The Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám Jr. Translated from the Original Bornese into English Verse byWallace Irwinauthor of "The Love Sonnets of a Hoodlum, " with eight illustrations and cover design byGelett Burgess Introduction Since the publication of Edward Fitzgerald's classic translation of theRubaiyat in 1851 - or rather since its general popularity several yearslater - poets minor and major have been rendering the sincerest form offlattery to the genius of the Irishman who brought Persia into the bestregulated families. Unfortunately there was only one Omar and there werescores of imitators who, in order to make the Astronomer go round, wereobliged to draw him out to the thinness of Balzac's Magic Skin. Whileall this was going on, the present Editor was forced to conclude thatthe burning literary need was not for more translators, but for moreOmars to translate; and what was his surprise to note that the work of alater and superior Omar Khayyam was lying undiscovered in the wilds ofBorneo! Here, indeed, was a sensation in the world of letters - arevelation as thrilling as the disinterment of Ossian's forgotten songs- the discovery of an unsubmerged Atlantis. While some stout Cortez moreworthy than the Editor might have stood on this new Darien and gazedover the sleeping demesne of Omar Khayyam, Jr. , he had, so to speak, theadvantage of being first on the ground, and to him fell the duty, nolensvolens, of lifting the rare philosophy out of the Erebus that had solong cloaked it in obscurity. It is still a matter of surprise to the Editor that the discovery ofthese Rubaiyat should have been left to this late date, when insentiment and philosophy they have points of superiority over thequatrains of the first Omar of Naishapur. The genius of the East has, indeed, ever been slow to reveal itself in the West. It took a Crusadeto bring to our knowledge anything of the schöner Geist of the Orient;and it was not until the day of Matthew Arnold that the Epic ofPersia[1] was brought into the proper realm of English poesy. Whatwonder, then, that not until the first Omaric madness had passed awaywere the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam, Jr. , lifted into the light after aninfinity of sudor et labor spent in excavating under the 9, 000 irregularverbs, 80 declensions, and 41 exceptions to every rule which go to makethe ancient Mango-Bornese dialect in which the poem was originallywritten, foremost among the dead languages! Although little is known of the life of Omar Khayyam the elder, thedetails of his private career are far more complete than those of hisson, Omar Khayyam, Jr. In fact, many historians have been so careless asto have entirely omitted mention of the existence of such a person asthe younger Omar. Comparative records of the two languages, however, show plainly how the mantle was handed from the Father to the Son, andhow it became the commendable duty of the second generation to correctand improve upon the first. Omar Khayyam died in the early part of the eleventh century, having soldhis poems profitably, with the proceeds of which he established tavernsthroughout the length and breadth of Persia. Omar died in the height ofhis popularity, but shortly after his death the city of Naishapur becamea temperance town. Even yet the younger Omar might have lived and sungat Naishapur had not a fanatical sect of Sufi women, taking advantage ofthe increasing respectability of the once jovial city, risen in a bodyagainst the house of Omar and literally razed it to the ground with theaid of hatchets, which were at that time the peculiar weapon of the sexand sect. It is said that the younger Omar, who was then a youth, wasobliged to flee from the wrath of the Good Government Propagandists andto take abode in a distant city. For some time he wandered about Persiain a destitute condition, plying the hereditary trade of tent-maker, butat length poverty compelled him to quit his native country for good andto try his fortunes in a land so remote that the dissolute record of hisparent could no longer hound him. Borneo was the island to which thepoet fled, and here the historian finds him some years later prosperingin the world's goods and greatly reverenced by the inhabitants. AlthoughOmar, Jr. , was