Letters and Literary Remains of Edward Fitzgerald Edited by William Aldis Wright: In seven volumes |
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| SALÁMÁN AND ABSÁL
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 | Letters and Literary Remains of Edward Fitzgerald |  |
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SALÁMÁN AND ABSÁL
AN ALLEGORY TRANSLATED FROM THE PERSIAN OF JÁMÍ
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PRELIMINARY INVOCATION.
Oh Thou, whose Spirit through this universe,In which Thou dost involve thyself diffused,
Shall so perchance irradiate human clay
That men, suddenly dazzled, lose themselves
In ecstasy before a mortal shrine
Whose Light is but a Shade of the Divine;
Not till thy Secret Beauty through the cheek
Of Laila smite doth she inflame Majnún;
And not till Thou have kindled Shírín's Eyes
The hearts of those two Rivals swell with blood.
For Loved and Lover are not but by Thee,
Nor Beauty;—mortal Beauty but the veil
Thy Heavenly hides behind, and from itself
Feeds, and our hearts yearn after as a Bride
That glances past us veil'd—but ever so
That none the veil from what it hides may know.
How long wilt thou continue thus the World
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From which thou only peepest? I would be
Thy Lover, and thine only—I, mine eyes
Seal'd in the light of Thee to all but Thee,
Yea, in the revelation of Thyself
Lost to Myself, and all that Self is not
Within the Double world that is but One.
Thou lurkest under all the forms of Thought,
Under the form of all Created things;
Look where I may, still nothing I discern
But Thee throughout this Universe, wherein
Thyself Thou dost reflect, and through those eyes
Of him whom Man thou madest, scrutinize.
To thy Harím Dividuality
No entrance finds—no word of This and That;
Do Thou my separate and derivèd Self
Make one with thy Essential! Leave me room
On that Diván which leaves no room for Twain;
Lest, like the simple Arab in the tale,
I grow perplext, oh God! 'twixt ‘Me’ and ‘Thee;’
If I—this Spirit that inspires me whence?
If Thou —then what this sensual Impotence?
From the solitary Desert
Up to Baghdád came a simple
Arab; there amid the rout
Grew bewilder'd of the countless
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Coming, going, meeting, parting,
Clamour, clatter, and confusion,
All about him and about.
Travel-wearied, hubbub-dizzy,
Would the simple Arab fain
Get to sleep—‘But then, on waking,
‘How,’ quoth he, ‘amid so many
‘Waking know Myself again?’
So, to make the matter certain,
Strung a gourd about his ankle,
And, into a corner creeping,
Baghdád and Himself and People
Soon were blotted from his brain.
But one that heard him and divined
His purpose, slily crept behind;
From the Sleeper's ankle slipping,
Round his own the pumpkin tied,
And laid him down to sleep beside.
By and by the Arab waking
Looks directly for his Signal—
Sees it on another's Ankle—
Cries aloud, ‘Oh Good-for-nothing
‘Rascal to perplex me so!
‘That by you I am bewilder'd,
‘Whether I be I or no!
‘If I—the Pumpkin why on You?
‘If You—then Where am I, and Who?
And yet, how long, O Jámí, stringing Verse,
Pearl after pearl, on that old Harp of thine?
Year after year attuning some new Song,
The breath of some old Story? Life is gone,
And that last song is not the last; my Soul
Is spent—and still a Story to be told!
And I, whose back is crooked as the Harp
I still keep tuning through the Night till Day!
That harp untuned by Time—the harper's hand
Shaking with Age—how shall the harper's hand
Repair its cunning, and the sweet old harp
Be modulated as of old? Methinks
'Twere time to break and cast it in the fire;
The vain old harp, that, breathing from its strings
No music more to charm the ears of men,
May, from its scented ashes, as it burns,
Breathe resignation to the Harper's soul,
Now that his body looks to dissolution.
My teeth fall out—my two eyes see no more
Till by Feringhí glasses turn'd to four;
Pain sits with me sitting behind my knees,
From which I hardly rise unhelpt of hand;
I bow down to my root, and like a Child
Yearn, as is likely, to my Mother Earth,
Upon whose bosom I shall cease to weep,
And on my Mother's bosom fall asleep.
Pearl after pearl, on that old Harp of thine?
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The breath of some old Story? Life is gone,
And that last song is not the last; my Soul
Is spent—and still a Story to be told!
And I, whose back is crooked as the Harp
I still keep tuning through the Night till Day!
That harp untuned by Time—the harper's hand
Shaking with Age—how shall the harper's hand
Repair its cunning, and the sweet old harp
Be modulated as of old? Methinks
'Twere time to break and cast it in the fire;
The vain old harp, that, breathing from its strings
No music more to charm the ears of men,
May, from its scented ashes, as it burns,
Breathe resignation to the Harper's soul,
Now that his body looks to dissolution.
My teeth fall out—my two eyes see no more
Till by Feringhí glasses turn'd to four;
Pain sits with me sitting behind my knees,
From which I hardly rise unhelpt of hand;
I bow down to my root, and like a Child
Yearn, as is likely, to my Mother Earth,
Upon whose bosom I shall cease to weep,
And on my Mother's bosom fall asleep.
The House in ruin, and its music heard
No more within, nor at the door of speech,
Better in silence and oblivion
To fold me head and foot, remembering
What The Voice whisper'd in the Master's ear—
‘No longer think of Rhyme, but think of Me!’—
Of Whom?—Of Him whose Palace the Soul is,
And Treasure-house—who notices and knows
Its income and out-going, and then comes
To fill it when the Stranger is departed.
Yea; but whose Shadow being Earthly Kings,
Their Attributes, their Wrath and Favour, His,—
Lo! in the meditation of His glory,
The Sháh whose subject upon Earth I am,
As he of Heaven's, comes on me unaware,
And suddenly arrests me for his due.
Therefore for one last travel, and as brief
As may become the feeble breath of Age,
My weary pen once more drinks of the well,
Whence, of the Mortal writing, I may read
Anticipation of the Invisible.
One who travell'd in the Desert
No more within, nor at the door of speech,
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To fold me head and foot, remembering
What The Voice whisper'd in the Master's ear—
‘No longer think of Rhyme, but think of Me!’—
Of Whom?—Of Him whose Palace the Soul is,
And Treasure-house—who notices and knows
Its income and out-going, and then comes
To fill it when the Stranger is departed.
Yea; but whose Shadow being Earthly Kings,
Their Attributes, their Wrath and Favour, His,—
Lo! in the meditation of His glory,
The Sháh whose subject upon Earth I am,
As he of Heaven's, comes on me unaware,
And suddenly arrests me for his due.
Therefore for one last travel, and as brief
As may become the feeble breath of Age,
My weary pen once more drinks of the well,
Whence, of the Mortal writing, I may read
Anticipation of the Invisible.
Saw Majnún where he was sitting
All alone like a Magician
Tracing Letters in the Sand.
‘Oh distracted Lover! writing
‘What the Sword-wind of the Desert
‘Undeciphers so that no one
‘After you shall understand.’
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‘Only for myself, and only
‘“Laila,”—if for ever “Laila”
‘Writing, in that Word a Volume,
‘Over which for ever poring,
‘From her very Name I sip
‘In Fancy, till I drink, her Lip.’
THE STORY.
I. Part I.
A Sháh there was who ruled the realm of Yún,And wore the Ring of Empire of Sikander;
And in his reign A Sage, of such report
For Insight reaching quite beyond the Veil,
That Wise men from all quarters of the World,
To catch the jewel falling from his lips
Out of the secret treasure as he went,
Went in a girdle round him.—Which The Sháh
Observing, took him to his secresy;
Stirr'd not a step, nor set design afoot,
Without the Prophet's sanction; till, so counsell'd,
From Káf to Káf reach'd his Dominion:
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The ring of Empire wore, but under his
Bow'd down in Battle; rising then in Peace
Under his Justice grew, secure from wrong,
And in their strength was his Dominion strong.
