Versos English Omar Khayyam Lxvii.*

English poem

Lxvii.*

by (1048–1131)

Listen in the reader

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.

The inspiration for this verse comes from O. 33.

The heavenly vault is a girdle (cast) from my weary body. Jihun is a water-course worn by my filtered tears, Hell is a spark from my useless worries, Paradise is a moment of time when I am tranquil.

Ref.: O. 33, C. 90, L. 199, B. 196, S.P. 90, P. 148, T. 70, P. v. 183.--W. 92, N. 90, V. 195.

FitzGerald's verse was evidently also influenced by distich 1866 of the Mantik ut-tair.

Heaven and hell are reflections, the one of thy goodness, and the other of thy wrath.

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;

This quatrain is translated from O. 108.

This vault of heaven beneath which we stand bewildered, We know to be a sort of magic-lantern: Know thou that the sun is the flame and the universe is the lamp, We are like figures that revolve in it.

Ref.: O. 108, C. 332, L. 505, B. 501, S.P. 266, P. 40, B. ii. 356, P. iv. 34.--W. 310, N. 267, E.C. 28, de T. 10, V. 545.

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.

This quatrain is translated from O. 94.

To speak plain language, and not in parables, We are the pieces and heaven plays the game, We are played together in a baby-game upon the chess-board of existence, And one by one we return to the box of non-existence.

Ref.: O. 94, C. 280, L. 443, B. 439, S.P. 230, P. 31, B. ii. 291, T. 183, P. v. 10.--W. 270, N. 231, E.C. 27, V. 480.

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!

This quatrain is translated from C. 422.

O thou who art driven like a ball by the mallet of Fate, Go to the right or take the left, but say nothing; For He who set thee running and galloping He knows, he knows, he knows, he----.

Ref.: C. 422, L. 633, B. 625, P. 167, B. ii. 462, T. 274.--W. 401, V. 682.

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.

The origin of this quatrain is to be found in O. 31

From the beginning was written what shall be; Unhaltingly the Pen (writes) and is heedless of good and bad; On the First Day He appointed everything that must be-- Our grief and our efforts are vain.

Ref.: O. 31, C. 87, L. 195, B. 192, S.P. 31, B. ii. 60, T. 67, P. v. 211.--W. 35, N. 31, V. 191.

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.

The inspiration for this quatrain comes from O. 134, ll. 1 and 2, and O. 41.

This heavenly vault is like a bowl fallen upside down, Under which all the wise have fallen helpless.

Ref.: O. 134, C. 435, L. 657, B. 649, S.P. 360, P. 34, B. ii. 481, P. v. 154.--W. 408, N. 363, V. 706.

The good and the bad that are in man's nature, The happiness and misery that are predestined for us, Do not impute them to the heavens, for, in the way of Wisdom, Those heavens are a thousandfold more helpless than thou art.

Ref.: O. 41, C. 62, L. 80, B. 76, S.P. 95, P. 45.--W. 96, N. 95, V. 79.

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.

In this quatrain we trace the influence of O. 31 (quoted in the parallel to quatrain No. 71, ante) and of O. 95.

Oh, heart! since, in this world, truth itself is hyperbole, Why art thou so disquieted with this trouble and abasement? Resign thy body to destiny and adapt thyself to the times, For, what the Pen has written, it will not re-write for thy sake.

Ref.: O. 95, L. 430, B. 426, S.P. 215, P. 59, B. ii. 292.--W. 257, N. 216, E.C. 15, V. 468.