undoubtedly the greatest man that Borneo has yetproduced, he must not be confused in the mind of the reader with theWild Man of Borneo, who, although himself a poet, was a man of far lessculture than the author of the present Rubaiyat. While not a Good Templar, the younger Omar showed a commendable tendencytoward reform. The sensitive Soul of the poet was ever cankered with thethought that his father's jovial habits had put him in a false position, and that it was his filial duty to retrieve the family reputation. Itwas his life work to inculcate into the semi-barbaric minds of thepeople with whom he had taken abode the thought that the alcoholicpleasures of his father were false joys, and that (as sung in numberVI), - "There's Comfort only in the Smoking Car. " In Tobacco the son found a lasting and comparatively harmless substitutefor the Wine, which, none can doubt, caused the elder Omar to complainso bitterly, - "Indeed, the Idols I have loved so longHave done my credit in Men's eyes much wrong. '' Note the cheerfulness with which the Son answers the Father in a stanzawhich may be taken as a key to his Reformatory Philosophy, "O foozied Poetasters, fogged with Wine, Who to your Orgies bid the Muses Nine, Go bid them then, but leave to me, the TenthWhose name is Nicotine, for she is mine!'' Quite in accordance with his policy of improving on his father's rakishMuse was the frequent endorsement of the beautiful and harmless practiceof kissing. The kiss is mentioned some forty-eight times in the presentwork, and in the nine hundred untranslated Rubaiyat, two hundred and tenmore kisses occur, making a grand total of two hundred and fifty-eightOmaric kisses - "Enough! - of Kisses can there be Enough?" It may be truly said that the Father left the discovery of Woman to hisSon, for nowhere in the Rubaiyat of Naishapur's poet is full justicedone to the charms of the fair. Even in his most ardent passages oldOmar uttered no more than a eulogy to Friendship. Where the philosophy of the elder Omar was bacchanalian and epicurean, that of the Son was tobacchanalian and eclectic, allowing excess only inmoderation, as it were, and countenancing nothing more violent thanpoetic license. However, we are led to believe that the tastes of histime called for a certain mild sensuality as the gustatio to a feast ofreason, and had Omar Khayyam lived in our own day he would doubtlesshave agreed with a reverend Erlington and Bosworth Professor in theUniversity of Cambridge who boldly asserts that the literature redolentof nothing but the glories of asceticism "deserves the credit due togoodness of intention, and nothing else. " Due doubtless to the preservative influence of smoke Omar Khayyam, Jr. , was enabled to live to the hale age of one hundred and seven, and to goto an apotheosis fully worthy his greatness. Among the nativechroniclers the quatrain (number XCVIII) - "Then let the balmed Tobacco be my Sheath, The ardent Weed above me and beneath, And let me like a living Incense rise, A Fifty-Cent Cigar between my Teeth, " has been the source of much relentless debate. By some it is held thatthis stanza is prophetic in its nature, foreseeing the transcendentmiracle of the poet's death; by others it is as stoutly maintained thatthe poet in the above lines decreed that his work should be preservedand handed down to posterity in a wrapping of tobacco. The Editor isinclined to the belief that there is much truth in both opinions, forthe parchment, when it came to hand, was stained and scented from itswrappings of Virginia and Perique; and the manner of the poet's deathmarks Number XCI as another remarkable instance of the clairvoyance ofthe Muse. To quote from the quaint words of the native chronicler: - "For while the Volcanic Singer was seated one day in the shade of abanyan tree, fresh cigars and abandoned stumps surrounding him like thelittle hills that climb the mountain, he nodded and fell asleep, stillpuffing lustily at a panatella, sweet and black. Now the poet's beardwas long and his sleep deep, and as the weed grew shorter with eachecstatic puff, the little brand of fire drew closer and closer to thebeautiful hairy mantle that fell from the poet's chin. That day theIsland was wrapped in a light gauze of blue mist, an