Classic Poem

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.