephants, and they suggested the construction of an iron horse, and the figure of a rider also of iron, to be placed upon wheels like a carriage, and drawn by a number of horses. A soldier, clothed in iron armor, was to follow the vehicle—his hands and face besmeared with combustible matter, and this soldier, armed with a long staff, was at an appointed signal, to pierce the belly of the horse and also of the rider, previously filled with combustibles, so that when the ignited point came in contact with them, the whole engine would make a tremendous explosion and blaze in the air. Sikander approved of this invention, and collected all the blacksmiths and artisans in the country to construct a thousand machines of this description with the utmost expedition, and as soon as they were completed, he prepared for action. Faur too pushed forward with his two thousand elephants in advance; but when the Kanujians beheld such a formidable array they were surprised, and Faur anxiously inquired from his spies what it could be. Upon being told that it was Sikander's artillery, his troops pushed the elephants against the enemy with vigor, at which moment the combustibles were fired by the Rumis, and the machinery exploding, many elephants were burnt and destroyed, and the remainder, with the troops, fled in confusion. Sikander then encountered Faur, and after a severe contest, slew him, and became ruler of the kingdom of Kanuj.

After the conquest of Kanuj, Sikander went to Mekka, carrying thither rich presents and offerings. From thence he proceeded to another city, where he was received with great homage by the most illustrious of the nation. He enquired of them if there was anything wonderful or extraordinary in their country, that he might go to see it, and they replied that there were two trees in the kingdom, one a male, the other a female, from which a voice proceeded. The male-tree spoke in the day, and the female-tree in the night, and whoever had a wish, went thither to have his desires accomplished. Sikander immediately repaired to the spot, and approaching it, he hoped in his heart that a considerable part of his life still remained to be enjoyed. When he came under the tree, a terrible sound arose and rung in his ears, and he asked the people present what it meant. The attendant priest said it implied that fourteen years of his life still remained. Sikander, at this interpretation of the prophetic sound, wept and the burning tears ran down his cheeks. Again he asked, "Shall I return to Rum, and see my mother and children before I die?" and the answer was, "Thou wilt die at Kashan.[51]

"Nor mother, nor thy family at home Wilt thou behold again, for thou wilt die, Closing thy course of glory at Kashan."

Sikander left the place in sorrow, and pursued his way towards Rum. In his progress he arrived at another city, and the inhabitants gave him the most honorable welcome, representing to him, however, that they were dreadfully afflicted by the presence of two demons or giants, who constantly assailed them in the night, devouring men and goats and whatever came in their way. Sikander asked their names; and they replied, Yajuj and Majuj (Gog and Magog). He immediately ordered a barrier to be erected five hundred yards high, and three hundred yards wide, and when it was finished he went away. The giants, notwithstanding all their efforts, were unable to scale this barrier, and in consequence the inhabitants pursued their occupations without the fear of molestation.

To scenes of noble daring still he turned His ardent spirit—for he knew not fear. Still he led on his legions—and now came To a strange place, where countless numbers met His wondering view—countless inhabitants Crowding the city streets, and neighbouring plains; And in the distance presently he saw A lofty mountain reaching to the stars. Onward proceeding, at its foot he found A guardian-dragon, terrible in form, Ready with open jaws to crush his victim; But unappalled, Sikander him beholding With steady eye, which scorned to turn aside, Sprang forward, and at once the monster slew.

Ascending then the mountain, many a ridge, Oft resting on the way, he reached the summit, Where the dead corse of an old saint appeared Wrapt in his grave-clothes, and in gems imbedded. In gold and precious jewels glittering round, Seeming to show what man is, mortal man! Wealth, worldly pomp, the baubles of ambition, All left behind, himself a heap of dust!

None ever went upon that mountain top, But sought for knowledge; and Sikander hoped When he had reached its cloudy eminence, To see the visions of futurity Arise from that departed, holy man! And soon he heard a voice: "Thy time is nigh! Yet may I thy career on earth unfold. It will be thine to conquer many a realm, Win many a crown; thou wilt have many friends And numerous foes, and thy devoted head Will be uplifted to the very heavens. Renowned and glorious shalt thou be; thy name Immortal; but, alas! thy time is nigh!" At these prophetic words Sikander wept, And from that ominous mountain hastened down.

After that Sikander journeyed on to the city of Kashan, where he fell sick, and in a few days, according to the oracle and the prophecy, expired. He had scarcely breathed his last, when Aristu, and Bilniyas the physician, and his family, entered Kashan, and found him dead. They beat their faces, and tore their hair, and mourned for him forty days.



