I Now God who flames the buckler of the sun, And lights that lamp of heaven, the glorious moon, In the proud breast of Mahmoud had begun To stir remorse, and, like the loud typhoon, Shame blew his thoughts in gusts about his soul, Remembering that old man whose sandy shoon Pressed the low shores where distant waters roll, And all his wrongs, and unrequited boon. II Since, greatest poet whom the world contains, Firdausi, on whose tongue the sweet Farsi Sounded like whispering leafage when it rains, Who loved the ancient kings, and learned to see Their buried shapes in vision one by one, And wove their deeds in lovely minstrelsy, For all the glory that his name had won To Persia, was in exile by the sea. III In vain through sixty thousand verses clear He sang of feuds and battles, friend and foe, Of the frail heart of Kaous, spent with fear, And Kai Khosrau who vanished in the snow, And white-haired Zal who won the secret love Of Rudabeh where water-lilies blow, And lordliest Rustem, armed by gods above With every power and virtue mortals know. IV In vain these stories of the godlike kings, Whose bodies were as brass, their hearts as fire, This verse that centuries with wasting wings Will never harm, though men with gods conspire -- In vain the good Firdausi, full of years, Inscribed this treasure to his Shah's desire; For Mahmoud, heedless of the poet's tears, Forgot his oath, nor gave the promised hire. V For each sonorous verse one piece of gold: Such was the promise that the Shah had made, But when the glorious perfect tale was told, The file of laden elephants delayed; For Hasan, that black demon, held the ear Of Mahmoud, and spoke tenderly, and said, "The end of this old man, my lord, is near; For gold let silver in the sacks be weighed." VI Thereat Firdausi, when it came, was wroth, And being within the bath, where all might see, Called the two serving-men, and bid them both Divide the silver for their service-fee, And told Ayaz, the false Shah's chamberlain, "Returning to thy master, say from me, 'Twas not for silver that I toiled amain And wove my verse for thirty years and three." VII Then round him came his friends and bade him fly From Mahmoud's vengeance, and the murderous sword; But he, being placable of heart, would try For peace, since enmity his soul abhorred; So in the garden where the Shah was used To breathe the spice that many a rose outpoured, Firdausi met his master as he mused, And bowed down at his feet without a word. VIII Yet grudging was the pardon, faint the smile, And when that evening in the mosque he lay, A veiled dervish, muttering all the while, Crept near Firdausi, while he seemed to pray, And whispered, "Fly from Ghaznin, fly to-night, The bowstring waits for thee at break of day; Thou shalt not scape because thy beard is white -- Begone!" and like a snake he slipped away. IX Then, when of worship there was made an end, Firdausi rolled his prayer-mat up, and turned To that bright niche where all believers bend, And by the light of lamps that round him burned Wrote on a blue tile with a diamond point Two couplets that may yet be well discerned, Though all the mosque be crumbling joint from joint, By long decay and mouldering age inurned: X "The happy court of Mahmoud is a sea, A sea of endless waves without a coast; In my unlucky star the fault must be If I who plunged for pearls in it am lost." Then to his house he went, weary and sad, And called around him those who loved him most, And gave them all the treasure that he had, Soft silken raiment that a king might boast. XI But in a saintly gabardine set out And crossed the moonlit streets, and left the town, Nor stopped to hear the lonely owlet shout His dreamy menace from the turret's crown, But where the cypresses and myrtles hoar Hid the white house of Ayaz, stooping down, He thrust a letter underneath the door, And faded in the shadow broad and brown. XII That letter bade the chamberlain beloved Before the dawn to seek his master's face, And plead until his blandishments had moved The Shah to grant him twenty days of grace; In twenty days a paper folded fair Should Ayaz in his master's fingers place, Which to the gracious Sultan would declare Firdausi's secret wish, and plead his case. XIII The Sultan vowed: but for those twenty days The Sultan yawned upon his peacock-throne; The rebeck and the Turkish minstrel's lays With their sweet treble jarred him to the bone. All night he tossed in fever, all day long Far from his blithe hareem he paced alone, Or scowled to hear the trampling and the song Where down the cool bazaar the lanterns shone. XIV At last, at last the twentieth morning broke, And Mahmoud, flushed with pleasure, rose and cried For fair Ayaz, who from his slumber woke, And