Letters and Literary Remains of Edward Fitzgerald ::

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!

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.

242

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.

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.

243

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.’

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.

University of Virginia Library