The Sháh that has not Wisdom in himself,
Nor has a Wise one for his Counsellor,
The wand of his Authority falls short,
And his Dominion crumbles at the base.
For he, discerning not the characters
Of Tyranny and Justice, confounds both,
Making the World a desert, and Redress
A fantom-water of the Wilderness.
God said to the Prophet David—
‘David, whom I have exalted
‘From the sheep to be my People's
‘Shepherd, by your Justice my
‘Revelation justify.
‘Lest the misbelieving—yea,
‘The Fire-adoring Princes rather
‘Be my Prophets, who fulfil,
‘Knowing not my Word, my Will.’
One night The Sháh of Yúnan as he sate
Contemplating his measureless extent
Of Empire, and the glory wherewithal,
As with a garment robed, he ruled alone;
Then found he nothing wanted to his heart
Unless a Son, who, while he lived, might share,
And, after him, his robe of Empire wear.
And then he turn'd him to The Sage, and said:
‘O Darling of the soul of Iflatún;
‘To whom with all his school Aristo bows;
‘Yea, thou that an Eleventh to the Ten
‘Intelligences addest: Thou hast read
‘The yet unutter'd secret of my Heart;
‘Answer—Of all that man desires of God
‘Is any blessing greater than a Son?
‘Man's prime Desire; by whom his name and he
‘Shall live beyond himself; by whom his eyes
‘Shine living, and his dust with roses blows.
‘A Foot for thee to stand on, and an Arm
‘To lean by; sharp in battle as a sword;
‘Salt of the banquet-table; and a tower
‘Of salutary counsel in Diván;
‘One in whose youth a Father shall prolong
‘His years, and in his strength continue strong.’
Contemplating his measureless extent
Of Empire, and the glory wherewithal,
As with a garment robed, he ruled alone;
Then found he nothing wanted to his heart
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And, after him, his robe of Empire wear.
And then he turn'd him to The Sage, and said:
‘O Darling of the soul of Iflatún;
‘To whom with all his school Aristo bows;
‘Yea, thou that an Eleventh to the Ten
‘Intelligences addest: Thou hast read
‘The yet unutter'd secret of my Heart;
‘Answer—Of all that man desires of God
‘Is any blessing greater than a Son?
‘Man's prime Desire; by whom his name and he
‘Shall live beyond himself; by whom his eyes
‘Shine living, and his dust with roses blows.
‘A Foot for thee to stand on, and an Arm
‘To lean by; sharp in battle as a sword;
‘Salt of the banquet-table; and a tower
‘Of salutary counsel in Diván;
‘One in whose youth a Father shall prolong
‘His years, and in his strength continue strong.’
When the shrewd Sage had heard The Sháh's discourse
In commendation of a Son, he said:
‘Thus much of a Good Son, whose wholesome growth
‘Approves the root he grew from. But for one
‘Kneaded of Evil—well, could one revoke
‘His generation, and as early pull
‘Him and his vices from the string of Time.
‘Like Noah's, puff'd with insolence and pride,
‘Who, reckless of his Father's warning call,
‘Was by the voice of Allah from the door
‘Of refuge in his Father's Ark debarr'd,
‘And perish'd in the Deluge. And as none
Who long for children, may their children choose,
‘Beware of teazing Allah for a Son,
‘Whom having, you may have to pray to lose.’
Sick at heart for want of Children,
In commendation of a Son, he said:
‘Thus much of a Good Son, whose wholesome growth
‘Approves the root he grew from. But for one
‘Kneaded of Evil—well, could one revoke
‘His generation, and as early pull
‘Him and his vices from the string of Time.
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‘Who, reckless of his Father's warning call,
‘Was by the voice of Allah from the door
‘Of refuge in his Father's Ark debarr'd,
‘And perish'd in the Deluge. And as none
Who long for children, may their children choose,
‘Beware of teazing Allah for a Son,
‘Whom having, you may have to pray to lose.’
Ran before the Saint a Fellow,
Catching at his garment, crying,
‘Master, hear and help me! Pray
‘That Allah from the barren clay
‘Raise me up a fresh young Cypress,
‘Who my longing eyes may lighten,
‘And not let me like a vapour
‘Unremember'd pass away.’
But the Dervish said—‘Consider;
‘Wisely let the matter rest
‘In the hands of Allah wholly,
‘Who, whatever we are after,
‘Understands our business best.’
Still the man persisted—‘Master,
‘I shall perish in my longing:
‘Help, and set my prayer a-going!’
Then the Dervish raised his hand—
From the mystic Hunting-land
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A musky Fawn of China drew—
A Boy—who, when the shoot of Passion
In his Nature planted grew,
Took to drinking, dicing, drabbing.
From a corner of the house-top
Ill-insulting honest women,
Dagger-drawing on the husband;
And for many a city-brawl
Still before the Cadi summon'd,
Still the Father pays for all.
Day and night the youngster's doings
Such—the city's talk and scandal;
Neither counsel, threat, entreaty,
Moved him—till the desperate Father
Once more to the Dervish running,
Catches at his garment—crying—
‘Oh my only Hope and Helper!
‘One more Prayer! That God, who laid,
‘Would take this trouble from my head!’
But the Saint replied ‘Remember
‘How that very Day I warn'd you
‘Not with blind petition Allah
‘Trouble to your own confusion;
‘Unto whom remains no more
‘To pray for, save that He may pardon
‘What so rashly pray'd before.’
‘So much for the result; and for the means—
‘Oh Sháh, who would not be himself a slave,
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‘Among the basest of his slaves enslaved—
‘Better let Azrael find him on his throne
‘Of Empire sitting childless and alone,
‘Than his untainted Majesty resign
‘To that seditious drink, of which one draught
‘Still for another and another craves,
‘Till it become a noose to draw the Crown
‘From off thy brows—about thy lips a ring,
‘Of which the rope is in a Woman's hand,
‘To lead thyself the road of Nothing down.
‘For what is She? A foolish, faithless thing—
‘A very Káfir in rapacity;
‘Robe her in all the rainbow-tinted woof
‘Of Susa, shot with rays of sunny Gold;
‘Deck her with jewel thick as Night with star;
‘Pamper her appetite with Houri fruit
‘Of Paradise, and fill her jewell'd cup
‘From the green-mantled Prophet's Well of Life—
‘One little twist of temper—all your cost
‘Goes all for nothing: and, as for yourself—
‘Look! On your bosom she may lie for years;
‘But, get you gone a moment out of sight,
‘And she forgets you—worse, if, as you turn,
‘Her eyes on any younger Lover light.’
Once upon the Throne together
Telling one another Secrets,
Sate Sulaymán and Balkís;
The Hearts of both were turn'd to Truth,
Unsullied by Deception.
First the King of Faith Sulaymán
Spoke—‘However just and wise
‘Reported, none of all the many
‘Suitors to my palace thronging
‘But afar I scrutinize;
‘And He who comes not empty-handed
‘Grows to Honour in mine Eyes.’
After this, Balkís a Secret
From her hidden bosom utter'd,
Saying—‘Never night or morning
‘Comely Youth before me passes
‘Whom I look not after, longing’—
Telling one another Secrets,
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The Hearts of both were turn'd to Truth,
Unsullied by Deception.
First the King of Faith Sulaymán
Spoke—‘However just and wise
‘Reported, none of all the many
‘Suitors to my palace thronging
‘But afar I scrutinize;
‘And He who comes not empty-handed
‘Grows to Honour in mine Eyes.’
After this, Balkís a Secret
From her hidden bosom utter'd,
Saying—‘Never night or morning
‘Comely Youth before me passes
‘Whom I look not after, longing’—
‘If this, as wise Firdausí says, the curse
‘Of better women, what then of the worse?’
‘Of better women, what then of the worse?’
The Sage his satire ended; and The Sháh,
Determined on his purpose, but the means
Resigning to Supreme Intelligence,
With Magic-mighty Wisdom his own Will
Colleagued, and wrought his own accomplishment.