brought the sealed letter, white and wide. In Allah's name the Sultan broke the seal; His long-pent wishes satisfied, he sighed, But reading on, he stared, and seemed to reel, And crushed the leaf, and gazed out stony-eyed. XV It was that scathing satire, writ in fire, And music such as the red tiger makes Over a man, the food of her desire, When she lies down among the crested brakes -- That satire which the world still shudders at, Whose cadence in the hearer's sense still aches, At bare recital of whose singing hate The conscience of forgetful kings awakes. XVI "O Mahmoud, of the whole world conqueror, You fear not me? -- fear God!" The Sultan fell With outstretched arms before the chamber door, Ashen with rage, and his breast's heave and swell Was like an earthquake; no word passed his lips, But curses from the foulest pit of hell, Till evening brought his soul through that eclipse, And he rose up, and drank, and feasted well. XVII But old Firdausi, bearing eastward still, Through many a Tartar camp, his woven mat, At last, one evening, climbed a scarped hill From whence he saw the white roofs of Herat: Downward he passed, and in a garden, sweet With roses and narcissus, down he sat, And wondered if his mountain-weary feet Might dare to rest where earth was smooth and flat. XVIII Then suddenly his tired eyes laughed at last, For he remembered, by the gift of fate, Where once he lodged in merry days long past At Herat, in the arch above the gate. There Abou'lmaani sold his ancient books, A man discreet and old, without a mate, And there Firdausi oft, in dusty nooks, Had chanted verses till the night was late. XIX To Abou'lmaani in the dusk he went, And found him still more wrinkled than of yore, An owlish figure, angular and bent, But hearty still and honest to the core. So there among the rolls of parchment sere Once more he drank the mystic Dikhan lore, But never sought the daylight streets, for fear Of treachery, and the hatred Mahmoud bore. XX And little rest he had, and brief delight, For rumours from the court at Ghaznin ran, And with a short farewell he fled by night Across the mountains to the Caspian; A gentle Sultan ruled from Astrabad The jasmine-gardens of Mazinderan, And to his little court, humble and sad, One morning came a white-haired minstrel-man. XXI Like parrots, one and all, with shrieking tongues The poets knew their lord, and screamed his name, Bitter with hate; but his sweet learned songs Had touched the Sultan with their sacred flame; He bade the jealous poets all make way, And did Firdausi honour to their shame, And asked by what fair accident that day From stately Ghaznin such a stranger came. XXII But when he knew, and heard of Mahmoud's rage, He trembled, and his fingers stroked his beard; For scarcely could his pastoral province wage Safe war with one whom all the nations feared; So blushing much, as one who loathes his task, He bade his guest, whom meat and wine had cheered, To grant the boon that he could scarcely ask Of one so deeply loved, so long revered. XXIII Firdausi rose and sighed, and went his way, But ere he reached the gate of Astrabad, The Sultan sent three men in rich array Laden with gifts, the lordliest that he had, And camels, that the bard might ride at ease, And lutes, and a Circassian serving-lad; So after many days he passed with these Far down the lordly Tigris to Baghdad. XXIV Here underneath the palm-trees, full of shade, The poet tasted peace, and lingered long; The Master of the Faithful he obeyed, And searched the Koran for a theme for song. The vizier lodged him in his own fair house, Where wise men gathered in a learned throng, And when the Khalif heard his pious vows, He gave him gifts and shielded him from wrong. XXV There in a white-walled garden full of trees, Through which there ran a deep cold water brook Fringed with white tulips and anemones, Among the tender grass he wrote the book Of Yousouf and Zuleika; not one word Was there of all the windy war that shook Iran of old, nor was the ear once stirred With any name the Faithful might rebuke. XXVI Nine thousand Persian verses told the tale, And when the perfect poem was set down, He rose, and left the plaintive nightingale That long had tuned her throat to his sweet moan; Before the Khalif on a broad divan, To sound of rebecks, in a silken gown, He sat in state, and when the dance began Declaimed aloud that song of high renown. XXVII Its music sank on well-attempered ears; The Khalif lounged upon his throne, and cried, "Lo! I this day am as a man who hears The angel Gabriel murmur at his side -- And dies not." At the viewless hareem-door The screen was swayed by bending forms that sighed, And scheikhs and soldiers, young and old, for more Still pressed