The Bulbul to the garden winged his way,
Viewed lily cups, and roses smiling gay,
Cried in ecstatic notes, "O live your life,
You never will re-live this fleeting day."
Thy body is a tent, where harbourage
The Sultan spirit takes for one brief age;
When he departs, comes the tent-pitcher death,
Strikes it, and onward moves, another stage.
Khayyám, who long time stitched the tents of learning,
Has fallen into a furnace, and lies burning,
Death's shears have cut his thread of life asunder,
Fate's brokers sell him off with scorn and spurning.
81. N. The MSS. have a variation of this, beginning Bulbul chu. Jám . . . . rá. See Bl. Prosody, p. 12.
82. C. L. N. A. I. J. Manzil, in line 2, 'lodging;' in line 3, 'stage.' Khímăyé, a 'tent'.
83. C. L. N. A. B. I. J.