For Lo! from Darkness came to Light A Child,
Of carnal composition unattaint;
A Perfume from the realm of Wisdom wafted;
A Rosebud blowing on the Royal stem;
The crowning Jewel of the Crown; a Star
Under whose augury triumph'd the Throne.
For whom dividing, and again in one
Whole perfect Jewel re-uniting, those
Twin Jewel-words, Salámat and Asmán,
They hail'd him by the title of Salámán.
And whereas from no Mother milk he drew,
They chose for him a Nurse—her name Absál—
So young, the opening roses of her breast
But just had budded to an infant's lip;
So beautiful, as from the silver line
Dividing the musk-harvest of her hair
Down to her foot that trampled crowns of Kings,
A Moon of beauty full; who thus elect
Should in the garment of her bounty fold
Salámán of auspicious augury,
Should feed him with the flowing of her breast.
And, once her eyes had open'd upon Him,
They closed to all the world beside, and fed
For ever doating on her Royal jewel
Close in his golden cradle casketed:
Opening and closing which her day's delight,
To gaze upon his heart-inflaming cheek,—
Upon the Babe whom, if she could, she would
Have cradled as the Baby of her eye.
In rose and musk she wash'd him—to his lip
Press'd the pure sugar from the honeycomb;
And when, day over, she withdrew her milk,
She made, and having laid him in, his bed,
Burn'd all night like a taper o'er his head.
Determined on his purpose, but the means
Resigning to Supreme Intelligence,
With Magic-mighty Wisdom his own Will
Colleagued, and wrought his own accomplishment.
For Lo! from Darkness came to Light A Child,
Of carnal composition unattaint;
A Perfume from the realm of Wisdom wafted;
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The crowning Jewel of the Crown; a Star
Under whose augury triumph'd the Throne.
For whom dividing, and again in one
Whole perfect Jewel re-uniting, those
Twin Jewel-words, Salámat and Asmán,
They hail'd him by the title of Salámán.
And whereas from no Mother milk he drew,
They chose for him a Nurse—her name Absál—
So young, the opening roses of her breast
But just had budded to an infant's lip;
So beautiful, as from the silver line
Dividing the musk-harvest of her hair
Down to her foot that trampled crowns of Kings,
A Moon of beauty full; who thus elect
Should in the garment of her bounty fold
Salámán of auspicious augury,
Should feed him with the flowing of her breast.
And, once her eyes had open'd upon Him,
They closed to all the world beside, and fed
For ever doating on her Royal jewel
Close in his golden cradle casketed:
Opening and closing which her day's delight,
To gaze upon his heart-inflaming cheek,—
Upon the Babe whom, if she could, she would
Have cradled as the Baby of her eye.
In rose and musk she wash'd him—to his lip
Press'd the pure sugar from the honeycomb;
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She made, and having laid him in, his bed,
Burn'd all night like a taper o'er his head.
And still as Morning came, and as he grew,
Finer than any bridal-puppet, which
To prove another's love a woman sends,
She trick'd him up—with fresh Collyrium dew
Touch'd his narcissus eyes—the musky locks
Divided from his forehead—and embraced
With gold and ruby girdle his fine waist.
Finer than any bridal-puppet, which
To prove another's love a woman sends,
She trick'd him up—with fresh Collyrium dew
Touch'd his narcissus eyes—the musky locks
Divided from his forehead—and embraced
With gold and ruby girdle his fine waist.
So for seven years she rear'd and tended him:
Nay, when his still-increasing moon of Youth
Into the further Sign of Manhood pass'd,
Pursued him yet, till full fourteen his years,
Fourteen-day full the beauty of his face,
That rode high in a hundred thousand hearts.
For, when Salámán was but half-lance high,
Lance-like he struck a wound in every one,
And shook down splendour round him like a Sun.
Nay, when his still-increasing moon of Youth
Into the further Sign of Manhood pass'd,
Pursued him yet, till full fourteen his years,
Fourteen-day full the beauty of his face,
That rode high in a hundred thousand hearts.
For, when Salámán was but half-lance high,
Lance-like he struck a wound in every one,
And shook down splendour round him like a Sun.
Soon as the Lord of Heav'n had sprung his horse
Over horizon into the blue field,
Salámán kindled with the wine of sleep,
Mounted a barb of fire for the Maidán;
He and a troop of Princes—Kings in blood,
Kings in the kingdom-troubling tribe of beauty,
All young in years and courage, bat in hand
Gallop'd a-field, toss'd down the golden ball
And chased, so many crescent Moons a full:
And, all alike intent upon the Game,
Salámán still would carry from them all
The prize, and shouting ‘Hál!’ drive home the ball.
Over horizon into the blue field,
Salámán kindled with the wine of sleep,
Mounted a barb of fire for the Maidán;
He and a troop of Princes—Kings in blood,
Kings in the kingdom-troubling tribe of beauty,
All young in years and courage, bat in hand
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And chased, so many crescent Moons a full:
And, all alike intent upon the Game,
Salámán still would carry from them all
The prize, and shouting ‘Hál!’ drive home the ball.
This done, Salámán bent him as a bow
To Archery—from Masters of the craft
Call'd for an unstrung bow—himself the cord
Fitted unhelpt, and nimbly with his hand
Twanging made cry, and drew it to his ear:
Then, fixing the three-feather'd fowl, discharged:
And whether aiming at the fawn a-foot,
Or bird on wing, direct his arrow flew,
Like the true Soul that cannot but go true.
To Archery—from Masters of the craft
Call'd for an unstrung bow—himself the cord
Fitted unhelpt, and nimbly with his hand
Twanging made cry, and drew it to his ear:
Then, fixing the three-feather'd fowl, discharged:
And whether aiming at the fawn a-foot,
Or bird on wing, direct his arrow flew,
Like the true Soul that cannot but go true.
When night came, that releases man from toil,
He play'd the chess of social intercourse;
Prepared his banquet-hall like Paradise,
Summon'd his Houri-faced musicians,
And, when his brain grew warm with wine, the veil
Flung off him of reserve: taking a harp,
Between its dry string and his finger quick
Struck fire: or catching up a lute, as if
A child for chastisement, would pinch its ear
To wailing that should agèd eyes make weep.
Now like the Nightingale he sang alone;
Now with another lip to lip; and now
Together blending voice and instrument;
And thus with his associates night he spent.
He play'd the chess of social intercourse;
Prepared his banquet-hall like Paradise,
Summon'd his Houri-faced musicians,
And, when his brain grew warm with wine, the veil
Flung off him of reserve: taking a harp,
Between its dry string and his finger quick
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A child for chastisement, would pinch its ear
To wailing that should agèd eyes make weep.
Now like the Nightingale he sang alone;
Now with another lip to lip; and now
Together blending voice and instrument;
And thus with his associates night he spent.
His Soul rejoiced in knowledge of all kind;
The fine edge of his Wit would split a hair,
And in the noose of apprehension catch
A meaning ere articulate in word;
Close as the knitted jewel of Parwín
His jewel Verse he strung; his Rhetoric
Enlarging like the Mourners of the Bier.
And when he took the nimble reed in hand
To run the errand of his Thought along
Its paper field—the character he traced,
Fine on the lip of Youth as the first hair,
Drove Penmen, as that Lovers, to despair.
The fine edge of his Wit would split a hair,
And in the noose of apprehension catch
A meaning ere articulate in word;
Close as the knitted jewel of Parwín
His jewel Verse he strung; his Rhetoric
Enlarging like the Mourners of the Bier.
And when he took the nimble reed in hand
To run the errand of his Thought along
Its paper field—the character he traced,
Fine on the lip of Youth as the first hair,
Drove Penmen, as that Lovers, to despair.
