No More Learning

--for, once dead, you never shall return. "


XXXVI.

I think the Vessel, that with fugitive
Articulation answer'd, once did live,
And drink; and Ah! the passive Lip I kiss'd,
How many Kisses might it take--and give!


XXXVII.

For I remember stopping by the way
To watch a Potter thumping his wet Clay:
And with its all-obliterated Tongue
It murmur'd--"Gently, Brother, gently, pray! "


XXXVIII.

And has not such a Story from of Old
Down Man's successive generations roll'd
Of such a clod of saturated Earth
Cast by the Maker into Human mold?


XXXIX.

And not a drop that from our Cups we throw
For Earth to drink of, but may steal below
To quench the fire of Anguish in some Eye
There hidden--far beneath, and long ago.


XL.

As then the Tulip for her morning sup
Of Heav'nly Vintage from the soil looks up,
Do you devoutly do the like, till Heav'n
To Earth invert you--like an empty Cup.


XLI.

Perplext no more with Human or Divine,
To-morrow's tangle to the winds resign,
And lose your fingers in the tresses of
The Cypress-slender Minister of Wine.


XLII.

And if the Wine you drink, the Lip you press,
End in what All begins and ends in--Yes;
Think then you are TO-DAY what YESTERDAY
You were--TO-MORROW you shall not be less.


XLIII.

So when that Angel of the darker Drink
At last shall find you by the river-brink,
And, offering his Cup, invite your Soul
Forth to your Lips to quaff--you shall not shrink.


XLIV.

Why, if the Soul can fling the Dust aside,
And naked on the Air of Heaven ride,
Were't not a Shame--were't not a Shame for him
In this clay carcass crippled to abide?


XLV.

'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.


XLVI.

And fear not lest Existence closing your
Account, and mine, should know the like no more;
The Eternal Saki from that Bowl has pour'd
Millions of Bubbles like us, and will pour.


XLVII.

When You and I behind the Veil are past,
Oh, but the long, long while the World shall last,
Which of our Coming and Departure heeds
As the Sea's self should heed a pebble-cast.


XLVIII.

A Moment's Halt--a momentary taste
Of BEING from the Well amid the Waste--
And Lo! --the phantom Caravan has reach'd
The NOTHING it set out from--Oh, make haste!


XLIX.

Would you that spangle of Existence spend
About THE SECRET--quick about it, Friend!
A Hair perhaps divides the False from True--
And upon what, prithee, may life depend?


L.

A Hair perhaps divides the False and True;
Yes; and a single Alif were the clue--
Could you but find it--to the Treasure-house,
And peradventure to THE MASTER too;


LI.

Whose secret Presence through Creation's veins
Running Quicksilver-like eludes your pains;
Taking all shapes from Mah to Mahi and
They change and perish all--but He remains;


LII.

A moment guessed--then back behind the Fold
Immerst of Darkness round the Drama roll'd
Which, for the Pastime of Eternity,
He doth Himself contrive, enact, behold.


LIII.

But if in vain, down on the stubborn floor
Of Earth, and up to Heav'n's unopening Door,
You gaze TO-DAY, while You are You--how then
TO-MORROW, when You shall be You no more?


LIV.

Waste not your Hour, nor in the vain pursuit
Of This and That endeavor and dispute;
Better be jocund with the fruitful Grape
Than sadden after none, or bitter, Fruit.


LV.

You know, my Friends, with what a brave Carouse
I made a Second Marriage in my house;
Divorced old barren Reason from my Bed,
And took the Daughter of the Vine to Spouse.


LVI.

For "Is" and "Is-not" though with Rule and Line
And "UP-AND-DOWN" by Logic I define,
Of all that one should care to fathom, I
was never deep in anything but--Wine.


LVII.

Ah, by my Computations, People say,
Reduce the Year to better reckoning? --Nay,
'Twas only striking from the Calendar
Unborn To-morrow and dead Yesterday.