exotic smoke thatwas a blessing to the nostrils. It suffused the whole Island from end toend, and reminded the happy inhabitants of the Cigars of Nirvana, grownin some Plantation of the Blessed. When the smoke had passed and ourheads were cleared of the narcotic fumes, we hastened to the spot whereour good master had loved to sit; but there naught remained but a greatheap of white ashes, sitting among the pipes and cigars that hadinspired his song. Thus he died as he lived, an ardent smoker. " W. I. [1] "Sohrab and Rustam'' being a fragment of the Persian epic. The Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám, Jr. He lets me have good tobacco, and he does notSophisticate it with sack-lees or oil, Nor washes it in muscadel and grains, Nor buries it in gravel underground, Wrapped up in greasy leather or sour clouts;But keeps it in fine lily-pots, that, opened, Smell like conserve of roses or French beans. Jonson. (The Alchemist. ) Therefore, O Love, because to all Life's plansAnd projects some promotion thou impartest, Thou still hast many zealous artisans, Tho' not one artist. Owen Meredith. (Marah. ) The Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám, Jr. I Avaunt, acerbid Brat of Death, that soursThe Milk of Life and blasts the nascent Flowers!Back to your morbid, mouldering Cairns, and letMe do my worrying in Office Hours! II What though Gorgona at the Portal knocksAnd charms the squamiest Serpent in her Locks -I wear tobacchanalian Wreaths of SmokeAnd there are more Perfectos in the box. III Now the New Year, reviving old Desires, The craving Phoenix rises from its Fires. Indeed, indeed Repentance oft I swore, But last Year's Pledge with this New Year expires. IV Mark how Havana's sensuous-philtred MeadDispels the cackling Hag of Night at Need, And, foggy-aureoled, the Smoke revealsThe Poppy Flowers that blossom from the Weed. V Come, fill the Pipe, and in the Fire of SpringThe Cuban Leaves upon the Embers fling, That in its Incense I may sermonizeOn Woman's Ways and all that sort of Thing. VI While the tired Dog Watch hailed the sea-merged StarI heard the Voice of Travellers from AfarMaking Lament with many an Ivory Yawn, "There's Comfort only in the Smoking Car!" VII See, heavenly Zamperina, damselish, The Day has broken Night's unwholesome Dish, The Lark is up betimes to hail the Dawn, The Early Worm is up to catch the Fish. VIII Let us infest the Lintel of the GloamAnd chase the Steeds from Morning's Hippodrome, And let Aurora's wastrel Wanderings beA good Excuse to stay away from Home. IX Ah, Love, th' Invisible Buskin at the GateIllumes your Eyes that languored gaze and waitAnd in their Incandescence seem to askThe world-old Question: "Is my Hat On Straight?" X Than Basilisk or Nenuphar more fair, Your Locks with countless glistening Pendants glare, Then as the Fountain patters to the brimA hundred Hairpins tumble from your Hair. XI So let them scatter, jangled in Duress. What reckons Love of Hairpins more or less?Guard well your Heart and let the Hairpins go -To lose your Heart were arrant Carelessness. XII Acephalous Time to febrous Lengths bestirredStrips the lush Blossom and outstrips the Bird, Makes sweet the Wine - I cannot say the SameOf Women or of Songs that I have heard. XIII With me along that mezzotinted ZoneWhere Hymen Spring is hymning to his Own -See how grave Mahmud gambols on the GlebeAnd hangs the sign TO LET upon his Throne! XIV A Grand Piano underneath the Bough, A Gramophone, a Chinese Gong, and ThouTrying to sing an Anthem off the Key -Oh, Paradise were Wilderness enow? XV Chromatic Catches troll from yonder HillWhere Bill to Beak the Wren and Whip-poor-WillIn deed and truth beshrew the Beldam LifeWho kisses first and then presents the Bill. XVI As one who by the Sphinx delays a spaceAnd on her Shoulder finds a Resting Place, Breathes an awed Question in her stupored Ear. And lights a Sulphur Match upon her Face, XVII So unto Venus' Oracle in turnI leaned the Secret of my Love to learn. The Answering Riddle came: "She loves you, yes, In just Proportion to the Sum you Earn. " XVIII Some by Eolian Aloes borne alongSwound on the Dulcimer's reverbrant Thong;But I, who make my Mecca in a Kiss, Begrudge the Lips that waste their Time in Song. XIX Some clamour much for kisses, some