His Bounty like a Sea was fathomless
That bubbled up with jewel, and flung pearl
Where'er it touch'd, but drew not back again;
It was a Heav'n that rain'd on all below
Dirhems for drops—
That bubbled up with jewel, and flung pearl
Where'er it touch'd, but drew not back again;
It was a Heav'n that rain'd on all below
Dirhems for drops—
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Arrested and rebuked me—‘Foolish Jámí!
‘Wearing that indefatigable pen
‘In celebration of an alien Sháh
‘Whose Throne, not grounded in the Eternal World,
‘If Yesterday it were, To-day is not,
‘To-morrow cannot be.’ But I replied;
‘Oh Fount of Light!—under an alien name
‘I shadow One upon whose head the Crown
‘Was and yet Is, and Shall be; whose Firmán
‘The Kingdoms Sev'n of this World, and the Seas,
‘And the Sev'n Heavens, alike are subject to.
‘Good luck to him who under other Name
‘Instructed us that Glory to disguise
‘To which the Initiate scarce dare lift his eyes.’
Sate a Lover in a garden
All alone, apostrophizing
Many a flower and shrub about him,
And the lights of Heav'n above.
Nightingaling thus, a Noodle
Heard him, and, completely puzzled,
‘What,’ quoth he, ‘and you a Lover,
‘Raving, not about your Mistress,
‘But about the stars and roses—
‘What have these to do with Love?’
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‘Wide of Love, and Lovers' language
‘Wholly misinterpreting;
‘Sun and Moon are but my Lady's
‘Self, as any Lover knows;
‘Hyacinth I said, and meant her
‘Hair—her cheek was in the rose—
‘And I myself the wretched weed
‘That in her cypress shadow grows.’
And now the cypress stature of Sáláman
Had reached his top, and now to blossom full
The garden of his Beauty: and Absál,
Fairest of hers, as of his fellows he
The fairest, long'd to gather from the tree.
But, for that flower upon the lofty stem
Of Glory grew to which her hand fell short,
She now with woman's sorcery began
To conjure as she might within her reach.
The darkness of her eyes she darken'd round
With surma, to benight him in mid day,
And over them adorn'd and arch'd the bows
To wound him there when lost: her musky locks
Into so many snaky ringlets curl'd,
In which Temptation nestled o'er the cheek
Whose rose she kindled with vermilion dew,
And then one subtle grain of musk laid there,
The bird of that belovèd heart to snare.
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The pearl-enclosing ruby of her lips;
Or, busied in the room, as by mischance
Would let the lifted sleeve disclose awhile
The vein of silver running up within:
Or, rising as in haste, her golden anklets
Clash, at whose sudden summons to bring down
Under her silver feet the golden Crown.
Thus, by innumerable witcheries,
She went about soliciting his eyes,
Through which she knew the robber unaware
Steals in, and takes the bosom by surprise.
Burning with her love Zulaikhá
Built a chamber, wall and ceiling
Blank as an untarnisht mirror,
Spotless as the heart of Yúsuf.
Then she made a cunning painter
Multiply her image round it;
Not an inch of wall or ceiling
But re-echoing her beauty.
Then amid them all in all her
Glory sat she down, and sent for
Yúsuf—she began a tale
Of Love—and lifted up her veil.
Bashfully beneath her burning
Eyes he turn'd away; but turning
Wheresoever, still about him
Saw Zulaikhá, still Zulaikhá,
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But a voice as if from Canaan
Call'd him; and a Hand from Darkness
Touch'd; and ere a living Lip
Through the mirage of bewilder'd
Eyes seduced him, he recoil'd,
And let the skirt of danger slip.
II. Part II.
Alas for those who having tasted onceOf that forbidden vintage of the lips
That, press'd and pressing, from each other draw
The draught that so intoxicates them both,
That, while upon the wings of Day and Night
Time rustles on, and Moons do wax and wane,
As from the very Well of Life they drink,
And, drinking, fancy they shall never drain,
But rolling Heaven from his ambush whispers,
‘So in my license is it not set down:
‘Ah for the sweet societies I make
‘At Morning, and before the Nightfall break,
‘Ah for the bliss that coming Night fills up,
‘And Morn looks in to find an empty Cup!’
Once in Baghdád a poor Arab,
After weary days of fasting,
Into the Khalífah's banquet-
Chamber, where, aloft in State
Harún the Great at supper sate,
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Got before a perfume-breathing
Pasty, like the lip of Shírín
Luscious, or the Poet's song.
Soon as seen, the famisht clown
Seizes up and swallows down.
Then his mouth undaunted wiping—
‘Oh Khalífah, hear me swear,
‘While I breathe the dust of Baghdád,
‘Ne'er at any other Table
‘Than at Thine to sup or dine.’
Grimly laugh'd Harún, and answer'd;
‘Fool! who think'st to arbitrate
‘What is in the hands of Fate—
‘Take, and thrust him from the Gate!’
While a full Year was counted by the Moon,
Salámán and Absál rejoiced together,
And neither Sháh nor Sage his face beheld.
They question'd those about him, and from them
Heard something: then himself to presence summon'd,
And all the truth was told. Then Sage and Sháh
Struck out with hand and foot in his redress.
And first with Reason, which is also best;
Reason that rights the wanderer; that completes
The imperfect; Reason that resolves the knot
Of either world, and sees beyond the Veil.
For Reason is the fountain from of old
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Who boasts of other inspiration, lies—
There are no other Prophets than The Wise.
And first The Sháh:—‘Salámán, Oh my Soul
‘Light of the eyes of my Prosperity,
‘And making bloom the court of Hope with rose;
‘Year after year, Salámán, like a bud
‘That cannot blow, my own blood I devour'd,
‘Till, by the seasonable breath of God,
‘At last I blossom'd into thee, my Son;
‘Oh, do not wound me with a dagger thorn;
‘Let not the full-blown rose of Royalty
‘Be left to wither in a hand unclean.
‘For what thy proper pastime? Bat in hand
‘To mount and manage Rakhsh along the Field;
‘Not, with no weapon but a wanton curl
‘Idly reposing on a silver breast.
‘Go, fly thine arrow at the antelope
‘And lion—let me not My lion see
Slain by the arrow eyes of a ghazál.
Go, challenge Zál or Rustam to the Field,
‘And smite the warriors' neck; not, flying them,
‘Beneath a woman's foot submit thine own.
‘Oh wipe the woman's henna from thy hand,
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‘Dominion draws, and draws me with thee down;
‘Years have I held my head aloft, and all
‘For Thee—Oh shame if thou prepare my Fall!’
When before Shirúyeh's dagger
Kai Khusrau, his Father, fell,
He declared this Parable—
‘Wretch!—There was a branch that waxing
‘Wanton o'er the root he drank from,
‘At a draught the living water
‘Drain'd wherewith himself to crown;
‘Died the root—and with him died
‘The branch—and barren was brought down!’
The Sháh ceased counsel, and The Sage began.
‘Oh last new vintage of the Vine of Life
‘Planted in Paradise; Oh Master-stroke,
‘And all-concluding flourish of the Pen
‘Kun fa yakún; Thyself prime Archetype,
‘And ultimate Accomplishment of Man!
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‘Thy mortal outward to the perfect form
‘Of Beauty moulded, in the fleeting dust
‘Inscribed Himself, and in thy bosom set
‘A mirror to reflect Himself in Thee.
‘Let not that dust by rebel passion blown
‘Obliterate that character: nor let
‘That Mirror, sullied by the breath impure,
‘Or form of carnal beauty fore-possest,
‘Be made incapable of the Divine.
‘Supreme is thine Original degree,
‘Thy Star upon the top of Heaven; but Lust
‘Will bring it down, down even to the Dust!’
Quoth a Muezzín to the crested
Cock—‘Oh Prophet of the Morning,
‘Never Prophet like to you
‘Prophesied of Dawn, nor Muezzín
‘With so shrill a voice of warning
‘Woke the sleeper to confession
‘Crying, “Lá allah illá 'llah,
‘Muhammad rasúluhu.’”