LVIII.

And lately, by the Tavern Door agape,
Came shining through the Dusk an Angel Shape
Bearing a Vessel on his Shoulder; and
He bid me taste of it; and 'twas--the Grape!


LIX.

The Grape that can with Logic absolute
The Two-and-Seventy jarring Sects confute:
The sovereign Alchemist that in a trice
Life's leaden metal into Gold transmute;


LX.

The mighty Mahmud, Allah-breathing Lord,
That all the misbelieving and black Horde
Of Fears and Sorrows that infest the Soul
Scatters before him with his whirlwind Sword.


LXI.

Why, be this Juice the growth of God, who dare
Blaspheme the twisted tendril as a Snare?
A Blessing, we should use it, should we not?
And if a Curse--why, then, Who set it there?


LXII.

I must abjure the Balm of Life, I must,
Scared by some After-reckoning ta'en on trust,
Or lured with Hope of some Diviner Drink,
To fill the Cup--when crumbled into Dust!


LXIII.

Of threats of Hell and Hopes of Paradise!
One thing at least is certain--This Life flies;
One thing is certain and the rest is Lies;
The Flower that once has blown for ever dies.


LXIV.

Strange, is it not? that of the myriads who
Before us pass'd the door of Darkness through,
Not one returns to tell us of the Road,
Which to discover we must travel too.


LXV.

The Revelations of Devout and Learn'd
Who rose before us, and as Prophets burn'd,
Are all but Stories, which, awoke from Sleep
They told their comrades, and to Sleep return'd.


LXVI.

I sent my Soul through the Invisible,
Some letter of that After-life to spell:
And by and by my Soul return'd to me,
And answer'd "I Myself am Heav'n and Hell:"


LXVII.

Heav'n but the Vision of fulfill'd Desire,
And Hell the Shadow from a Soul on fire,
Cast on the Darkness into which Ourselves,
So late emerged from, shall so soon expire.


LXVIII.

We are no other than a moving row
Of Magic Shadow-shapes that come and go
Round with the Sun-illumined Lantern held
In Midnight by the Master of the Show;


LXIX.

But helpless Pieces of the Game He plays
Upon this Chequer-board of Nights and Days;
Hither and thither moves, and checks, and slays,
And one by one back in the Closet lays.


LXX.

The Ball no question makes of Ayes and Noes,
But Here or There as strikes the Player goes;
And He that toss'd you down into the Field,
He knows about it all--HE knows--HE knows!


LXXI.

The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it.


LXXII.

And that inverted Bowl they call the Sky,
Whereunder crawling coop'd we live and die,
Lift not your hands to It for help--for It
As impotently moves as you or I.


LXXIII.

With Earth's first Clay They did the Last Man knead,
And there of the Last Harvest sow'd the Seed:
And the first Morning of Creation wrote
What the Last Dawn of Reckoning shall read.


LXXIV.

YESTERDAY This Day's Madness did prepare;
TO-MORROW's Silence, Triumph, or Despair:
Drink! for you not know whence you came, nor why:
Drink! for you know not why you go, nor where.


LXXV.

I tell you this--When, started from the Goal,
Over the flaming shoulders of the Foal
Of Heav'n Parwin and Mushtari they flung,
In my predestined Plot of Dust and Soul.


LXXVI.

The Vine had struck a fiber: which about
It clings my Being--let the Dervish flout;
Of my Base metal may be filed a Key
That shall unlock the Door he howls without.


LXXVII.

And this I know: whether the one True Light
Kindle to Love, or Wrath consume me quite,
One Flash of It within the Tavern caught
Better than in the Temple lost outright.


LXXVIII.

What! out of senseless Nothing to provoke
A conscious Something to resent the yoke
Of unpermitted Pleasure, under pain
Of Everlasting Penalties, if broke!


LXXIX.

What! from his helpless Creature be repaid
Pure Gold for what he lent him dross-allay'd--
Sue for a Debt he never did contract,
And cannot answer--Oh the sorry trade!