FIRDUSI'S INVOCATION

Thee I invoke, the Lord of Life and Light! Beyond imagination pure and bright! To thee, sufficing praise no tongue can give, We are thy creatures, and in thee we live! Thou art the summit, depth, the all in all, Creator, Guardian of this earthly ball; Whatever is, thou art—Protector, King, From thee all goodness, truth, and mercy spring. O pardon the misdeeds of him who now Bends in thy presence with a suppliant brow. Teach them to tread the path thy Prophet trod; To wash his heart from sin, to know his God; And gently lead him to that home of rest, Where filled with holiest rapture dwell the blest.

Saith not that book divine, from Heaven supplied, "Mustafa is the true, the unerring guide, The purest, greatest Prophet!" Next him came Wise Abu Buker, of unblemished name; Then Omer taught the faith, unknown to guile, And made the world with vernal freshness smile; Then Othman brave th' imperial priesthood graced; All, led by him, the Prophet's faith embraced. The fourth was Ali; he, the spouse adored Of Fatima, then spread the saving word. Ali, of whom Mahommed spoke elate, "I am the city of knowledge—he my gate." Ali the blest. Whoever shall recline A supplicant at his all-powerful shrine, Enjoys both this life and the next; in this, All earthly good, in that, eternal bliss!

From records true my legends I rehearse, And string the pearls of wisdom in my verse, That in the glimmering days of life's decline, Its fruits, in wealth and honor, may be mine. My verse, a structure pointing to the skies; Whose solid strength destroying time defies. All praise the noble work, save only those Of impious life, or base malignant foes; All blest with learning read, and read again, The sovereign smiles, and thus approves my strain: "Richer by far, Firdusi, than a mine Of precious gems, is this bright lay of thine." Centuries may pass away, but still my page Will be the boast of each succeeding age.

Praise, praise to Mahmud, who of like renown, In battle or the banquet, fills the throne; Lord of the realms of Chin and Hindustan, Sovereign and Lord of Persia and Turan, With his loud voice he rends the flintiest ear; On land a tiger fierce, untouched by fear, And on the wave, he seems the crocodile That prowls amidst the waters of the Nile. Generous and brave, his equal is unknown; In deeds of princely worth he stands alone. The infant in the cradle lisps his name; The world exults in Mahmud's spotless fame. In festive hours Heaven smiles upon his truth; In combat deadly as the dragon's tooth; Bounteous in all things, his exhaustless hand Diffuses blessings through the grateful land; And, of the noblest thoughts and actions, lord; The soul of Gabriel breathes in every word, May Heaven with added glory crown his days; Praise, praise to mighty Mahmud—everlasting praise!



FIRDUSI'S SATIRE ON MAHMUD

Know, tyrant as thou art, this earthly state Is not eternal, but of transient date; Fear God, then, and afflict not human-kind; To merit Heaven, be thou to Heaven resigned. Afflict not even the Ant; though weak and small, It breathes and lives, and life is sweet to all. Knowing my temper, firm, and stern, and bold, Didst thou not, tyrant, tremble to behold My sword blood-dropping? Hadst thou not the sense To shrink from giving man like me offence? What could impel thee to an act so base? What, but to earn and prove thy own disgrace? Why was I sentenced to be trod upon, And crushed to death by elephants? By one Whose power I scorn! Couldst thou presume that I Would be appalled by thee, whom I defy? I am the lion, I, inured to blood, And make the impious and the base my food; And I could grind thy limbs, and spread them far As Nile's dark waters their rich treasures bear. Fear thee! I fear not man, but God alone, I only bow to his Almighty throne. Inspired by Him my ready numbers flow; Guarded by Him I dread no earthly foe. Thus in the pride of song I pass my days, Offering to Heaven my gratitude and praise.

From every trace of sense and feeling free, When thou art dead, what will become of thee? If thou shouldst tear me limb from limb, and cast My dust and ashes to the angry blast, Firdusi still would live, since on thy name, Mahmud, I did not rest my hopes of fame In the bright page of my heroic song, But on the God of Heaven, to whom belong Boundless thanksgivings, and on Him whose love Supports the Faithful in the realms above, The mighty Prophet! none who e'er reposed On Him, existence without hope has closed.

And thou wouldst hurl me underneath the tread Of the wild elephant, till I were dead! Dead! by that insult roused, I should become An elephant in power, and seal thy doom— Mahmud! if fear of man hath never awed Thy heart, at least fear thy Creator, God. Full many a warrior of illustrious worth, Full many of humble, of imperial birth: Tur, Silim, Jemshid, Minuchihr the brave, Have died; for nothing had the power to save These mighty monarchs from the common doom; They died, but blest in memory still they bloom. Thus kings too perish—none on earth remain, Since all things human seek the dust again.