‘One, methinks, so rarely gifted
‘Should have prophesied and sung
‘In Heav'n, the Birds of Heav'n among,
‘Not with these poor hens about him,
‘Raking in a heap of dung.’
‘And,’ replied the Cock, ‘in Heaven
‘Once I was; but by my foolish
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‘With my sorry mates about me
‘Thus am fallen. Otherwise,
‘I were prophesying Dawn
‘Before the gates of Paradise.’
Of all the Lover's sorrows, next to that
Of Love by Love forbidden, is the voice
Of Friendship turning harsh in Love's reproof,
And overmuch of Counsel—whereby Love
Grows stubborn, and recoiling unsupprest
Within, devours the heart within the breast.
Of Love by Love forbidden, is the voice
Of Friendship turning harsh in Love's reproof,
And overmuch of Counsel—whereby Love
Grows stubborn, and recoiling unsupprest
Within, devours the heart within the breast.
Salámán heard; his Soul came to his lips;
Reproaches struck not Absál out of him,
But drove Confusion in; bitter became
The drinking of the sweet draught of Delight,
And waned the splendour of his Moon of Beauty.
His breath was Indignation, and his heart
Bled from the arrow, and his anguish grew.
How bear it?—By the hand of Hatred dealt,
Easy to meet—and deal with, blow for blow;
But from Love's hand which one must not requite,
And cannot yield to—what resource but Flight?
Resolved on which, he victuall'd and equipp'd
A Camel, and one night he led it forth,
And mounted—he with Absál at his side,
Like sweet twin almonds in a single shell.
And Love least murmurs at the narrow space
That draws him close and closer in embrace.
When the Moon of Canaan Yúsuf
Reproaches struck not Absál out of him,
But drove Confusion in; bitter became
The drinking of the sweet draught of Delight,
And waned the splendour of his Moon of Beauty.
His breath was Indignation, and his heart
Bled from the arrow, and his anguish grew.
How bear it?—By the hand of Hatred dealt,
Easy to meet—and deal with, blow for blow;
But from Love's hand which one must not requite,
And cannot yield to—what resource but Flight?
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A Camel, and one night he led it forth,
And mounted—he with Absál at his side,
Like sweet twin almonds in a single shell.
And Love least murmurs at the narrow space
That draws him close and closer in embrace.
In the prison of Egypt darken'd,
Nightly from her spacious Palace-
Chamber, and its rich array,
Stole Zulaikhá like a fantom
To the dark and narrow dungeon
Where her buried Treasure lay.
Then to those about her wond'ring—
‘Were my Palace,’ she replied,
‘Wider than Horizon-wide,
‘It were narrower than an Ant's eye,
‘Were my Treasure not inside:
‘And an Ant's eye, if but there
‘My Lover, Heaven's horizon were.’
Six days Salámán on the Camel rode,
And then the hissing arrows of reproof
Were fallen far behind; and on the Seventh
He halted on the Seashore; on the shore
Of a great Sea that reaching like a floor
Of rolling Firmament below the Sky's
From Káf to Káf, to Gau and Máhí down
Descended, and its Stars were living eyes.
The Face of it was as it were a range
Of moving Mountains; or a countless host
Of Camels trooping tumultuously up,
Host over host, and foaming at the lip.
Within, innumerable glittering things
Sharp as cut Jewels, to the sharpest eye
Scarce visible, hither and hither slipping,
As silver scissors slice a blue brocade;
But should the Dragon coil'd in the abyss
Emerge to light, his starry counter-sign
Would shrink into the depth of Heav'n aghast.
And then the hissing arrows of reproof
Were fallen far behind; and on the Seventh
He halted on the Seashore; on the shore
Of a great Sea that reaching like a floor
Of rolling Firmament below the Sky's
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Descended, and its Stars were living eyes.
The Face of it was as it were a range
Of moving Mountains; or a countless host
Of Camels trooping tumultuously up,
Host over host, and foaming at the lip.
Within, innumerable glittering things
Sharp as cut Jewels, to the sharpest eye
Scarce visible, hither and hither slipping,
As silver scissors slice a blue brocade;
But should the Dragon coil'd in the abyss
Emerge to light, his starry counter-sign
Would shrink into the depth of Heav'n aghast.
Salámán eyed the moving wilderness
On which he thought, once launcht, no foot, nor eye
Should ever follow; forthwith he devised
Of sundry scented woods along the shore
A little shallop like a Quarter-moon,
Wherein Absál and He like Sun and Moon
Enter'd as into some Celestial Sign;
That, figured like a bow, but arrow-like
In flight, was feather'd with a little sail,
And, pitcht upon the water like a duck,
So with her bosom sped to her Desire.
On which he thought, once launcht, no foot, nor eye
Should ever follow; forthwith he devised
Of sundry scented woods along the shore
A little shallop like a Quarter-moon,
Wherein Absál and He like Sun and Moon
Enter'd as into some Celestial Sign;
234
In flight, was feather'd with a little sail,
And, pitcht upon the water like a duck,
So with her bosom sped to her Desire.
When they had sail'd their vessel for a Moon,
And marr'd their beauty with the wind o' the Sea,
Suddenly in mid sea reveal'd itself
An Isle, beyond imagination fair;
An Isle that all was Garden; not a Flower,
Nor Bird of plumage like the flower, but there;
Some like the Flower, and others like the Leaf;
Some, as the Pheasant and the Dove adorn'd
With crown and collar, over whom, alone,
The jewell'd Peacock like a Sultan shone;
While the Musicians, and among them Chief
The Nightingale, sang hidden in the trees
Which, arm in arm, from fingers quivering
With any breath of air, fruit of all kind
Down scatter'd in profusion to their feet,
Where fountains of sweet water ran between,
And Sun and shadow chequer-chased the green.
Here Iram-garden seem'd in secresy
Blowing the rosebud of its Revelation;
Or Paradise, forgetful of the dawn
Of Audit, lifted from her face the veil.
And marr'd their beauty with the wind o' the Sea,
Suddenly in mid sea reveal'd itself
An Isle, beyond imagination fair;
An Isle that all was Garden; not a Flower,
Nor Bird of plumage like the flower, but there;
Some like the Flower, and others like the Leaf;
Some, as the Pheasant and the Dove adorn'd
With crown and collar, over whom, alone,
The jewell'd Peacock like a Sultan shone;
While the Musicians, and among them Chief
The Nightingale, sang hidden in the trees
Which, arm in arm, from fingers quivering
With any breath of air, fruit of all kind
Down scatter'd in profusion to their feet,
Where fountains of sweet water ran between,
And Sun and shadow chequer-chased the green.
Here Iram-garden seem'd in secresy
Blowing the rosebud of its Revelation;
Or Paradise, forgetful of the dawn
Of Audit, lifted from her face the veil.
Salámán saw the Isle, and thought no more
Of Further—there with Absál he sate down,
Absál and He together side by side
Together like the Lily and the Rose,
Together like the Soul and Body, one.
Under its trees in one another's arms
They slept—they drank its fountains hand in hand—
Paraded with the Peacock—raced the Partridge—
Chased the green Parrot for his stolen fruit,
Or sang divisions with the Nightingale.
There was the Rose without a thorn, and there
The Treasure and no Serpent to beware—
Oh think of such a Mistress at your side
In such a Solitude, and none to chide!
Said to Wámik one who never
Of Further—there with Absál he sate down,
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Together like the Lily and the Rose,
Together like the Soul and Body, one.
Under its trees in one another's arms
They slept—they drank its fountains hand in hand—
Paraded with the Peacock—raced the Partridge—
Chased the green Parrot for his stolen fruit,
Or sang divisions with the Nightingale.
There was the Rose without a thorn, and there
The Treasure and no Serpent to beware—
Oh think of such a Mistress at your side
In such a Solitude, and none to chide!
Knew the Lover's passion—‘Why
‘Solitary thus and silent
‘Solitary places haunting,
‘Like a Dreamer, like a Spectre,
‘Like a thing about to die?’