for Few, Others deep sup, their Thirstings to renew, And mumble into Maunderings, but I, In Kissing, scorn the How Much for the Who. XX Svelte Zamperina's Lips incarnadine, And languored lifting, fasten unto mine, Their rubric Message giving Hint and ClewHow frequently a Kiss in Time saves Nine. XXI Then swart Gorgona rears her snaky ZoneDemanding Sip of Lip in poisonous ToneWhile back Abaft I cower, for well I wotA Face like that needs not a Chaperone. XXII The Fair of Vanity has many a BoothTo sell its spangled Wares of Age and Youth;And there have I beheld the Wordlings buyTheir Paris Gowns to clothe the Naked Truth. XXIII But cannot Beauty render Sin the lessWhen Aphroditan Damosels transgress, Making the Error lovely with the Thought -A Dimple is its own Forgiviness? XXIV Into your Soul may truculent Daemons passAll hugger-mugger in that dun Morass, But while the Rouge is mantling to your Cheek, Nothing will chide you in your Looking-Glass. XXV Unto the Glass Gorgona torques her EyeBeholding there Ten Myriad Fragments fly, The Parts dispersing with lugubrious Din -Who will invent a Mirror that will lie? XXVI Oft have I heard the Cant of flattering FriendAdmire my Forehead's Apollonic Bend, Then to the Glass I've wreathed my sad Regard -The Looking-Glass is candid to the End. XXVII Look to the Rose who, as I pass her by, Breathes the fond Attar-musk up to the Sky, Spreading her silken Blushes - does she knowThat I have come to smell and not to Buy? XXVIII Ah, Rose, assume a gentle AvariceAnd hoard the soft Allurements that entice;For One will come who holds the Golden MeansTo buy your Blushes at the Standard Price. XXIX Down to the Deeps of Sheol, anguish-torn, I've hurtled Beauty to a State forlorn, Beauty the Curse, - yet if a Curse it be, With what an Equanimity 'tis borne! XXX What shallow Guerdon of terrestrial Strife, For him who quits this Donjon Keep of Life, To read the World's expectant Epitaph:"He left a handsome Widow in his Wife!" XXXI Before the Dawn's Encroachment I awokeAnd heard again the bodeful Adage spoke:Society Engagements are like Eggs -You know not what's Inside them till they're Broke. XXXII Creation stands between the Won't and Will, Yes, and that Doubt Infinitude might fill -It took nine Tailors once to make a Man;It took nine more to make him pay the Bill. XXXIII The Thunderbolts of Heaven's potent SwayGather and break, but never can dismayWhen Indestructible Resistless meets, The Please Remit confronts the Cannot Pay. XXXIV And true as Star and Star pursue their CourseMust Rapture crumb to Ashes of Remorse:How many a Marriage License that is writHas proved a legal Permit to Divorce! XXXV Myself when young did eagerly frequentA Woman's Club and heard great ArgumentOf crazy Cults and Creeds; but evermore'Twas by much Gossip of the Fashions rent. XXXVI In them the Seed of Wisdom did I sow, Speaking of Things a Woman ought to know. "Better than Years with Ibsen spent, " I said, "One Evening with my Friend, Boccacio. " XXXVII And that same Bard who strews rhythmatic DaisiesAnd many a Female Heart discreetly crazes, Seek him not out, fair Maid, for oftentimesHis Head is vastly Balder than his Phrases. XXXVIII Upon the Book of Time the AutocratHas writ in Stars the fiery Idem Stat, Lettered the Riddle in the Lambent Suns -rather write than read a Book like that. XXXIX Better a meager Tome to sow the SeedOf errant Thought and Fancy's Lantern feed;Better a Penny Dreadful than the BookThat sends you into Slumber when you read. XL And better still than these gorglorious ThingsThe Briar's gracious Narcotine that clingsTo my ambrosial Temples till I wearA Halo-crown of vapoured Vortex Rings. XLI Virginia for the Pipe's sweet Charity, Havana for Cigars to solace me, And Turkey for the transient Cigarette -Was all I learned of my Geography. XLII Cigars I puff devoutly when I May, And when I Can the Pipe, another Day, And when I Must I browse on Cigarettes -Then, as you love me, take the Stubs away! XLIII Waste not your Weed, the Leaves are all too fewIt's Nectar to defile as Others do -Ah, shun the Solecism and the PlugFor Cattle-Kings and Stevedores to chew. XLIV Once in a Dream 'twas granted unto meThe open Gates of Paradise to see, While Israfel loud chanted from the Void, "This Vision comes of