O, had thy father graced a kingly throne, Thy mother been for royal virtues known, A different fate the poet then had shared, Honors and wealth had been his just reward; But how remote from thee a glorious line! No high, ennobling ancestry is thine; From a vile stock thy bold career began, A Blacksmith was thy sire of Isfahan. Alas! from vice can goodness ever spring? Is mercy hoped for in a tyrant king? Can water wash the Ethiopian white? Can we remove the darkness from the night? The tree to which a bitter fruit is given, Would still be bitter in the bowers of Heaven; And a bad heart keeps on its vicious course; Or if it changes, changes for the worse; Whilst streams of milk, where Eden's flowrets blow, Acquire more honied sweetness as they flow. The reckless king who grinds the poor like thee, Must ever be consigned to infamy!

Now mark Firdusi's strain, his Book of Kings Will ever soar upon triumphant wings. All who have listened to its various lore Rejoice, the wise grow wiser than before; Heroes of other times, of ancient days, Forever flourish in my sounding lays; Have I not sung of Kaus, Tus, and Giw; Of matchless Rustem, faithful, still, and true. Of the great Demon-binder, who could throw His kamund to the Heavens, and seize his foe! Of Husheng, Feridun, and Sam Suwar, Lohurasp, Kai-khosrau, and Isfendiyar; Gushtasp, Arjasp, and him of mighty name, Gudarz, with eighty sons of martial fame!

The toil of thirty years is now complete, Record sublime of many a warlike feat, Written midst toil and trouble, but the strain Awakens every heart, and will remain A lasting stimulus to glorious deeds; For even the bashful maid, who kindling reads, Becomes a warrior. Thirty years of care, Urged on by royal promise, did I bear, And now, deceived and scorned, the aged bard Is basely cheated of his pledged reward!



[FOOTNOTES to the SHAH NAMEH]

[Footnote 1: Love at first sight, and of the most enthusiastic kind, is the passion described in all Persian poems, as if a whole life of love were condensed into one moment. It is all wild and rapturous. It has nothing of a rational cast. A casual glance from an unknown beauty often affords the subject of a poem. The poets whom Dr. Johnson has denominated metaphysical, such as Donne, Jonson, and Cowley, bear a strong resemblance to the Persians on the subject of love.

Now, sure, within this twelvemonth past, I've loved at least some twenty years or more; Th' account of love runs much more fast, Than that with which our life does score: So, though my life be short, yet I may prove, The Great Methusalem of love!!! "Love and Life."—Cowley.

The odes of Hafiz also, with all their spirit and richness of expression, abound in conceit and extravagant metaphor. There is, however, something very beautiful in the passage which may be paraphrased thus:

Zephyr thro' thy locks is straying, Stealing fragrance, charms displaying; Should it pass where Hafiz lies, From his conscious dust would rise, Flowrets of a thousand dyes!]

[Footnote 2: Ancient Scythia embraced the whole of Turan and the northern part of Persia. The Turanians are the Scythians of the Greek Historians, who are said, about the year B.C. 639, to have invaded the kingdom of the Medes.

Turan, which is the ancient name of the country of Turkistan, appears from Des Guignes, to be the source and fountain of all the celebrated Scythian nations, which, under the name of Goths and Vandals, subsequently overran the Roman empire. Iran and Turan, according to the Oriental historians, comprehended all that is comprised in upper Asia, with the exception of India and China. Every country beyond the pale of the Persian empire was considered barbarous. The great river called by the Arabs and Persians, Jihun or Amu, and by the Greeks and Romans, Oxus, divided these two great countries from each other.]

[Footnote 3: Sam, Sam Suwar, was the son of Nariman. He is said to have vanquished or tamed a great number of animals and terrible monsters, amongst which was one remarkable for its ferocity. This furious animal was called Soham, on account of its being of the color and nature of fire. According to fabulous history, he made it his war-horse, in all his engagements against the Demons.]

[Footnote 4: The sex of this fabulous animal is not clearly made out! It tells Zal that it had nursed him like a father, and therefore I have, in this place, adopted the masculine gender, though the preserver of young ones might authorize its being considered a female. The Simurgh is probably neither one nor the other, or both! Some have likened the Simurgh to the Ippogrif or Griffin; but the Simurgh is plainly a biped; others again have supposed that the fable simply meant a holy recluse of the mountains, who nourished and educated the poor child which had been abandoned by its father.]

[Footnote 5: This custom is derived from the earliest ages of Persia, and has been continued down to the present times with no abatement of its pomp or splendor Mr. Morier thus speaks of the progress of the Embassy to Persia:—

"An Istakbal composed of fifty horsemen of our Mehmandar's tribe, met us about three miles from our encampment; they were succeeded as we advanced by an assemblage on foot, who threw a glass vessel filled with sweetmeats beneath the Envoy's horse, a ceremony which we had before witnessed at Kauzeroon, and which we again understood to be an honor shared with the King and his sons alone. Then came two of the principal merchants of Shiraz, accompanied by a boy, the son of Mahomed Nebee Khan, the new Governor of Bushere. They, however, incurred the Envoy's displeasure by not dismounting from their horses, a form always observed in Persia by those of lower rank, when they met a superior. We were thus met by three Istakbals during the course of the day."]

