Chapter II: Preface: TO

Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám.

Omar Khayyám, or Chiam, was born about the middle of the 11th Century, at Naishápúr, Khorassán, and he died in that town about the year 1123.

Little is known as to the details of his life, and such facts as are available have been drawn principally from the _Wasíyat_ or _Testament_ of Mizam al Mulk (_Regulation of the Realm_), who was a fellow-pupil of Omar at the school of the celebrated Imám Mowafek or Mowaffak. Reference to this is made in Mirkhond's _History of the Assassins_, from which the following extract[A] is taken.

"'One of the greatest of the wise men of Khorassán was the
Imán Mowaffak of Naishápúr, a man highly honoured and
reverenced,—may God rejoice his soul; his illustrious years
exceeded eighty-five, and it was the universal belief that
every boy who read the Koran, or studied the traditions in his
presence, would assuredly attain to honour and happiness. For
this cause did my father send me from Tús to Naishápúr with
Abd-u-samad, the doctor of law, that I might employ myself in
study and learning under the guidance of that illustrious
teacher. Towards me he ever turned an eye of favour and
kindness, and as his pupil I felt for him extreme affection
and devotion, so that I passed four years in his service. When
I first came there, I found two other pupils of mine own age
newly arrived, Hakim Omar Khayyám and the ill-fated Ben
Sabbáh. Both were endowed with sharpness of wit and the
highest natural powers; and we three formed a close friendship
together. When the Imám rose from his lectures, they used to
join me, and we repeated to each other the lessons we had
heard. Now Omar was a native of Naishápúr, while Hasan Ben
Sabbáh's father was one Ali, a man of austere life and
practice, but heretical in his creed and doctrine. One day
Hasan said to me and to Khayyám, "It is a universal belief
that the pupils of the Imám Mowaffak will attain to fortune.
Now, if we _all_ do not attain thereto, without doubt one of
us will; what then shall be our mutual pledge and bond?" We
answered, "Be it what you please." "Well," he said, "let us
make a vow, that to whomsoever this fortune falls, he shall
share it equally with the rest, and reserve no pre-eminence
for himself." "Be it so," we both replied; and on those terms
we mutually pledged our words. Years rolled on, and I went
from Khorassán to Transoxiana, and wandered to Ghazni and
Cabul; and when I returned, I was invested with office, and
rose to be administrator of affairs during the Sultanate of
Sultan Alp Arslán.'

"He goes on to state, that years passed by, and both his old
school-friends found him out, and came and claimed a share in
his good fortune according to the school-day vow. The Vizier
was generous and kept his word. Hasan demanded a place in the
government, which the Sultan granted at the Vizier's request;
but, discontented with a gradual rise, he plunged into the
maze of intrigue of an Oriental Court, and, failing in a base
attempt to supplant his benefactor, he was disgraced and fell.
After many mishaps and wanderings, Hasan became the head of
the Persian sect of the _Ismaílians_,—a party of fanatics who
had long murmured in obscurity, but rose to an evil eminence
under the guidance of his strong and evil will. In A.D. 1090
he seized the castle of Alamút, in the province of Rúdbar,
which lies in the mountainous tract, south of the Caspian sea;
and it was from this mountain home he obtained that evil
celebrity among the Crusaders, as the OLD MAN OF THE
MOUNTAINS, and spread terror through the Mohammedan world; and
it is yet disputed whether the word _Assassin_, which they
have left in the language of modern Europe as their dark
memorial, is derived from the _hashish_, or opiate of
hemp-leaves (the Indian _bhang_), with which they maddened
themselves to the sullen pitch of oriental desperation, or
from the name of the founder of the dynasty, whom we have seen
in his quiet collegiate days, at Naishápúr. One of the
countless victims of the Assassin's dagger was Nizám al Mulk
himself, the old school-boy friend.

"Omar Khayyám also came to the Vizier to claim his share; but
not to ask for title or office. 'The greatest boon you can
confer on me,' he said, 'is to let me live in a corner under
the shadow of your fortune, to spread wide the advantages of
Science, and pray for your long life and prosperity.' The
Vizier tells us, that when he found Omar was really sincere
in his refusal, he pressed him no further, but granted him a
yearly pension of 1,200 _mithkáls_ of gold from the treasury
of Naishápúr.

"At Naishápúr thus lived and died Omar Khayyám, 'busied,' adds
the Vizier, 'in winning knowledge of every kind, and
especially in Astronomy, wherein he attained to a very high
pre-eminence. Under the Sultanate of Malik Shah, he came to
Merv, and obtained great praise for his proficiency in
science, and the Sultan showered favours upon him.'