Pie; not Piety!" XLV Belovčd, smoke my amber Pipe awhileAnd from its Bowl narcotic Joys beguile, Suck Lethe from its Stem - what though I traceA certain greenish Pallour in your Smile? XLVI Strange is it not that, oft her Dolour cloakingIn hurried Puffs with Nonchalance provoking, No woman reads that apodictic Ode"How to be Happy Even Though You're Smoking?" XLVII Look not so wild, the Fit will pass away -No barbčd Anguish chooses long to stay, And only in the Pipe is Friendshipfound That waxes Strong and Stronger day by day. XLVIII Come, rest your Head if Earth rotative seemsAnd close your Lids from these o'er wakeful Gleams -Although your Palate cringe you shall not shrinkWithin the Kitchen of the House of Dreams. XLIX Murkly I muse on that transcendent StateWhere all my Pasts within the Future wait -If I for Heavenly Marriages am marked, Oh what a Turk I'll be beyond the Gate! L Minnie and Maud across my Flight will wing, Birdie and Bess and Gwendolyn will bringA Score of Other Pasts and make a Scene, To say the Least, a Bit Embarrassing. LI Some I have known are jabbering in Hell, Others have passed in Heaven's Reward to dwell;So, when my Soul has flitted, must I findThe same bland Bores, the same old Tales to tell. LII There is the Thought beneath whose vampire ToothThe Soul outshrieks at such unseemly Sooth:The Solemn Bore still waits beyond the Grave -Ah, let me stay and taste undying Youth! LIII Into some secret, migrant Realm without, By the dun Cloak of Darkness wrapped about, Or by ringed Saturn's Swirl thou may'st be hidIn vain: be sure the Bore will find you out. LIV Were't not a shame, were't not a shame I say, That in this sorry Brotherhood of ClayNo Necromance the Philtre can distilTo keep Mosquitoes, Death and Bores away? LV Northly or Southly may I ride or walkBeneath the glacial Crag or fronded Stalk, But still the Spectre gibbers in my EarsAnd drowns my Spirits in a Sea of Talk. LVI The Noun and Verb he scatters without EndAnd Adjectives to Pronouns Horror lend -Ah, fumid Pipe, I thank you hour by hourThat you have never learned to talk, my Friend! LVII Better the pleasaunce-breathing Pipe for meThan lodgment in that Great MenagerieWhere Birds of aureate Plumage preen their QuillsAnd Social Lions growl above their Tea. LVIII The Tea, that in the magic of its FlowAnoints the Tongue to wag of So-and-So, To gabble garbled Garrulousness ereYou lay the Cup and Saucer down and Go. LIX And we that now make Madness in the RoomWhere last week's Lion had his little BoomOurselves must go and leave that flattering DinAnd let them brew another Tea - for whom? LX They say the Lion and the Ladies keepThe Court where Johnson jested and drank deep;Now Minor Poets label new CigarsAnd sell their Reputations passing cheap. LXI O foozled Poetasters, fogged with Wine, Who to your Orgies bid the Muses Nine, Go bid them, then, but leave to me the Tenth, Whose name is Nicotine, for she is mine! LXII Peace to the Pipe, that silent Infidel, Whose spiral-twisted Coils Discretion spell!How many Kisses has he seen me Give, How many Take - and yet he will not Tell. LXIII Dumbly he saw the rosy-tinted BlissWhen Zamperina kissed her maiden Kiss, Her Innocence betraying in the Cry, "Oh, how can you respect me after This?" LXIV Another Time, all dalliant and slow, To those deluscious Lips I bended low, And at the Second Kiss she only said, "Do you do This to Every Girl you Know?" LXV Unto that flowery Cup I bent once more;Again she showed no seeming to abhor, But at the Third Kiss all she asked or wistWas, "Is This all you Come to See me For?" LXVI But One there is more sage in that Caress, Raising no mawkish Pennant of Distress, But when I tip the Osculative BrimAccepts the Kiss in Silent Thankfulness. LXVII Her Lips no Questions ask - Content is hersIf her Artistic Spirit wakes and stirs, Nor recks of those Romances Heretofore -Engagements where I won my Brazen Spurs. LXVIII A Microbe lingers in a Kiss, you say?Yes, but he nibbles in a pleasant Way. Rather than in the Cup and TelephoneBetter to catch him Kissing and be gay. LXIX Enough of Kisses, whose ecstatic StuffEndures an Age and flickers in a Puff, That undeservčd Web of foibled Toys, Enough - of Kisses can there be Enough? LXX What, then, of Him in dizzy Heights profoundWho