and wished, and scarce would be denied. XXVIII Ah, palmy days were those for singer's craft! Now every worlding flings his cap in rhyme, And from an easy bow lets fly a shaft At verse much honoured in his grandsire's time; Now many a ghazel, soft with spices, trips Along the alien mouth with frivolous chime, And lightly rises from unhonoured lips The ancient rhythm sonorous and sublime. XXIX But great Firdausi met with honour then, Garments and jewels, and much store of gold; Till one, the basest and the worst of men, Rode out by stealth that Hasan might be told, Who, when he heard in Ghaznin that his foe Sat, robed and glorious, as he sat of old, Stirred up with whispers to a fiery glow The rage of Mahmoud, which was well-night cold. XXX So Mahmoud sent to Baghdad embassies Demanding speedily Firdausi's head, Or else the town among her ancient trees Must look for instant war, the missive said; The stately Khalif rose in wrath and pride, And swore that till each faithful heart was dead, His hospitable sword should leave his side, And rolling Tigris blush in Persian red. XXXI But ere the messengers with garments rent Fled back to Ghaznin at the trumpet's blare, Firdausi to the warlike Khalif sent His little servant with the flowing hair, Who scarcely knowing what he said, by rote Repeated, "Master, have no thought or care Of old Firdausi; he can dive and float A fish in water and a bird in air. XXXII "The quail upon the mountain needs no host To guard her covert in the waving grass; And though Mahmoud and all his ships be tost On lake or sea, the little trout will pass. Stain not thy sword for such a guest as I, For God, before whose sight man's heart is glass, Will see the stain that on my soul will lie If life-blood gush from helmet or cuirass. XXXIII "I go my way into the lion's mouth, And as I journey, God will hold my hand; Whether I wander north or wander south, There is no rest for me in any land; The serpent's fang will find me though I fly To Frankistan, or Ind, or Samarkand; I will go home again, for tired am I, And all too old to wrestle and withstand. XXXIV "So send the Persian envoys back in peace, For, whilst these words are spoken, I am gone; Though thou shouldst scour the lands and drain the seas, Thou shalt not find me, since I wend alone; For all the days that I have loved thee well My heart is myrrh, that kindles at thy throne, And I am sadder than my tongue can tell, That I must leave thee with the end unknown." XXXV So with a single camel, clad to sight Like some poor merchant of the common sort, Firdausi left the town at morning light, And passed the gate, and passed the sullen fort, Unnoted; and his face was to the east, Towards Hasan and the hateful Persian court, As if contempt of life were in his breast, And loathing of his days, so sad and short. XXXVI But sure some angel had forewarned him well, And murmured in his ear the name of "home"; For through this perilous journey there befell No evil wheresoever he might come; And Mahmoud guessed not that the foe he sought Had turned upon his track and ceased to roam, But sent out scouts, and bade his head be brought From Bahrein by the vexed Arabian foam. XXXVII At last one night, as lone Firdausi rode, The dawn broke gray across the starry sky, And far ahead behind the mountains flowed A sudden gush of molten gold on high; The glory spread from snowy horn to horn, Tinged by the rushing dawn with sanguine dye, And Tous, the little town where he was born, Flashed at his feet, with white roofs clustered nigh. XXXVIII His aged sister fell upon his neck; His girl, his only child, with happy tears, Clung to his knees, and sobbing, with no check Poured out the story of her hopes and fears. Gravely his servants gave him welcome meet, And when his coming reached the town-folk's ears They ran to cluster round him in the street, And gave him honour for his wealth of years. XXXIX And there in peace he waited for the end; But in all distant lands where Mahmoud sent, Each Prince and Sultan was Firdausi's friend, And murmured, like a high-stringed instrument Swept by harsh fingers, at a quest so rude, And child the zeal, austere and violent, That drove so sweet a voice to solitude, And bade the Shah consider and relent. XL And once from Delhi, that o'erhangs the tide Of reedy Ganges like a gorgeous cloud, The Hindu king, with Persia close allied, Sent letters larger than the faith he vowed, Smelling of sandalwood and ambergris, And cited from Firdausi lines that showed Friendship should be eternal, and the bliss Of love a gift to make a master proud. XLI So while these words were fresh in Mahmoud's brain He went one night into the mosque to pray, And by the swinging lamp deciphered plain The verse Firdausi, ere he