Wámik answer'd—‘Meditating
‘Flight with Azrá to the Desert:
‘There by so remote a Fountain
‘That, whichever way one travell'd,
‘League on league, one yet should never
‘See the face of Man; for ever
‘There to gaze on my Belovèd;
‘Gaze, till Gazing out of Gazing
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‘She and I no more, but in One
‘Undivided Being blended.
‘All that is by Nature twain
‘Fears, or suffers by, the pain
‘Of Separation: Love is only
‘Perfect when itself transcends
‘Itself, and, one with that it loves,
‘In undivided Being blends.’
When by and by the Sháh was made aware
Of that heart-breaking Flight, his royal robe
He changed for ashes, and his Throne for dust,
And wept awhile in darkness and alone.
Then rose; and, taking counsel from the Sage,
Pursuit set everywhere afoot: but none
Could trace the footstep of the flying Deer.
Then from his secret Art the Sage-Vizyr
A Magic Mirror made; a Mirror like
The bosom of All-wise Intelligence
Reflecting in its mystic compass all
Within the sev'n-fold volume of the World
Involved; and, looking in that Mirror's face,
The Sháh beheld the face of his Desire.
Beheld those Lovers, like that earliest pair
Of Lovers, in this other Paradise
So far from human eyes in the mid sea,
And yet within the magic glass so near
As with a finger one might touch them, isled.
The Sháh beheld them; and compassion touch'd
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And arm'd with Righteous Judgment as he was,
Yet, seeing those two Lovers with one lip
Drinking that cup of Happiness and Tears
In which Farewell had never yet been flung,
He paused for their repentance to recall
The lifted arm that was to shatter all.
The Lords of Wrath have perish'd by the blow
Themselves had aim'd at others long ago.
Draw not in haste the sword, which Fate, may be,
Will sheathe, hereafter to be drawn on Thee.
Farhád, who the shapeless mountain
Into human likeness moulded,
Under Shírín's eyes as slavish
Potters' earth himself became.
Into human likeness moulded,
Under Shírín's eyes as slavish
Potters' earth himself became.
Then the secret fire of jealous
Frenzy, catching and devouring
Kai Khusrau, broke into flame.
Frenzy, catching and devouring
Kai Khusrau, broke into flame.
With that ancient Hag of Darkness
Plotting, at the midnight Banquet
Farhád's golden cup he poison'd,
And in Shírín's eyes alone
Plotting, at the midnight Banquet
Farhád's golden cup he poison'd,
And in Shírín's eyes alone
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Reign'd—But Fate that Fate revenges,
Arms Shírúyeh with the dagger
That at once from Shírín tore,
And hurl'd him lifeless from his throne.
But as the days went on, and still The Sháh
Arms Shírúyeh with the dagger
That at once from Shírín tore,
And hurl'd him lifeless from his throne.
Beheld his Son how in the Woman lost,
And still the Crown that should adorn his head,
And still the Throne that waited for his foot,
Both trampled under by a base desire,
Of which the Soul was still unsatisfied—
Then from the sorrow of The Sháh fell Fire;
To Gracelessness ungracious he became,
And, quite to shatter that rebellious lust,
Upon Salámán all his Will, with all
His Sage-Vizyr's Might-magic arm'd, discharged.
And Lo! Salámán to his Mistress turn'd,
But could not reach her—look'd and look'd again,
And palpitated tow'rd her—but in vain!
Oh Misery! As to the Bankrupt's eyes
The Gold he may not finger! or the Well
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Or Heav'n above reveal'd to those in Hell!
Yet when Salámán's anguish was extreme,
The door of Mercy open'd, and he saw
That Arm he knew to be his Father's reacht
To lift him from the pit in which he lay:
Timidly tow'rd his Father's eyes his own
He lifted, pardon-pleading, crime-confest,
And drew once more to that forsaken Throne,
As the stray bird one day will find her nest.
One was asking of a Teacher,
‘How a Father his reputed
‘Son for his should recognize?’
Said the Master, ‘By the stripling,
‘As he grows to manhood, growing
‘Like to his reputed Father,
‘Good or Evil, Fool or Wise.
‘How a Father his reputed
‘Son for his should recognize?’
Said the Master, ‘By the stripling,
‘As he grows to manhood, growing
‘Like to his reputed Father,
‘Good or Evil, Fool or Wise.
‘Lo the disregarded Darnel
‘With itself adorns the Wheat-field,
‘And for all the vernal season
‘Satisfies the farmer's eye;
‘But the hour of harvest coming,
‘And the thrasher by and by,
‘Then a barren ear shall answer,
‘“Darnel, and no Wheat, am I.”’
‘With itself adorns the Wheat-field,
‘And for all the vernal season
‘Satisfies the farmer's eye;
‘But the hour of harvest coming,
‘And the thrasher by and by,
‘Then a barren ear shall answer,
‘“Darnel, and no Wheat, am I.”’
Yet Ah for that poor Lover! ‘Next the curse
‘Of Love by Love forbidden, nothing worse
‘Than Friendship turn'd in Love's reproof unkind,
‘And Love from Love divorcing’—Thus I said:
Alas, a worse, and worse, is yet behind—
Love's back-blow of Revenge for having fled!
‘Of Love by Love forbidden, nothing worse
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‘And Love from Love divorcing’—Thus I said:
Alas, a worse, and worse, is yet behind—
Love's back-blow of Revenge for having fled!
Salámán bow'd his forehead to the dust
Before his Father; to his Father's hand
Fast—but yet fast, and faster, to his own
Clung one, who by no tempest of reproof
Or wrath might be dissever'd from the stem
She grew to: till, between Remorse and Love,
He came to loathe his Life and long for Death.
And, as from him She would not be divorced,
With Her he fled again: he fled—but now
To no such Island centred in the sea
As lull'd them into Paradise before;
But to the Solitude of Desolation,
The Wilderness of Death. And as before
Of sundry scented woods along the shore
A shallop he devised to carry them
Over the waters whither foot nor eye
Should ever follow them, he thought—so now
Of sere wood strewn about the plain of Death,
A raft to bear them through the wave of Fire
Into Annihilation, he devised,
Gather'd, and built; and, firing with a Torch,
Into the central flame Absál and He
Sprung hand in hand exulting. But the Sage
In secret all had order'd; and the Flame,
Directed by his self-fulfilling Will,
Devouring Her to ashes, left untouch'd
Salámán—all the baser metal burn'd,
And to itself the authentic Gold return'd.
Before his Father; to his Father's hand
Fast—but yet fast, and faster, to his own
Clung one, who by no tempest of reproof
Or wrath might be dissever'd from the stem
She grew to: till, between Remorse and Love,
He came to loathe his Life and long for Death.
And, as from him She would not be divorced,
With Her he fled again: he fled—but now
To no such Island centred in the sea
As lull'd them into Paradise before;
But to the Solitude of Desolation,
The Wilderness of Death. And as before
Of sundry scented woods along the shore
A shallop he devised to carry them
Over the waters whither foot nor eye
Should ever follow them, he thought—so now
Of sere wood strewn about the plain of Death,
A raft to bear them through the wave of Fire
Into Annihilation, he devised,
Gather'd, and built; and, firing with a Torch,
Into the central flame Absál and He
Sprung hand in hand exulting. But the Sage
In secret all had order'd; and the Flame,
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Devouring Her to ashes, left untouch'd
Salámán—all the baser metal burn'd,
And to itself the authentic Gold return'd.
III. Part III.
From the Beginning such has been the Fate
Of Man, whose very clay was soak'd in tears.
For when at first of common Earth they took,
And moulded to the stature of the Soul,
For Forty days, full Forty days, the cloud
Of Heav'n wept over him from head to foot:
And when the Forty days had passed to Night,
The Sunshine of one solitary day
Look'd out of Heav'n to dry the weeping clay.