scans the Zenith's constellated Round?Alas! who goes ballooning to the StarsToo often runs his Trade into the Ground. LXXI Little we Learn beyond the A B C -Except D E F G H I it be, Or J K L M N O P Q RAnd then S T U V W X Y Z. LXXII A Solon ponders till his Years are greatOn Sway of Power and Magnitude of State, Then in his Age he leaves the Questions toThe Wisdom of the Sweet Girl Graduate. LXXIII The Delphic Gaberdine avails me notWhen Laurels fester into loathly Rot, And in his starry Shroud the Poet starvesWhile growing Roses in a Cabbage Lot. LXXIV Forgive, ye Wise, the Oaf who nothing knowsAnd glories in the Bubbles that he blows, And while you wrestle blindly with the World, He whistles on his Fingers and his Toes. LXXV What good to dread the Storm's impending BlackWith woful Ululation and "Alack!" -The garbled Tenor of a sore DespiteCan never bring your lost Umbrella back. LXXVI So what of Secrets mouthed beneath the Rose, Rumorous Badinage of These and Those? -The Lady Lodger in the Flat upstairsKnows all you do and say - she knows - she knows! LXXVII She knows, but though her cavernous Ears are sage, Nought can she fathom of one glyphic Page, Nought from a Woman's Record can she tell -I still must guess at Zamperina's Age. LXXVIII Time only knows, whose spinning Axes quakeThe astral Turrets where the Patient wakeTo count the Stars and Planets as they pass -Oh, what a Task for one to Undertake! LXXIX Ask not behind my moated Soul austereOne Moment on my Secret Self to peer -Already you have seen Sufficient thereTo keep me in a wholesome State of Fear. LXXX Nay, Zamperina, save those agate EyesFrom shrewd empiric Paths where Knowledge lies;Throw Truth to the Unlovely, when to youIt were a rash Unwisdom to be Wise. LXXXI Oh, like the Smoke that rises and is gone, Let your own Spirit lift from Dawn to DawnAnd so bestartle Ennui that at lastEven the Grave will quite forget to yawn! * * * * * * * LXXXII As hooded Eve behind her rosy BarsHer soft Kinoon betinkled to the Stars, Again to the Tobacconist's I cameAnd stood among the Stogies and Cigars. LXXXIII Some were whose Scent exhaled the Asphodel, And some whose Smoke gave forth a roseate Smell, And some poor Weeds that told you at a WhiffHow they were made to Give Away, not Sell. LXXXIV One said, "And can no wiser Law revokeThe Edict that foredestined me to Smoke, My stump to be a Byword and a Jest? -But if a Jest I fail to see the Joke. " LXXXV A Second murmured, "Surely we might learnSome undiminished Anodyne to burn, For ne'er a Smoker puffed a good CigarBut wished Another Like It might return. " LXXXVI After a momentary Silence spakeA Stogie of a bileful Pittsburg make;"The One who puffs my Wrappings to the EndWill never ask my Memory to awake. " LXXXVII Then spake a Panatela finely rolled, "If to a fiery Doom I must be sold, Then let it be my happy Fate to findA high-born Mouth whose Teeth are filled with Gold. " LXXXVIII An auburn Weed uprose as one surprised. "If for a Martyr's Death I so am prized, May not my hallowed Ashes be preservedThat Saint Cigar I may be canonized?" LXXXIX "Well, " murmured One, "when in my ashen ShroudMy Stump descends to meet the shrieking Crowd, I yet may know that in the Fire of HellThere stands no Placard, 'Smoking Not Allowed. '" XC And while this corvine Clatter still enduredA lambent Flame, by fragrant Promise lured, Crept in, as all the Inmates cried amain, "The Shop's afire and we are Uninsured!" XCI Arise, then, Zamperina, Day grows old, The Shepherd pipes his sundered Flocks to Fold, Your Garments quail and ripple in the Chill, Your pagan Nose empurples with the Cold. XCII The How is swiftly mingling with the When, The What describes its Orbit's round, and thenOf Why or Which nor Mite nor Mote delaysTo fall in Line and get mixed up again. XCIII I must not heed that elemental WhirlWhere Arc on Arc the trainčd Planets swirl -The Astronomic Marvels have no charmFor him who walks the Gloaming with his Girl. XCIV The Keeper of the Sky has hasped his Doors, Forgetting Zal's accumulative Roars, And drunk with Night's Elixir, prone he liesIn Warp of dreamless Sleep - and Woof of Snores. XCV So must I those soporic Echoes wooWhen, all my intermittent Joyaunce through, Each Thrill must be a Threnod, as I knowThat They Who Kiss