[Footnote 6: The province of Mazinderan, of which the principal city is Amol, comprehends the whole of the southern coast of the Caspian sea. It was known to the ancients by the name of Hyrcania. At the period to which the text refers, the country was in the possession of demons.]

[Footnote 7: The fort called Killah Suffeed, lies about seventy-six miles northwest of the city of Shiraz. It is of an oblong form, and encloses a level space at the top of the mountain, which is covered with delightful verdure, and watered by numerous springs. The ascent is near three miles, and for the last five or six hundred yards, the summit is so difficult of approach, that the slightest opposition, if well directed, must render it impregnable.]

[Footnote 8: The numerical strength of the Persian and Turanian forces appears prodigious on all occasions, but nothing when compared with the army under Xerxes at Thermopylae, which, with the numerous retinue of servants, eunuchs, and women that attended it, is said to have amounted to no less than 5,283,220 souls.]

[Footnote 9: Herodotus speaks of a people confederated with the army of Xerxes, who employed the noose. "Their principal dependence in action is upon cords made of twisted leather, which they use in this manner: when they engage an enemy, they throw out these cords, having a noose at the extremity; if they entangle in them either horse or man, they without difficulty put them to death."—Beloe's transl. Polymnia, Sec. 85.]

[Footnote 10: Istakhar, also called Persepolis, and Chehel-minar, or the Forty Pillars. This city was said to have been laid in ruins by Alexander after the conquest of Darius.]

[Footnote 11: Kai-kaus, the second King of Persia of the dynasty called Kaianides. He succeeded Kai-kobad, about six hundred years B.C. According to Firdusi he was a foolish tyrannical prince. He appointed Rustem captain-general of the armies, to which the lieutenant-generalship and the administration of the state was annexed, under the title of "the champion of the world." He also gave him a taj, or crown of gold, which kings only were accustomed to wear, and granted him the privilege of giving audience seated on a throne of gold. It is said that Kai-kaus applied himself much to the study of astronomy, and that he founded two great observatories, the one at Babel, and the other on the Tigris.]

[Footnote 12: The armor called Burgustuwan almost covered the horse, and as usually made of leather and felt-cloth.]

[Footnote 13: In this hunting excursion he is completely armed, being supplied with spear, sword, shield, mace, bow and arrows. Like the knight-errants of after times, he seldom even slept unarmed. Single combat and the romantic enterprises of European Chivalry may indeed be traced to the East. Rustem was a most illustrious example of all that is pious, disinterested, and heroic. The adventure now describing is highly characteristic of a chivalrous age. In the Dissertation prefixed to Richardson's Dictionary, mention is made of a famous Arabian Knight-errant called Abu Mahommud Albatal, "who wandered everywhere in quest of adventures, and redressing grievances. He was killed in the year 738."]

[Footnote 14: As a proof of her innocence Tahmineh declares to Rustem, "No person has ever seen me out of my private chamber, or even heard the sound of my voice." It is but just to remark, that the seclusion in which women of rank continue in Persia, and other parts of the East, is not, by them, considered intolerable, or even a hardship. Custom has not only rendered it familiar, but happy. It has nothing of the unprofitable severity of the cloister. The Zenanas are supplied with everything that can please and gratify a reasonable wish, and it is well known that the women of the East have influence and power, more flattering and solid, than the free unsecluded beauties of the Western world.]

[Footnote 15: In Percy's Collection, there is an old song which contains a similar idea.

You meaner beauties of the night, That poorly satisfie our eies, More by your number, than your light; You common people of the skies, What are you when the Moon shall rise?

SIR HENRY WOTTON.]

[Footnote 16: Kus is a tymbal, or large brass drum, which is beat in the palaces or camps of Eastern Princes.]

[Footnote 17: It appears throughout the Shah Nameh that whenever any army was put in motion, the inhabitants and the country, whether hostile or friendly, were equally given up to plunder and devastation, and "Everything in their progress was burnt and destroyed."]

[Footnote 18: Literally, Human was not at first aware that Sohrab was wounded in the LIVER. In this organ, Oriental as well as the Greek and Roman poets, place the residence of love.]

[Footnote 19: The paper upon which the letters of royal and distinguished personages in the East are written is usually perfumed, and covered with curious devices in gold. This was scented with amber. The degree of embellishment is generally regulated according to the rank of the party.]

