Page:The Sacred Books and Early Literature of the East, Volume 08.djvu/58



The world will last long after Khayyam's fame

Has passed away, yea, and his very name;

Aforetime we were not, and none did heed.

When we are dead and gone, 'twill be tie same.

The sages who have compassed sea and land,

Their secret to search out, and understand---

My mind misgives me if they ever solve

The scheme on which this universe is planned.

Ah! wealth takes wings, and leaves our hands all bare,

And death's rough hands delight our hearts to tear;

And from the nether world none e'er escapes,

To bring us news of the poor pilgrims there.

'Tis passing strange, those titled noblemen

Find their own lives a burden sore, but when

They meet with poorer men, not slaves to sense,

They scarcely deign to reckon them as men.

The wheel on high, still busied with despite,

Will ne'er unloose a wretch from his sad plight;

But when it lights upon a smitten heart,

Straightway essays another blow to smite.

Now is the volume of my youth outworn,

And all my spring-tide blossoms rent and torn.

Ah, bird of youth! I marked not when you came

Nor when you fled, and left me thus forlorn.