can teach me nothing New. XCVI Indeed, indeed, Repentance oft beforeI swore, but Was I Smoking when I swore?And ever and anon I made ResolveAnd sealed the holy Pledge - with One Puff More. XCVII O Thou who sought our Fathers to enslaveAnd ev'n the Pipe to Walter Raleigh gave, I love you still for your Redeeming ViceAnd shower Tobacco Leaves upon your Grave! XCVIII Then let the balmed Tobacco be my Sheath, The ardent Weed above me and beneath, And let me like a Living Incense rise, A Fifty-Cent Cigar between my Teeth. XCIX Havana's Witch-fog murks my HoroscopeUntil my dream-enamoured Senses gropeTowards the Light, where in her opal ShrineSmiles Hopefulness, the great Reward of Hope. * * * * * * * C Let those who to this daedal Valley throngAnd by my tumid Ashes pass along, Let them be glad with this consoling Thought:I got a Market Value for my Song. CI And some expectant Devotee who knocksAt that poor House where once I rent my locks, In vain may seek a Last Cigar and findMy Muse asleep within an empty Box. Hammam Notes I - "Sours the Milk of Life;" thunderstorms, earthquakes and artificialcommotions of the earth are popularly and quasi-scientifically believedto have the effect of turning milk from sweet to sour; so here the Milkof Life is soured by the sudden advent of the Brat of Death (Care, perhaps, who is said to have killed a cat on one occasion). By somecritics it is held that the figure might have been enrichened by thesubstitution of the Cream of Life for the Milk of Life. II- Gorgona is referred to but three times in the present work, in RubsII, XXI and XXVI. Number II would lead us to believe that the poet usedher figuratively as Sorrow or Remorse; but the text of XXI and XXVIpoint another conclusion. The latter Rubaiyat tell us forcefully thatGorgona was but too real and that her unloveliness was a sore trial tothe fine attunement of the poet's nerves. II - Such words as "tobacchanalian" (compounded from tobacco andbacchanalian) Lewis Carrol claimed as his own under the title of"portmanteau words, " - another example of the antiquity of modernity. VII - "The Early Worm is up to Catch the Fish;" the worm, caught asbait, will in turn serve as captor for some luckless fish. This, possibly, is the Bornese version of our own proverb, "The early birdcatches the worm. " IX - "The Invisible Buskin at the Gate" probably refers to the shoe leftoutside of temples and mosques in the Orient. The temple here meant isdoubtless the Temple of Love, and the fact of the Buskin being Invisibleillumes the eyes of the damosel who knows that the devotee is worshipingat the Shrine of Love. X - Than Basilisk or Nenuphar; the poet has given us in two words thedual aspect of Woman; flowerlike in repose, serpentine in action. X - Pendants; who has not noted a hairpin in the act of falling, hangingfor a moment, as though loth to leave its gentle habitation? OmarKhayyam, Jr. , was an observer of small things as well as great. X - A Hundred Hairpins; aspirates are used liberally in this line, probably to give the effect of falling hairpins. XIII - Hymen Spring; Hymen, while not the god of husbandry, was theaccepted deity of marriage; hence Spring, the incorrigible match-maker, may very, easily be identified with Hymen. Note the pleasingalliteration of the words Hymen and hymning brought so close together. XVIII - Eolian Aloes; aloes, according to Oscar Wilde in the Picture ofDorian Grey, have the power of banishing melancholy wherever theirperfume penetrates. Eolian Aloes may be the exotic melodies that drivecare from the mind. XXIII - Forgiviness; the reader will probably regard this spelling offorgiveness somewhat unusual, and the Editor freely confesses that hehas no authority for such usage. But since Fitzgerald has coined enowfor the sake of a rhyme, the Editor hopes that he will be forgiven hisforgiviness. XXIX - With what an Equanimity; there is an untranslated quatrain to theeffect that ugliness is the only sin that can make a woman ashamed tolook her mirror in the face. XXV - The breaking of the glass at the gaze of Gorgona, as well as thesquamiest serpent in her locks, mentioned in II, give us a clew as tothe derivation of her name from that of the Gorgon, Medusa, whoseuncomeliness was so intense as to petrify all that met her