[Footnote 20: Four days were consumed in uninterrupted feasting. This seems to have been an ancient practice previous to the commencement of any important undertaking, or at setting out on a journey.]

[Footnote 21: Zuara, it will be remembered, was the brother of Rustem, and had the immediate superintendence of the Zabul troops.]

[Footnote 22: The original is, "Seize and inflict upon him the punishment of the dar." According to Burhani-katia, dar is a tree upon which felons are hanged. But the general acceptation of the term is breaking or tearing the body upon a stake.]

[Footnote 23: In this speech Rustem recounts the services which he had performed for Kaus. He speaks of his conquests in Egypt, China, Hamaveran, Rum, Suk-sar, and Mazinderan. Thus Achilles boasts of his unrequited achievements in the cause of Greece.

The warriors now, with sad forebodings wrung, I sacked twelve ample cities on the main, And twelve lay smoking on the Trojan plain.

POPE.—Iliad ix. 328.]

[Footnote 24: Literally, "Kings ought to be endowed with judgment and discretion; no advantage can arise from impetuosity and rage." Gudarz was one of the greatest generals of Persia, he conquered Judea, and took Jerusalem under the reign of Lohurasp, of the first dynasty of Persia, and sustained many wars against Afrasiyab under the Kings of the second dynasty. He was the father of Giw, who is also celebrated for his valor in the following reigns. The opinion of this venerable and distinguished warrior appears to have had considerable weight and influence with Kaus.]

[Footnote 25: Kaus, in acknowledging the violence Of his disposition, uses a singular phrase: "When you departed in anger, Champion! I repented; ashes fell into my mouth." A similar metaphor is used in Hindustani: If a person falls under the displeasure of his friend, he says, "Ashes have fallen into my meat": meaning, that his happiness is gone.]

[Footnote 26: This is one of Firdusi's favorite similes.

"My heart became as slender as the new moon."]

[Footnote 27: The beautiful arbors referred to in the text are often included within the walls of Eastern palaces. They are fancifully fitted up, and supplied with reservoirs, fountains, and flower-trees. These romantic garden-pavilions are called Kiosks in Turkey, and are generally situated upon an eminence near a running stream.]

[Footnote 28: Milton alludes to this custom in Paradise Lost:

Where the gorgeous east with richest hand Showers on her Kings barbaric pearl and gold.

In the note on this passage by Warburton, it is said to have been an eastern ceremony, at the coronation of their Kings, to powder them with gold-dust and seed-pearl. The expression in Firdusi is, "he showered or scattered gems." It was usual at festivals, and the custom still exists, to throw money amongst the people. In Hafiz, the term used is nisar, which is of the same import. Clarke, in the second volume of his Travels, speaks of the four principal Sultanas of the Seraglio at Constantinople being powdered with diamonds:

"Long spangled robes, open in front, with pantaloons embroidered in gold and silver, and covered by a profusion of pearls and precious stones, displayed their persons to great advantage. Their hair hung in loose and very thick tresses on each side of their cheeks, falling quite down to the waist, and covering their shoulders behind. Those tresses were quite powdered with diamonds, not displayed according to any studied arrangement, but as if carelessly scattered, by handfuls, among their flowing locks."

—Vol. ii. p. 14.]

[Footnote 29: In his descriptions of battle-array, Firdusi seldom omits "golden slippers," which, however, I have not preserved in this place.]

[Footnote 30: The original is Sandurūs, sandaraca; for which I have substituted amber, Sandurūs is the Arabic name for Gum Juniper.]

[Footnote 31: The banners were adorned with the figure of an elephant, to denote his royal descent.]

[Footnote 32: The text says that he was also the son-in-law of Rustem.]

[Footnote 33: The word Guraz signifies a wild boar, but this acceptation is not very accordant to Mussulman notions, and consequently it is not supposed, by the orthodox, to have that meaning in the text. It is curious that the name of the warrior, Guraz, should correspond with the bearings on the standard. This frequently obtains in the heraldry of Europe. Family bearings seem to be used in every country of any degree of civilization. Krusenstern, the Russian circumnavigator, speaking of the Japanese, says, "Everyone has his family arms worked into his clothes, in different places, about the size of a half dollar, a practice usual to both sexes; and in this manner any person may be recognized, and the family to which he belongs easily ascertained. A young lady wears her father's arms until after her marriage, when she assumes those of her husband. The greatest mark of honor which a Prince or a Governor can confer upon any one, is to give him a cloak with his arms upon it, the person having such a one wearing his own arms upon his under dress."]

[Footnote 34: Firdusi considers this to be destiny! It would have been natural in Sohrab to have gloried in the fame of his father, but from an inevitable dispensation, his lips are here sealed on that subject; and he inquires of Rustem as if he only wanted to single him out for the purpose of destroying him. The people of Persia are all fatalists.]