"When Malik Shah determined to reform the calendar, Omar was
one of the eight learned men employed to do it; the result was
the _Jaláli_ era (so-called from _Jalal-ul-Din_, one of the
king's names)—'a computation of time,' says Gibbon, 'which
surpasses the Julian, and approaches the accuracy of the
Gregorian style.' He is also the author of some astronomical
tables, entitled 'Zíji-Maliksháhí,' and the French have lately
republished and translated an Arabic treatise of his on
Algebra.

"These severe Studies, and his verses, which, though happily
fewer than any Persian Poet's, and, though perhaps fugitively
composed, the Result of no fugitive Emotion or Thought, are
probably the Work and Event of his Life, leaving little else
to record. Perhaps he liked a little Farming too, so often as
he speaks of the 'Edge of the Tilth' on which he loved to rest
with his Diwán of Verse, his Loaf—and his Wine.

"His Takhallus or poetical name (Khayyám) signifies a
Tent-maker, and he is said to have at one time exercised that
trade, perhaps before Nizám al Mulk's generosity raised him to
independence. Many Persian poets similarly derive their names
from their occupations: thus we have Attár 'a druggist,' Assár
'an oil presser,' etc. Omar himself alludes to his name in the
following whimsical lines:—

"'Khayyám, who stitched the tents of science,
Has fallen in grief's furnace and been suddenly burned;
The shears of Fate have cut the tent ropes of his life,
And the broker of Hope has sold him for nothing!'

"We have only one more anecdote to give of his Life, and that
relates to the close; related in the anonymous preface which
is sometimes prefixed to his poems; it has been printed in the
Persian in the appendix to Hyde's _Veterum Persarum Religio_,
p. 449; and D'Herbelot alludes to it in his Bibliothéque,
under _Khiam_[B]:—

"'It is written in the chronicles of the ancients that this
King of the Wise, Omar Khayyám, died at Naishápúr in the year
of the Hegira, 517 (A.D. 1123); in science he was
unrivalled,—the very paragon of his age. Khwájah Nizámi of
Samarcand, who was one of his pupils, relates the following
story: "I often used to hold conversation with my teacher,
Omar Khayyám, in a garden; and one day he said to me, 'My tomb
shall be in a spot where the north wind may scatter roses over
it.' I wondered at the words he spake, but I knew that his
were no idle words. Years after, when I chanced to revisit
Naishápúr I went to his final resting place, and lo! it was
just outside a garden, and trees laden with fruit stretched
their boughs over the garden wall, and dropped their flowers
upon his tomb, so as the stone was hidden under them."'"

Much discussion has arisen in regard to the meaning of Omar's poetry. Some writers have insisted on a mystical interpretation and M. Nicholas goes so far as to state his opinion that Omar devoted himself "avec passion à l'étude de la philosphie des Soufis." On the other hand Von Hammer, the author of a _History of the Assassins_, refers to Omar as a Freethinker and a great opponent of Sufism.

Probably, in the absence of agreement amongst authorities, the soundest view is that expressed by FitzGerald's editor,[C] that the real Omar Khayyám was a Philosopher, of scientific insight and ability far beyond that of the Age and Country he lived in; of such moderate and worldly Ambition as becomes a Philosopher, and such moderate wants as rarely satisfy a Debauchee; that while the Wine Omar celebrates is simply the Juice of the Grape, he bragged more than he drank of it, in very defiance perhaps of that Spiritual Wine which left its Votaries sunk in Hypocrisy or Disgust.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote A: Quoted in the _Calcutta Review_, No. LIX.]

[Footnote B: "Philosophe Musulman qui a vécu en Odeur de Sainteté, dans la religion vers la Fin du premier et la Commencement du second Siècle," no part of which, except the "Philosophe," can apply to _our_ Khayyám, who, however, may claim the Story as _his_, on the Score of Rubáiyát, 77 and 78 of the present Version. The Rashness of the Words, according to D'Herbelot, consisted in being so opposed to those in the Koran: "No Man knows where he shall die."]

[Footnote C: Mr. W. Aldis Wright, M.A.]

RUBÁIYÁT

OF

OMAR KHAYYÁM.

I.

Awake! for Morning in the Bowl of Night
Has flung the Stone that puts the Stars to Flight:
And Lo! the Hunter of the East has caught
The Sultán's Turret in a Noose of Light.

II.

Dreaming when Dawn's Left Hand was in the Sky,
I heard a Voice within the Tavern cry,
"Awake, my Little ones, and fill the Cup
Before Life's Liquor in its Cup be dry."

III.

And, as the Cock crew, those who stood before
The Tavern shouted—"Open then the Door!
You know how little while we have to stay,
And, once departed, may return no more."

IV.

Now the New Year reviving old Desires,
The thoughtful Soul to Solitude retires,
Where the White Hand of Moses on the Bough
Puts out, and Jesus from the Ground suspires.

V.