gaze. On theother hand, the glance of Gorgona seemed to be rather explosive thancongealing. XXV - Torques; this word (like squamiest) is derived directly from theLatin, to be used in this work. They are not properly English words, butthe Editor intends they shall become so in the near future. XXVI - Wreathed is used in obsolete English and especially in Spenser, to mean turned or bent. XXVII - Attar-Musk; attar is the Persian word for druggist, but wehesitate to believe that the poet would attribute an artificial perfumeto the rose. XXXV - Myself when young; this stanza is supposed to be biographical inits intent. It is known that before the anti-Omaric uprising inNaishapur, and even during his errant tour through Persia, the youngerOmar was socially lionized, , becoming much sought after. It may seemimprobable that Omar, Jr. , as a member of the sterner sex, should havebeen admitted as a regular frequenter of women's clubs, but it must beremembered that then, even as in our own day, men were eagerly prized aslecturers on subjects of interest to women. Omar, Jr. , appeared forseveral seasons before the women's clubs of Naishapur, givingrecitations and readings from his father's works. XXXVI - Ibsen - Boccacio; for a Persian poet of so remote a date, OmarKhayyam, Jr. , showed a remarkable knowledge of modern as well asmediaeval literature. LVII - That Great Menagerie; another reference to his experience as asocial lion is found here, as in the three rubaiyat following. Thegabble garbled garrulousness (the familiar "gobble, gabble and git, crystallized into the higher form of expression) indicates that thenarcotic effect of tea on womankind was much the same in Omar's time asin ours. LXI - Leave to me the Tenth; the discovery of a tenth Muse puts theyounger Omar on an equal footing with his father in science as well asin poetry. The editor has found that upon quitting forever his nativePersia, Omar Khayyam, Jr. , brought to Borneo many of the more refinedsciences. In his hereditary profession, astronomy, he claims the raredistinction of having first made observations through the medium of awine-glass. His long fidelity to this method was rewarded by someremarkable results, for his private journals show that on severaloccasions he was able to discern as many as eight sister satellitesswimming in eccentric orbits around the moon - a discovery which ourmuch-vaunted modern science has never been able to equal or even toapproach. LXVII - Her Lips no Questions ask; "Lips with kissing forfeit no favour;Nay, they increase as the moon doth ever. "Boccacio. (Decameron. ) LXXI - The A B C; this rubái'y, though indescribably beautiful in theOriginal, is somewhat too involved for us to grasp the meaning at onereading. Perhaps, in thus weaving the alphabet into his numbers, it wasthe purpose of the poet to give promise of the ultimate attainment ofthe Alpha and Omega of knowledge. Perhaps the stanza, on the other hand, was merely intended as a pretty poetical conceit, an exercise inmetrical ingenuity. If the latter theory holds good, what a pity itwould seem that these rubaiyat were not originally written in Chinese, the infinite alphabet of which language would have furnished materialfor the present work and several revised editions also! LXXIII - While Growing Roses in a Cabbage Lot; confusing, perhaps atfirst reading, but here again may the student employ the device ofsymbolism with great advantage. The Roses may be taken for the flowersof fancy, the Cabbage Lot for the field of sordid reality. As a staplevegetable, the rose can never compete with the Cabbage. LXXIV - He Whistles on his Fingers and his Toes; there are many who mayvery justly consider this line as undignified and unrefined; but suchreaders should always remember that these quatrains may be taken aspurely symbolical. Thus the Fingers and Toes may be regarded as mentalaspects and the whistle as whatever best suits the reader. LXXXIII - Asphodel; the fabled flower of immortality; also a brand ofcigar much favoured by the younger Omar. LXXXV - Anodyne; some translations have this Iodine. XCIII - The How is swiftly mingling with the When, etc. ; the greatquestions, How, What and When, are being withdrawn unanswered by thednulovpec, who is responsible for their propounding.