LXXX.

Oh Thou, who didst with pitfall and with gin
Beset the Road I was to wander in,
Thou wilt not with Predestined Evil round
Enmesh, and then impute my Fall to Sin!


LXXXI.

Oh Thou, who Man of baser Earth didst make,
And ev'n with Paradise devise the Snake:
For all the Sin wherewith the Face of Man
Is blacken'd--Man's forgiveness give--and take!


*****


LXXXII.

As under cover of departing Day
Slunk hunger-stricken Ramazan away,
Once more within the Potter's house alone
I stood, surrounded by the Shapes of Clay.


LXXXIII.

Shapes of all Sorts and Sizes, great and small,
That stood along the floor and by the wall;
And some loquacious Vessels were; and some
Listen'd perhaps, but never talk'd at all.


LXXXIV.

Said one among them--"Surely not in vain
My substance of the common Earth was ta'en
And to this Figure molded, to be broke,
Or trampled back to shapeless Earth again. "


LXXXV.

Then said a Second--"Ne'er a peevish Boy
Would break the Bowl from which he drank in joy;
And He that with his hand the Vessel made
Will surely not in after Wrath destroy. "


LXXXVI.

After a momentary silence spake
Some Vessel of a more ungainly Make;
"They sneer at me for leaning all awry:
What! did the Hand then of the Potter shake? "


LXXXVII.

Whereat some one of the loquacious Lot--
I think a Sufi pipkin--waxing hot--
"All this of Pot and Potter--Tell me then,
Who is the Potter, pray, and who the Pot? "


LXXXVIII.

"Why," said another, "Some there are who tell
Of one who threatens he will toss to Hell
The luckless Pots he marr'd in making--Pish!
He's a Good Fellow, and 'twill all be well. "


LXXXIX.

"Well," murmured one, "Let whoso make or buy,
My Clay with long Oblivion is gone dry:
But fill me with the old familiar Juice,
Methinks I might recover by and by. "


XC.

So while the Vessels one by one were speaking,
The little Moon look'd in that all were seeking:
And then they jogg'd each other, "Brother! Brother!
Now for the Porter's shoulders' knot a-creaking! "


*****


XCI.

Ah, with the Grape my fading life provide,
And wash the Body whence the Life has died,
And lay me, shrouded in the living Leaf,
By some not unfrequented Garden-side.


XCII.

That ev'n buried Ashes such a snare
Of Vintage shall fling up into the Air
As not a True-believer passing by
But shall be overtaken unaware.


XCIII.

Indeed the Idols I have loved so long
Have done my credit in this World much wrong:
Have drown'd my Glory in a shallow Cup,
And sold my reputation for a Song.


XCIV.

Indeed, indeed, Repentance oft before
I swore--but was I sober when I swore?
And then and then came Spring, and Rose-in-hand
My thread-bare Penitence apieces tore.


XCV.

And much as Wine has play'd the Infidel,
And robb'd me of my Robe of Honor--Well,
I wonder often what the Vintners buy
One half so precious as the stuff they sell.


XCVI.

Yet Ah, that Spring should vanish with the Rose!
That Youth's sweet-scented manuscript should close!
The Nightingale that in the branches sang,
Ah whence, and whither flown again, who knows!


XCVII.

Would but the Desert of the Fountain yield
One glimpse--if dimly, yet indeed, reveal'd,
To which the fainting Traveler might spring,
As springs the trampled herbage of the field!


XCVIII.

Would but some winged Angel ere too late
Arrest the yet unfolded Roll of Fate,
And make the stern Recorder otherwise
Enregister, or quite obliterate!


XCIX.

Ah Love! could you and I with Him conspire
To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire,
Would not we shatter it to bits--and then
Re-mold it nearer to the Heart's Desire!


C.