[Footnote 35: This passage will remind the classical reader of the speech of Themistocles, in Plutarch, addressed to Xerxes. The Persian King had assured him of his protection, and ordered him to declare freely whatever he had to propose concerning Greece. Themistocles replied, that a man's discourse was like a piece of tapestry which, when spread open, displays its figures; but when it is folded up, they are hidden and lost; therefore he begged time. The King, delighted with the comparison, bade him take what time he pleased; and he desired a year; in which space he learned the Persian language, so as to be able to converse with the King without an interpreter.]

[Footnote 36: Hujir was the son of Gudarz. A family of the extent mentioned in the text is not of rare occurrence amongst the Princes of the East. The King of Persia had, in 1809, according to Mr. Morier, "sixty-five sons!" As the Persians make no account of females, it is not known how many daughters he had.]

[Footnote 37: The Kulub-gah is the centre or heart of the army, where the Sovereign or Chief of the troops usually remains.]

[Footnote 38: Ahirmun, a demon, the principle of evil.]

[Footnote 39: This girdle was the gift of the king, as a token of affection and gratitude. Jonathan gives to David, among other things, his girdle: "Because he loved him as his own soul."—I Samuel, xviii. 3. 4.]

[Footnote 40: A crocodile in war, with Firdusi, is a figure of great power and strength.]

[Footnote 41: It is difficult to account for this denial of his name, as there appears to be no equivalent cause. But all the famous heroes, described in the Shah Nameh, are as much distinguished for their address and cunning, as their bravery.]

[Footnote 42: The original is Umūd, which appears to have been a weapon made of iron. Umūd also signifies a column, a beam.]

[Footnote 43: Thus also Sa'di "Knowest thou What Zal said to Rustem the Champion? Never calculate upon the weakness or insignificance of an enemy."]

[Footnote 44: Rustem is as much distinguished for piety as bravery. Every success is attributed by him to the favor of Heaven. In the achievement of his labors in the Heft-Khan, his devotion is constant and he everywhere justly acknowledges that power and victory are derived from God alone.]

[Footnote 45: The expression in the original is remarkable. "Assuredly, as thou hast thirsted for blood, Destiny will also thirst for thine, and the very hairs upon thy body will become daggers to destroy thee." This passage is quoted in the preface to the Shah Nameh, collated by order of Bayisunghur Khan, as the production of the poet Unsari. Unsari was one of the seven poets whom Mahmud appointed to give specimens of their powers in versifying the History of the Kings of Persia. The story of Rustem and Sohrab fell to Unsari, and his arrangement of it contained the above verses, which so delighted the Sultan that he directed the poet to undertake the whole work. This occurred before Firdusi was introduced at Court and eclipsed every competitor. In compliment to Mahmud, perhaps he ingrafted them on his own poem, or more probably they have been interpolated since.]

[Footnote 46: Jemshid's glory and misfortunes, as said before, are the constant theme of admiration and reflection amongst the poets of Persia.]

[Footnote 47: These medicated draughts are often mentioned in Romances. The reader will recollect the banter upon them in Don Quixote, where the Knight of La enumerates to Sancho the cures which had been performed upon many valorous champions, covered with wounds. The Hindus, in their books on medicine, talk of drugs for the recovery of the dead!]

[Footnote 48: Zuara conducted the troops of Afrasiyab across the Jihun. Rustem remained on the field of battle till his return.]

[Footnote 49: Manijeh was the daughter of Afrasiyab.]

[Footnote 50: Theocritus introduces a Greek singing-girl in Idyllium xv, at the festival of Adonis. In the Arabian Nights, the Caliph is represented at his feasts surrounded by troops of the most beautiful females playing on various instruments.]

[Footnote 51: Kashan is here made to be the deathplace of Alexander, whilst, according to the Greek historians, he died suddenly at Babylon, as foretold by the magicians, on the 21st of April, B.C. 323, in the thirty-second year of his age.]



THE RUBAIYAT OF OMAR KHAYYAM

[Translation by Edward Fitzgerald]