Irám indeed is gone with all its Rose,
And Jamshýd's Sev'n-ring'd Cup where no one knows:
But still the Vine her ancient Ruby yields,
And still a Garden by the Water blows.

VI.

And David's Lips are lockt; but in divine
High-piping Péhlevi, with "Wine! Wine! Wine!
_Red_ Wine!"—the Nightingale cries to the Rose
That yellow Cheek of hers to incarnadine.

VII.

Come, fill the Cup, and in the Fire of Spring
The Winter Garment of Repentance fling:
The Bird of Time has but a little way
To fly—and Lo! the Bird is on the Wing.

VIII.

And look—a thousand blossoms with the Day
Woke—and a thousand scatter'd into Clay:
And this first Summer Month that brings the Rose
Shall take Jamshýd and Kaikobád away.

IX.

But come with old Khayyám and leave the Lot
Of Kaikobád and Kaikhosrú forgot:
Let Rustum lay about him as he will,
Or Hátim Tai cry Supper—heed them not.

X.

With me along some Strip of Herbage strown
That just divides the desert from the sown,
Where name of Slave and Sultán scarce is known,
And pity Sultán Máhmúd on his Throne.

XI.

Here with a Loaf of Bread beneath the Bough,
A Flask of Wine, a Book of Verse—and Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness—
And Wilderness is Paradise enow.

XII.

"How sweet is mortal Sovranty"—think some:
Others—"How blest the Paradise to come!"
Ah, take the Cash in hand and waive the Rest;
Oh, the brave Music of a _distant_ Drum!

XIII.

Look to the Rose that blows about us—"Lo,
Laughing," she says, "into the World I blow:
At once the silken Tassel of my Purse
Tear, and its Treasure on the Garden throw."

XIV.

The Worldly Hope men set their Hearts upon
Turns Ashes—or it prospers; and anon,
Like Snow upon the Desert's dusty Face
Lighting a little Hour or two—is gone.

XV.

And those who husbanded the Golden Grain,
And those who flung it to the Winds like Rain,
Alike to no such aureate Earth are turn'd
As, buried once, Men want dug up again.

XVI.

Think, in this batter'd Caravanserai
Whose Doorways are alternate Night and Day,
How Sultán after Sultán with his Pomp
Abode his Hour or two and went his way.

XVII.

They say the Lion and the Lizard keep
The Courts where Jamshýd gloried and drank deep:
And Bahrám, that great Hunter—the Wild Ass
Stamps o'er his Head, and he lies fast asleep.

XVIII.

I sometimes think that never blows so red
The Rose as where some buried Cæsar bled;
That every Hyacinth the Garden wears
Dropt in its Lap from some once lovely Head.

XIX.

And this delightful Herb whose tender Green
Fledges the River's Lip on which we lean—
Ah, lean upon it lightly! for who knows
From what once lovely Lip it springs unseen!

XX.

Ah, my Belovéd, fill the cup that clears
To-day of past Regrets and future Fears—
_To-morrow?_—Why, To-morrow I may be
Myself with Yesterday's Sev'n Thousand Years.

XXI.

Lo! some we loved, the loveliest and the best
That Time and Fate of all their Vintage prest,
Have drunk their Cup a Round or two before,
And one by one crept silently to Rest.

XXII.

And we, that now make merry in the Room
They left, and Summer dresses in new Bloom,
Ourselves must we beneath the Couch of Earth
Descend, ourselves to make a Couch—for whom?

XXIII.

Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend,
Before we too into the Dust descend;
Dust into Dust, and under Dust, to lie,
Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and—sans End!

XXIV.

Alike for those who for To-day prepare,
And those that after a To-morrow stare,
A Muezzín from the Tower of Darkness cries,
"Fools! your Reward is neither Here nor There!"

XXV.

Why, all the Saints and Sages who discuss'd
Of the Two Worlds so learnedly, are thrust
Like foolish Prophets forth; their Words to Scorn
Are scatter'd, and their Mouths are stopt with Dust.

XXVI.

Oh, come with old Khayyám, and leave the Wise
To talk; one thing is certain, that Life flies;
One thing is certain, and the Rest is Lies;
The Flower that once has blown for ever dies.

XXVII.

Myself when young did eagerly frequent
Doctor and Saint, and heard great Argument
About it and about: but evermore
Came out by the same Door as in I went.

XXVIII.

With them the Seed of Wisdom did I sow,
And with my own hand labour'd it to grow:
And this was all the Harvest that I reap'd—
"I came like Water, and like Wind I go."

XXIX.

Into this Universe, and _why_ not knowing,
Nor _whence_, like Water willy-nilly flowing:
And out of it, as Wind along the Waste,
I know not _whither_, willy-nilly blowing.

XXX.

What, without asking, hither hurried _whence_?
And, without asking, _whither_ hurried hence!
Another and another Cup to drown
The Memory of this Impertinence!