Yon rising Moon that looks for us again--
How oft hereafter will she wax and wane;
How oft hereafter rising look for us
Through this same Garden--and for one in vain!


CI.

And when like her, oh Saki, you shall pass
Among the Guests Star-scatter'd on the Grass,
And in your joyous errand reach the spot
Where I made One--turn down an empty Glass!


TAMAM.





Notes:


[The references are, except in the first note only, to the stanzas of
the Fifth edition. ]


(Stanza I. ) Flinging a Stone into the Cup was the signal for "To
Horse! " in the Desert.

(II. ) The "False Dawn"; Subhi Kazib, a transient Light on the Horizon
about an hour before the Subhi sadik or True Dawn; a well-known
Phenomenon in the East.

(IV. ) New Year. Beginning with the Vernal Equinox, it must be
remembered; and (howsoever the old Solar Year is practically
superseded by the clumsy Lunar Year that dates from the Mohammedan
Hijra) still commemorated by a Festival that is said to have been
appointed by the very Jamshyd whom Omar so often talks of, and whose
yearly Calendar he helped to rectify.

"The sudden approach and rapid advance of the Spring," says Mr.
Binning, "are very striking. Before the Snow is well off the Ground,
the Trees burst into Blossom, and the Flowers start from the Soil. At
Naw Rooz (their New Year's Day) the Snow was lying in patches on the
Hills and in the shaded Vallies, while the Fruit-trees in the Garden
were budding beautifully, and green Plants and Flowers springing upon
the Plains on every side--

'And on old Hyems' Chin and icy Crown
An odorous Chaplet of sweet Summer buds
Is, as in mockery, set--'--

Among the Plants newly appear'd I recognized some Acquaintances I had
not seen for many a Year: among these, two varieties of the Thistle; a
coarse species of the Daisy, like the Horse-gowan; red and white
clover; the Dock; the blue Cornflower; and that vulgar Herb the
Dandelion rearing its yellow crest on the Banks of the Water-courses. "
The Nightingale was not yet heard, for the Rose was not yet blown: but
an almost identical Blackbird and Woodpecker helped to make up
something of a North-country Spring.

"The White Hand of Moses. " Exodus iv. 6; where Moses draws forth his
Hand--not, according to the Persians, "leprous as Snow," but white, as
our May-blossom in Spring perhaps. According to them also the Healing
Power of Jesus resided in his Breath.

(V. ) Iram, planted by King Shaddad, and now sunk somewhere in the
Sands of Arabia. Jamshyd's Seven-ring'd Cup was typical of the 7
Heavens, 7 Planets, 7 Seas, &c. , and was a Divining Cup.

(VI. ) Pehlevi, the old Heroic Sanskrit of Persia. Hafiz also speaks
of the Nightingale's Pehlevi, which did not change with the People's.

I am not sure if the fourth line refers to the Red Rose looking
sickly, or to the Yellow Rose that ought to be Red; Red, White, and
Yellow Roses all common in Persia. I think that Southey in his Common-
Place Book, quotes from some Spanish author about the Rose being White
till 10 o'clock; "Rosa Perfecta" at 2; and "perfecta incarnada" at 5.

(X. ) Rustum, the "Hercules" of Persia, and Zal his Father, whose
exploits are among the most celebrated in the Shahnama. Hatim Tai, a
well-known type of Oriental Generosity.

(XIII. ) A Drum--beaten outside a Palace.

(XIV. ) That is, the Rose's Golden Centre.

(XVIII. ) Persepolis: call'd also Takht-i-Jam-shyd--THE THRONE OF
JAMSHYD, "King Splendid," of the mythical Peshdadian Dynasty, and
supposed (according to the Shah-nama) to have been founded and built
by him. Others refer it to the Work of the Genie King, Jan Ibn
Jan--who also built the Pyramids--before the time of Adam.