And though that sunshine in the long arrear
Of darkness on the breathless image rose,
Yet, with the Living, every wise man knows
Such consummation scarcely shall be here!
Of Man, whose very clay was soak'd in tears.
For when at first of common Earth they took,
And moulded to the stature of the Soul,
For Forty days, full Forty days, the cloud
Of Heav'n wept over him from head to foot:
And when the Forty days had passed to Night,
The Sunshine of one solitary day
Look'd out of Heav'n to dry the weeping clay.
And though that sunshine in the long arrear
Of darkness on the breathless image rose,
Yet, with the Living, every wise man knows
Such consummation scarcely shall be here!
Salámán fired the pile; and in the flame
That, passing him, consumed Absál like straw,
Died his Divided Self, his Individual
Survived, and, like a living Soul from which
The Body falls, strange, naked, and alone.
Then rose his cry to Heaven—his eyelashes
Wept blood—his sighs stood like a smoke in Heaven,
And Morning rent her garment at his anguish.
And when Night came, that drew the pen across
The written woes of Day for all but him,
Crouch'd in a lonely corner of the house,
He seem'd to feel about him in the dark
For one who was not, and whom no fond word
Could summon from the Void in which she lay.
That, passing him, consumed Absál like straw,
Died his Divided Self, his Individual
Survived, and, like a living Soul from which
The Body falls, strange, naked, and alone.
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Wept blood—his sighs stood like a smoke in Heaven,
And Morning rent her garment at his anguish.
And when Night came, that drew the pen across
The written woes of Day for all but him,
Crouch'd in a lonely corner of the house,
He seem'd to feel about him in the dark
For one who was not, and whom no fond word
Could summon from the Void in which she lay.
And so the Wise One found him where he sate
Bow'd down alone in darkness; and once more
Made the long-silent voice of Reason sound
In the deserted Palace of his Soul;
Until Salámán lifted up his head
To bow beneath the Master; sweet it seem'd,
Sweeping the chaff and litter from his own,
To be the very dust of Wisdom's door,
Slave of the Firmán of the Lord of Life,
Who pour'd the wine of Wisdom in his cup,
Who laid the dew of Peace upon his lips;
Yea, wrought by Miracle in his behalf.
For when old Love return'd to Memory,
And broke in passion from his lips, The Sage,
Under whose waxing Will Existence rose
From Nothing, and, relaxing, waned again,
Raising a Fantom Image of Absál,
Set it awhile before Salámán's eyes,
Till, having sow'd the seed of comfort there,
It went again down to Annihilation.
But ever, as the Fantom past away,
The Sage would tell of a Celestial Love;
‘Zuhrah,’ he said, ‘Zuhrah, compared with whom
‘That brightest star that bears her name in Heav'n
‘Was but a winking taper; and Absál,
‘Queen-star of Beauties in this world below,
‘But her distorted image in the stream
‘Of fleeting Matter; and all Eloquence,
‘And Soul-enchaining harmonies of Song,
‘A far-off echo of that Harp in Heav'n
‘Which Dervish-dances to her harmony.’
Bow'd down alone in darkness; and once more
Made the long-silent voice of Reason sound
In the deserted Palace of his Soul;
Until Salámán lifted up his head
To bow beneath the Master; sweet it seem'd,
Sweeping the chaff and litter from his own,
To be the very dust of Wisdom's door,
Slave of the Firmán of the Lord of Life,
Who pour'd the wine of Wisdom in his cup,
Who laid the dew of Peace upon his lips;
Yea, wrought by Miracle in his behalf.
For when old Love return'd to Memory,
And broke in passion from his lips, The Sage,
Under whose waxing Will Existence rose
From Nothing, and, relaxing, waned again,
Raising a Fantom Image of Absál,
Set it awhile before Salámán's eyes,
Till, having sow'd the seed of comfort there,
It went again down to Annihilation.
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The Sage would tell of a Celestial Love;
‘Zuhrah,’ he said, ‘Zuhrah, compared with whom
‘That brightest star that bears her name in Heav'n
‘Was but a winking taper; and Absál,
‘Queen-star of Beauties in this world below,
‘But her distorted image in the stream
‘Of fleeting Matter; and all Eloquence,
‘And Soul-enchaining harmonies of Song,
‘A far-off echo of that Harp in Heav'n
‘Which Dervish-dances to her harmony.’
Salámán listen'd, and inclined—again
Entreated, inclination ever grew;
Until The Sage beholding in his Soul
The Spirit quicken, so effectually
With Zuhrah wrought, that she reveal'd herself
In her pure lustre to Salámán's Soul,
And blotting Absál's Image from his breast
There reign'd instead. Celestial Beauty seen,
He left the Earthly; and, once come to know
Eternal Love, the Mortal he let go.
Entreated, inclination ever grew;
Until The Sage beholding in his Soul
The Spirit quicken, so effectually
With Zuhrah wrought, that she reveal'd herself
In her pure lustre to Salámán's Soul,
And blotting Absál's Image from his breast
There reign'd instead. Celestial Beauty seen,
He left the Earthly; and, once come to know
Eternal Love, the Mortal he let go.
The Crown of Empire how supreme a lot!
The Sultan's Throne how lofty! Yea, but not
For All—None but the Heaven-ward foot may dare
To mount—The head that touches Heaven to wear!—
The Sultan's Throne how lofty! Yea, but not
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To mount—The head that touches Heaven to wear!—
When the Beloved of Royal augury
Was rescued from the bondage of Absál,
Then he arose, and shaking off the dust
Of that lost travel, girded up his heart,
And look'd with undefilèd robe to Heaven.
Then was his Head worthy to wear the Crown,
His Foot to mount the Throne. And then The Sháh
From all the quarters of the World-wide realm
Summon'd all those who under Him the ring
Of Empire wore, King, Counsellor, Amír;
Of whom not one but to Salámán did
Obeisance, and lifted up his neck
To yoke it under His supremacy.
Then The Sháh crown'd him with the Golden Crown,
And set the Golden Throne beneath his feet,
And over all the heads of the Assembly,
And in the ears of all, his Jewel-word
With the Diamond of Wisdom cut, and said:—
‘My Son, the Kingdom of the World is not
Was rescued from the bondage of Absál,
Then he arose, and shaking off the dust
Of that lost travel, girded up his heart,
And look'd with undefilèd robe to Heaven.
Then was his Head worthy to wear the Crown,
His Foot to mount the Throne. And then The Sháh
From all the quarters of the World-wide realm
Summon'd all those who under Him the ring
Of Empire wore, King, Counsellor, Amír;
Of whom not one but to Salámán did
Obeisance, and lifted up his neck
To yoke it under His supremacy.
Then The Sháh crown'd him with the Golden Crown,
And set the Golden Throne beneath his feet,
And over all the heads of the Assembly,
And in the ears of all, his Jewel-word
With the Diamond of Wisdom cut, and said:—
‘Eternal, nor the sum of right desire;
245
‘The voice of Intellect Divine within
‘Interpreter; and considering To-day
‘To-morrow's Seed-field, ere That come to bear,
‘Sow with the harvest of Eternity.
‘And, as all Work, and, most of all, the Work
‘That Kings are born to, wisely should be wrought,
‘Where doubtful of thine own sufficiency,
‘Ever, as I have done, consult the Wise.
‘Turn not thy face away from the Old ways,
‘That were the canon of the Kings of Old;
‘Nor cloud with Tyranny the glass of Justice:
‘By Mercy rather to right Order turn
‘Confusion, and Disloyalty to Love.
‘In thy provision for the Realm's estate,
‘And for the Honour that becomes a King,
‘Drain not thy People's purse—the Tyranny
‘Which thee enriches at thy Subject's cost,
‘Awhile shall make thee strong; but in the end
‘Shall bow thy neck beneath thy People's hate,
‘And lead thee with the Robber down to Hell.
‘Thou art a Shepherd, and thy Flock the People,
‘To help and save, not ravage and destroy;
‘For which is for the other, Flock or Shepherd?