fled away, Wrote on the wall; and one by one there rose Sad thoughts and sweet of many a vanished day, When his soul hovered on the measured close And wave-beat of the rich heroic lay. XLII Mourning the verse, he mourned the poet too; And he who oftentimes had lain awake Long nights in wide-eyed vision to pursue His victim, yearning in revengeful ache, Forgot all dreams of a luxurious death By trampling elephant or strangling snake, And thought on his old friend with tightened breath, And flushed, remorseful for his anger's sake. XLIII Back to his court he went, molten at heart, And all his rage on faithless Hasan turned; For when he thought him of that tongue's black art, His wrath was in him like a coal that burned; He bade his several ministers appear Before his throne, and by inquiry learned The cunning treason of the false vizier, And all his soul's deformity discerned. XLIV Hasan was slain that night; and of the gold His monkey-hands had thieved from rich and poor, The Sultan bade the money should be told Long due as payment at Firdausi's door; But when the sacks of red dinars were full, Mahmoud bethought him long, and pondered sore, Since vainly any king is bountiful Not knowing where to seek his creditor. XLV But while he fretted at this ignorance, A dervish came to Ghaznin, who had seen, In passing through the streets of Tous, by chance Firdausi in his garden cool and green; At this Mahmoud rejoiced, and, with glad eyes Swimming in tears, quivering with liquid sheen, Wrote words of pardon, and in welcoming wise Prayed all might be again as all had been. XLVI But while Firdausi brooded on his wrong, One day he heard a child's clear voice repeat The bitter jibe of his own scathing song; Whereat he started, and his full heart beat Its last deep throb of agony and rage; And blinded in sharp pain, with tottering feet, Being very feeble in extremest age, He fell, and died there in the crowded street. XLVII The light of three-and-fourscore summers' suns Had blanched the silken locks round that vast brow; If Mahmoud might have looked upon him once, He would have bowed before him meek and low; The majesty of death was in his face, And those wide waxen temples seemed to glow With morning glory from some holy place Where angels met him in a burning row. XLVIII His work was done; the palaces of kings Fade in long rains, and in loud earthquakes fall; The poem that a godlike poet sings Shines o'er his memory like a brazen wall; No suns may blast it, and no tempest wreck, Its periods ring above the trumpet's call, Wars and the tumult of the sword may shake, And may eclipse it -- it survives them all. XLIX Now all this while along the mountain road The mighty line of camels wound in state; Shuddering they moved beneath their massy load, And swinging slowly with the balanced weight Burden of gold, and garments red as flame, They bore, not dreaming of the stroke of fate, And so at last one day to Tous they came And entered blithely at the eastern gate. L But in the thronged and noiseless streets they found All mute, and marvelled at the tears men shed, And no one asked them whither they were bound, And when, for very shame discomfited, They cried, "Now tell us where Firdausi lies!" A young man like a cypress rose and said -- The anger burning in his large dark eyes -- "Too late Mahmoud remembers! He is dead! LI "Speed! haste away! hie to the western port; Perchance the convoy has not passed it yet! But hasten, hasten, for the hour is short, And your short-memoried master may forget! Behold, they bear Firdausi to the tomb, Pour in his open grave your golden debt! Speed! haste! and with the treasures of the loom Dry the sad cheeks where filial tears are wet! LII "Lead your bright-harnessed camels one by one, The dead man journeys, and he fain would ride; Pour out your unctuous perfumes in the sun, The rose has spilt her petals at his side; Your citherns and your carven rebecks hold Here when the nightingale untimely died, And ye have waited well till he is cold, Now wrap his body in your tigers' hide." LIII And so the young man ceased; but one arose Of graver aspect, not less sad than he. "Nay, let," he cried, "the sunshine and the snows His glittering gold and silk-soft raiment be; Approach not with unhallowed steps profane The low white wall, the shadowy lotus-tree; Nor let a music louder than the rain Disturb him dreaming through eternity. LIV "For him no more the dawn will break in blood, No more the silver moon bring fear by night; He starts no longer at a tyrant's mood, Serene for ever in the Prophet's sight; The soul of Yaman breathed on him from heaven, And he is victor in the unequal fight; To Mahmoud rage and deep remorse are given, To old Firdausi rest and long delight." |