BAHRAM GUR. --Bahram of the Wild Ass--a Sassanian Sovereign--had also
his Seven Castles (like the King of Bohemia! ) each of a different
Colour: each with a Royal Mistress within; each of whom tells him a
Story, as told in one of the most famous Poems of Persia, written by
Amir Khusraw: all these Sevens also figuring (according to Eastern
Mysticism) the Seven Heavens; and perhaps the Book itself that Eighth,
into which the mystical Seven transcend, and within which they
revolve. The Ruins of Three of those Towers are yet shown by the
Peasantry; as also the Swamp in which Bahram sunk, like the Master of
Ravenswood, while pursuing his Gur.

The Palace that to Heav'n his pillars threw,
And Kings the forehead on his threshold drew--
I saw the solitary Ringdove there,
And "Coo, coo, coo," she cried; and "Coo, coo, coo. "

[Included in Nicolas's edition as No. 350 of the Rubaiyat, and also in
Mr. Whinfield's translation. ]

This Quatrain Mr. Binning found, among several of Hafiz and others,
inscribed by some stray hand among the ruins of Persepolis. The
Ringdove's ancient Pehlevi Coo, Coo, Coo, signifies also in Persian
"Where? Where? Where? " In Attar's "Bird-parliament" she is reproved
by the Leader of the Birds for sitting still, and for ever harping on
that one note of lamentation for her lost Yusuf.
Apropos of Omar's Red Roses in Stanza xix, I am reminded of an old
English Superstition, that our Anemone Pulsatilla, or purple "Pasque
Flower," (which grows plentifully about the Fleam Dyke, near
Cambridge,) grows only where Danish Blood has been spilt.

(XXI. ) A thousand years to each Planet.

(XXXI. ) Saturn, Lord of the Seventh Heaven.

(XXXII. ) ME-AND-THEE: some dividual Existence or Personality distinct
from the Whole.

(XXXVII. ) One of the Persian Poets--Attar, I think--has a pretty story
about this. A thirsty Traveller dips his hand into a Spring of Water
to drink from. By-and-by comes another who draws up and drinks from
an earthen bowl, and then departs, leaving his Bowl behind him. The
first Traveller takes it up for another draught; but is surprised to
find that the same Water which had tasted sweet from his own hand
tastes bitter from the earthen Bowl. But a Voice--from Heaven, I
think--tells him the clay from which the Bowl is made was once Man;
and, into whatever shape renew'd, can never lose the bitter flavour of
Mortality.

(XXXIX. ) The custom of throwing a little Wine on the ground before
drinking still continues in Persia, and perhaps generally in the East.
Mons. Nicolas considers it "un signe de liberalite, et en meme temps
un avertissement que le buveur doit vider sa coupe jusqu'a la derniere
goutte. " Is it not more likely an ancient Superstition; a Libation to
propitiate Earth, or make her an Accomplice in the illicit Revel? Or,
perhaps, to divert the Jealous Eye by some sacrifice of superfluity,
as with the Ancients of the West? With Omar we see something more is
signified; the precious Liquor is not lost, but sinks into the ground
to refresh the dust of some poor Wine-worshipper foregone.

Thus Hafiz, copying Omar in so many ways: "When thou drinkest Wine
pour a draught on the ground. Wherefore fear the Sin which brings to
another Gain? "

(XLIII. ) According to one beautiful Oriental Legend, Azrael
accomplishes his mission by holding to the nostril an Apple from the
Tree of Life.

This, and the two following Stanzas would have been withdrawn, as
somewhat de trop, from the Text, but for advice which I least like to
disregard.

(LI. ) From Mah to Mahi; from Fish to Moon.

(LVI. ) A Jest, of course, at his Studies. A curious mathematical
Quatrain of Omar's has been pointed out to me; the more curious
because almost exactly parallel'd by some Verses of Doctor Donne's,
that are quoted in Izaak Walton's Lives! Here is Omar: "You and I are
the image of a pair of compasses; though we have two heads (sc. our
feet) we have one body; when we have fixed the centre for our circle,
we bring our heads (sc. feet) together at the end. " Dr. Donne:

If we be two, we two are so
As stiff twin-compasses are two;
Thy Soul, the fixt foot, makes no show
To move, but does if the other do.