Introduction

It is seldom that we come across a poem which it is impossible to classify in accordance with European standards. Yet such a poem is Omar's "Rubaiyat." If elegiac poetry is the expression of subjective emotion, sentiment, and thought, we might class this Persian masterpiece as elegy; but an elegy is a sustained train of connected imagery and reflection. The "Rubaiyat" is, on the other hand, a string of quatrains, each of which has all the complete and independent significance of an epigram. Yet there is so little of that lightness which should characterize an epigram that we can scarcely put Omar in the same category with Martial, and it is easy to understand why the author should have been contented to name his book the "Rubaiyat," or Quatrains, leaving it to each individual to make, if he chooses, a more definite description of the work. To English readers, Mr. Edward Fitzgerald's version of the poem has provided one of the most masterly translations that was ever made from an Oriental classic. For Omar, like Hafiz, is one of the most Persian of Persian writers. There is in this volume all the gorgeousness of the East: all the luxury of the most refined civilization. Omar's bowers are always full of roses; the notes of the nightingale tremble through his stanzas. The intoxication of wine and the bright eyes of lovely women are ever present to his mind. The feast, the revel, the joys of love, and the calm satisfaction of appetite make up the grosser elements in his song. But the prevailing note of his music is that of deep and settled melancholy, breaking out occasionally into words of misanthropy and despair. The keenness and intensity of this poet's style seem to be inspired by an ever-present fear of death. This sense of approaching Fate is never absent from him, even in his most genial moments; and the strange fascination which he exercises over his readers is largely due to the thrilling sweetness of some passage which ends in a note of dejection and anguish.

Strange to say, Omar was the greatest mathematician of his day. The exactness of his fine and analytic mind is reflected in the exquisite finish, the subtile wit, the delicate descriptive touches, that abound in his Quatrains. His verses hang together like gems of the purest water exquisitely cut and clasped by "jacinth work of subtlest jewelry." But apart from their masterly technique, these Quatrains exhibit in their general tone the revolt of a clear intellect from the prevailing bigotry and fanaticism of an established religion. There is in the poet's mind the lofty indignation of one who sees, in its true light, the narrowness of an ignorant and hypocritical clergy, yet can find no solid ground on which to build up for himself a theory of supernaturalism, illumined by hope. Yet there are traces of Mysticism in his writings, which only serve to emphasize his profound longing for some knowledge of the invisible, and his foreboding that the grave is the "be-all" and "end-all" of life. The poet speaks in tones of bitterest lamentation when he sees succumb to Fate all that is bright and fresh and beautiful. At his brightest moments he gives expression to a vague pantheism, but all his views of the power that lies behind life are obscured and perturbed by sceptical despondency. He is the great man of science, who, like other men of genius too deeply immersed in the study of natural law or abstract reasoning, has lost all touch with that great world of spiritual things which we speak of as religion, and which we can only come in contact with through those instinctive emotions which scientific analysis very often does so much to stifle. There are many men of science who, like Darwin, have come, through the study of material phenomena in nature, to a condition of mind which is indifferent in matters of religion. But the remarkable feature in the case of Omar is that he, who could see so clearly and feel so acutely, has been enabled also to embody in a poem of imperishable beauty the opinions which he shared with many of his contemporaries. The range of his mind can only be measured by supposing that Sir Isaac Newton had written Manfred or Childe Harold. But even more remarkable is what we may call the modernity of this twelfth century Persian poet. We sometimes hear it said that great periods of civilization end in a manifestation of infidelity and despair. There can be no doubt that a great deal of restlessness and misgiving characterizes the minds of to-day in regard to all questions of religion. Europe, in the nineteenth century, as reflected in the works of Byron, Spencer, Darwin, and Schopenhauer, is very much in the same condition as intellectual Persia in the twelfth century, so far as the pessimism of Omar is representative of his day. This accounts for the wide popularity of Fitzgerald's "Rubaiyat." The book has been read eagerly and fondly studied, as if it were a new book of fin du siecle production: the last efflorescence of intellectual satiety, cynicism, and despair. Yet the book is eight centuries old, and it has been the task of this seer of the East to reveal to the West the heart-sickness under which the nations were suffering.

Omar Khayyam—that is, Omar the tent-maker—was born in the year 1050 at Nishapur, the little Damascus (as it is called) of Persia: famous as a seat of learning, as a place of religion, and a centre of commerce. In the days of Omar it was by far the most important city of Khorasan. The poet, like his father before him, held a court office under the Vizir of his day. It was from the stipend which he thus enjoyed that he secured leisure for mathematical and literary work. His father had been a khayyam, or tent-maker, and his gifted son doubtless inherited the handicraft as well as the name; but his position at Court released him from the drudgery of manual labor. He was thus also brought in contact with the luxurious side of life, and became acquainted with those scenes of pleasure which he recalls only to add poignancy to the sorrow with which he contemplates the yesterday of life. Omar's astronomical researches were continued for many years, and his algebra has been translated into French: but his greatest claim to renown is based upon his immortal Quatrains, which will always live as the best expression of a phase of mind constantly recurring in the history of civilization, from the days of Anaxagoras to those of Darwin and Spencer.

E.W.



OMAR KHAYYAM By John Hay

Address delivered December 8, 1897, at the Dinner of the Omar Khayyam Club, London.