‘And join with thee True men to keep the Flock—
‘Dogs, if you will—but trusty—head in leash,
‘Whose teeth are for the Wolf, not for the Lamb,
‘And least of all the Wolf's accomplices.
‘For Sháhs must have Vizyrs—but be they Wise
246
‘Knowing how far to Sháh and Subject bound
‘On either hand—not by extortion, nor
‘By usury wrung from the People's purse,
‘Feeding their Master, and themselves (with whom
‘Enough is apt enough to make rebel)
‘To such a surfeit feeding as feeds Hell.
‘Proper in soul and body be they—pitiful
‘To Poverty—hospitable to the Saint—
‘Their sweet Access a salve to wounded Hearts;
‘Their Wrath a sword against Iniquity,
‘But at thy bidding only to be drawn;
‘Whose Ministers they are, to bring thee in
‘Report of Good or Evil through the Realm:
‘Which to confirm with thine immediate Eye,
‘And least of all, remember—least of all,
‘Suffering Accuser also to be Judge,
‘By surest steps up-builds Prosperity.’
Meaning of The Story.
Under the leaf of many a Fable liesThe Truth for those who look for it; of this
If thou wouldst look behind and find the Fruit,
(To which the Wiser hand hath found his way)
Have thy desire—No Tale of Me and Thee,
Though I and Thou be its Interpreters.
247
And what Salámán not of Woman born?
Who was Absál who drew him to Desire?
And what the Kingdom that awaited him
When he had drawn his Garment from her hand?
What means That Sea? And what that Fiery Pile?
And what that Heavenly Zuhrah who at last
Clear'd Absál from the Mirror of his Soul?
Listen to me, and you shall understand
The Word that Lover wrote along the sand.
The Incomparable Creator, when this World
He did create, created first of all
The First Intelligence—First of a Chain
Of Ten Intelligences, of which the Last
Sole Agent is in this our Universe,
Active Intelligence so call'd; The One
Distributer of Evil and of Good,
Of Joy and Sorrow. Himself apart from Matter,
In Essence and in Energy—He yet
Hath fashion'd all that is—Material Form,
And Spiritual, all from Him—by Him
Directed all, and in his Bounty drown'd.
Therefore is He that Firmán-issuing Sháh
To whom the World was subject. But because
What He distributes to the Universe
Another and a Higher Power supplies,
Therefore all those who comprehend aright,
That Higher in The Sage will recognise.
He did create, created first of all
The First Intelligence—First of a Chain
248
Sole Agent is in this our Universe,
Active Intelligence so call'd; The One
Distributer of Evil and of Good,
Of Joy and Sorrow. Himself apart from Matter,
In Essence and in Energy—He yet
Hath fashion'd all that is—Material Form,
And Spiritual, all from Him—by Him
Directed all, and in his Bounty drown'd.
Therefore is He that Firmán-issuing Sháh
To whom the World was subject. But because
What He distributes to the Universe
Another and a Higher Power supplies,
Therefore all those who comprehend aright,
That Higher in The Sage will recognise.
HIS the Prime Spirit that, spontaneously
Projected by the Tenth Intelligence,
Was from no womb of Matter reproduced
A special Essence called The Soul of Man;
A Child of Heaven, in raiment unbeshamed
Of Sensual taint, and so Salámán named.
Projected by the Tenth Intelligence,
Was from no womb of Matter reproduced
A special Essence called The Soul of Man;
A Child of Heaven, in raiment unbeshamed
Of Sensual taint, and so Salámán named.
And who Absál?—The Sense-adoring Body,
Slave to the Blood and Sense—through whom The Soul,
Although the Body's very Life it be,
Doth yet imbibe the knowledge and delight
Of things of Sense; and these in such a bond
United as God only can divide,
As Lovers in this Tale are signified.
And what the Flood on which they sail'd, with those
Fantastic creatures peopled; and that Isle
In which their Paradise awhile they made,
And thought, for ever?—That false Paradise
Amid the fluctuating Waters found
Of Sensual passion, in whose bosom lies
A world of Being from the light of God
Deep as in unsubsiding Deluge drown'd.
Slave to the Blood and Sense—through whom The Soul,
Although the Body's very Life it be,
Doth yet imbibe the knowledge and delight
Of things of Sense; and these in such a bond
United as God only can divide,
As Lovers in this Tale are signified.
249
Fantastic creatures peopled; and that Isle
In which their Paradise awhile they made,
And thought, for ever?—That false Paradise
Amid the fluctuating Waters found
Of Sensual passion, in whose bosom lies
A world of Being from the light of God
Deep as in unsubsiding Deluge drown'd.
And why was it that Absál in that Isle
So soon deceived in her Delight, and He
Fell short of his Desire?—that was to show
How soon the Senses of their Passion tire,
And in a surfeit of themselves expire.
So soon deceived in her Delight, and He
Fell short of his Desire?—that was to show
How soon the Senses of their Passion tire,
And in a surfeit of themselves expire.
And what the turning of Salámán's Heart
Back to The Shah, and to the throne of Might
And Glory yearning?—What but the return
Of the lost Soul to his true Parentage,
And back from Carnal error looking up
Repentant to his Intellectual Right.
Back to The Shah, and to the throne of Might
And Glory yearning?—What but the return
Of the lost Soul to his true Parentage,
And back from Carnal error looking up
Repentant to his Intellectual Right.
And when the Man between his living Shame
Distracted, and the Love that would not die,
Fled once again—what meant that second Flight
Into the Desert, and that Pile of Fire
On which he fain his Passion with Himself
Would immolate?—That was the Discipline
To which the living Man himself devotes,
Till all the Sensual dross be scorcht away,
And, to its pure integrity return'd,
His Soul alone survives. But forasmuch
As from a darling Passion so divorced
The wound will open and will bleed anew,
Therefore The Sage would ever and anon
Raise up and set before Salámán's eyes
That Fantom of the past; but evermore
Revealing one Diviner, till his Soul
She fill'd, and blotted out the Mortal Love.
For what is Zuhrah?—What but that Divine
Original, of which the Soul of Man
Darkly possesst, by that fierce Discipline
At last he disengages from the Dust,
And flinging off the baser rags of Sense,
And all in Intellectual Light array'd,
As Conqueror and King he mounts the Throne,
And wears the Crown of Human Glory—Whence,
Throne over Throne surmounting, he shall reign
One with the Last and First Intelligence.
Distracted, and the Love that would not die,
Fled once again—what meant that second Flight
Into the Desert, and that Pile of Fire
On which he fain his Passion with Himself
Would immolate?—That was the Discipline
To which the living Man himself devotes,
Till all the Sensual dross be scorcht away,
And, to its pure integrity return'd,
250
As from a darling Passion so divorced
The wound will open and will bleed anew,
Therefore The Sage would ever and anon
Raise up and set before Salámán's eyes
That Fantom of the past; but evermore
Revealing one Diviner, till his Soul
She fill'd, and blotted out the Mortal Love.
For what is Zuhrah?—What but that Divine
Original, of which the Soul of Man
Darkly possesst, by that fierce Discipline
At last he disengages from the Dust,
And flinging off the baser rags of Sense,
And all in Intellectual Light array'd,
As Conqueror and King he mounts the Throne,
And wears the Crown of Human Glory—Whence,
Throne over Throne surmounting, he shall reign
One with the Last and First Intelligence.
This is the meaning of this Mystery,
Which to know wholly ponder in thy Heart,
Till all its ancient Secret be enlarged.
Enough—The written Summary I close,
And set my Seal—
Which to know wholly ponder in thy Heart,
Till all its ancient Secret be enlarged.
Enough—The written Summary I close,
And set my Seal—
![illustration](https://iiif.lib.virginia.edu/iiif/uva-lib:465970/full/!1600,1600/0/default.jpg")
THE TRUTH GOD ONLY KNOWS | Letters and Literary Remains of Edward Fitzgerald | |