And though thine in the centre sit,
Yet when my other far does roam,
Thine leans and hearkens after it,
And rows erect as mine comes home.

Such thou must be to me, who must
Like the other foot obliquely run;
Thy firmness makes my circle just,
And me to end where I begun.

(LIX. ) The Seventy-two Religions supposed to divide the World,
including Islamism, as some think: but others not.

(LX. ) Alluding to Sultan Mahmud's Conquest of India and its dark
people.

(LXVIII. ) Fanusi khiyal, a Magic-lanthorn still used in India; the
cylindrical Interior being painted with various Figures, and so
lightly poised and ventilated as to revolve round the lighted Candle
within.

(LXX. ) A very mysterious Line in the Original:

O danad O danad O danad O--

breaking off something like our Wood-pigeon's Note, which she is said
to take up just where she left off.

(LXXV. ) Parwin and Mushtari--The Pleiads and Jupiter.

(LXXXVII. ) This Relation of Pot and Potter to Man and his Maker
figures far and wide in the Literature of the World, from the time of
the Hebrew Prophets to the present; when it may finally take the name
of "Pot theism," by which Mr. Carlyle ridiculed Sterling's
"Pantheism. " My Sheikh, whose knowledge flows in from all quarters,
writes to me--

"Apropos of old Omar's Pots, did I ever tell you the sentence I found
in 'Bishop Pearson on the Creed'? 'Thus are we wholly at the disposal
of His will, and our present and future condition framed and ordered
by His free, but wise and just, decrees. Hath not the potter power
over the clay, of the same lump to make one vessel unto honour, and
another unto dishonour? (Rom. ix. 21. ) And can that earth-artificer
have a freer power over his brother potsherd (both being made of the
same metal), than God hath over him, who, by the strange fecundity of
His omnipotent power, first made the clay out of nothing, and then him
out of that? '"

And again--from a very different quarter--"I had to refer the other
day to Aristophanes, and came by chance on a curious Speaking-pot
story in the Vespae, which I had quite forgotten.

[Greek text deleted from etext. ]

"The Pot calls a bystander to be a witness to his bad treatment. The
woman says, 'If, by Proserpine, instead of all this 'testifying'
(comp. Cuddie and his mother in 'Old Mortality! ') you would buy
yourself a rivet, it would show more sense in you! ' The Scholiast
explains echinus as [Greek phrase deleted from etext]. "

One more illustration for the oddity's sake from the "Autobiography of
a Cornish Rector," by the late James Hamley Tregenna. 1871.

"There was one odd Fellow in our Company--he was so like a Figure in
the 'Pilgrim's Progress' that Richard always called him the
'ALLEGORY,' with a long white beard--a rare Appendage in those
days--and a Face the colour of which seemed to have been baked in,
like the Faces one used to see on Earthenware Jugs. In our Country-
dialect Earthenware is called 'Clome'; so the Boys of the Village used
to shout out after him--'Go back to the Potter, Old Clomeface, and get
baked over again. ' For the 'Allegory,' though shrewd enough in most
things, had the reputation of being 'saift-baked,' i. e. , of weak
intellect. "

(XC. ) At the Close of the Fasting Month, Ramazan (which makes the
Mussulman unhealthy and unamiable), the first Glimpse of the New Moon
(who rules their division of the Year) is looked for with the utmost
Anxiety, and hailed with Acclamation. Then it is that the Porter's
Knot maybe heard--toward the Cellar. Omar has elsewhere a pretty
Quatrain about the same Moon--

"Be of Good Cheer--the sullen Month will die,
And a young Moon requite us by and by:
Look how the Old one meagre, bent, and wan
With Age and Fast, is fainting from the Sky! "





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