Page:The Sacred Books and Early Literature of the East, Volume 08.djvu/78



We are but chessmen, destined, it is plain,

That great chess-player, Heaven, to entertain;

It moves us on life's chess-board to and fro,

And then in death's dark box shuts up again.

You ask what is this life so frail, so vain,

'Tis long to tell, yet will I make it plain;

'Tis but a breath blown from the vasty deeps,

And then blown back to those same deeps again!

To-day to heights of rapture have I soared,

Yea, and with drunken Maghs pure wine adored;

I am become beside myself, and rest

In that pure temple, "Am not I your Lord?"

My queen (long may she live to vex her slave!)

To-day a token of affection gave,

Darting a kind glance from her eyes, she passed,

And said, "Do good and cast it on the wave!"

I put my lips to the cup, for I did yearn

The hidden cause of length of days to learn;

He leaned his lip to mine, and whispered low,

"Drink! for, once gone, you never will return. "

We lay in the cloak of Naught, asleep and still,

Thou said'st, "Awake! taste the world's good and ill";

Here we are puzzled by Thy strange command,

From slanted jars no single drop to spill.