I can never forget my emotions when I first saw Fitzgerald's translations of the Quatrains. Keats, in his sublime ode on Chapman's Homer, has described the sensation once for all:

"Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken."

The exquisite beauty, the faultless form, the singular grace of those amazing stanzas were not more wonderful than the depth and breadth of their profound philosophy, their knowledge of life, their dauntless courage, their serene facing of the ultimate problems of life and death. Of course the doubt did not spare me, which has assailed many as ignorant as I was of the literature of the East, whether it was the poet or the translator to whom was due this splendid result. Was it, in fact, a reproduction of an antique song, or a mystification of a great modern, careless of fame and scornful of his time? Could it be possible that in the eleventh century, so far away as Khorasan, so accomplished a man of letters lived, with such distinction, such breadth, such insight, such calm disillusions, such cheerful and jocund despair? Was this "Weltschmerz," which we thought a malady of our day, endemic in Persia in 1100? My doubt only lasted until I came upon a literal translation of the Rubaiyat, and I saw that not the least remarkable quality of Fitzgerald's poem was its fidelity to the original.

In short, Omar was a Fitzgerald, or Fitzgerald was a reincarnation of Omar. It was not to the disadvantage of the latter poet that he followed so closely in the footsteps of the earlier. A man of extraordinary genius had appeared in the world, had sung a song of incomparable beauty and power in an environment no longer worthy of him, in a language of narrow range; for many generations the song was virtually lost; then by a miracle of creation, a poet, a twin-brother in the spirit to the first, was born, who took up the forgotten poem and sang it anew with all its original melody and force, and all the accumulated refinement of ages of art. It seems to me idle to ask which was the greater master; each seems greater than his work. The song is like an instrument of precious workmanship and marvellous tone, which is worthless in common hands, but when it falls, at long intervals, into the hands of the supreme master, it yields a melody of transcendent enchantment to all that have ears to hear. If we look at the sphere of influence of the poets, there is no longer any comparison. Omar sang to a half-barbarous province: Fitzgerald to the world. Wherever the English speech is spoken or read, the "Rubaiyat" have taken their place as a classic. There is not a hill post in India, nor a village in England, where there is not a coterie to whom Omar Khayyam is a familiar friend and a bond of union. In America he has an equal following, in many regions and conditions. In the Eastern States his adepts form an esoteric sect; the beautiful volume of drawings by Mr. Vedder is a centre of delight and suggestion wherever it exists. In the cities of the West you will find the Quatrains one of the most thoroughly read books in any club library. I heard them quoted once in one of the most lonely and desolate spots in the high Rockies. We had been camping on the Great Divide, our "roof of the world," where in the space of a few feet you may see two springs, one sending its waters to the Polar solitudes, the other to the eternal Carib summer. One morning at sunrise, as we were breaking camp, I was startled to hear one of our party, a frontiersman born, intoning these words of sombre majesty:—

"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."

I thought that sublime setting of primeval forest and pouring canyon was worthy of the lines; I am sure the dewless, crystalline air never vibrated to strains of more solemn music. Certainly, our poet can never be numbered among the great writers of all time. He has told no story; he has never unpacked his heart in public; he has never thrown the reins on the neck of the winged horse, and let his imagination carry him where it listed. "Ah! the crowd must have emphatic warrant," as Browning sang. Its suffrages are not for the cool, collected observer, whose eyes no glitter can dazzle, no mist suffuse. The many cannot but resent that air of lofty intelligence, that pale and subtle smile. But he will hold a place forever among that limited number, who, like Lucretius and Epicurus—without range or defiance, even without unbecoming mirth, look deep into the tangled mysteries of things; refuse credence to the absurd, and allegiance to arrogant authority; sufficiently conscious of fallibility to be tolerant of all opinions; with a faith too wide for doctrine and a benevolence untrammelled by creed; too wise to be wholly poets, and yet too surely poets to be implacably wise.



THE RUBAIYAT

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.

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 Worshipper outside?"

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."

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.

Iram indeed is gone with all his Rose, And Jemshid'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.

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.

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.

Whether at Nishapur 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.

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 Jemshid and Kai-kobad away.

Well, let it take them! What have we to do With Kai-kobad the Great, or Kai-khosrau? Let Zal and Rustem bluster as they will, Or Hatim call to Supper—heed not you.

With me along the strip of Herbage strewn That just divides the desert from the sown, Where name of Slave and Sultan is forgot— And Peace to Mahmud on his golden Throne!

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!

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!

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."

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.

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.

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.

They say the Lion and the Lizard keep The Courts where Jemshid gloried and drank deep: And Bahram, that great Hunter—the Wild Ass Stamps o'er his Head, but cannot break his Sleep.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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?

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!

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."

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 scattered, and their Mouths are stopt with Dust.

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.

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."

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.