ethinker and a great opponent of Sufism.

Probably, in the absence of agreement amongst authorities, the soundest
view is that expressed by FitzGerald's editor,[C] that the real Omar
Khayyam was a Philosopher, of scientific insight and ability far beyond
that of the Age and Country he lived in; of such moderate and worldly
Ambition as becomes a Philosopher, and such moderate wants as rarely
satisfy a Debauchee; that while the Wine Omar celebrates is simply the
Juice of the Grape, he bragged more than he drank of it, in very
defiance perhaps of that Spiritual Wine which left its Votaries sunk in
Hypocrisy or Disgust.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote A: Quoted in the _Calcutta Review_, No. LIX.]

[Footnote B: "Philosophe Musulman qui a vecu en Odeur de Saintete, dans
la religion vers la Fin du premier et la Commencement du second Siecle,"
no part of which, except the "Philosophe," can apply to _our_ Khayyam,
who, however, may claim the Story as _his_, on the Score of Rubaiyat,
77 and 78 of the present Version. The Rashness of the Words, according to
D'Herbelot, consisted in being so opposed to those in the Koran: "No Man
knows where he shall die."]

[Footnote C: Mr. W. Aldis Wright, M.A.]

RUBAIYAT

OF

OMAR KHAYYAM.

I.

Awake! for Morning in the Bowl of Night
Has flung the Stone that puts the Stars to Flight:
And Lo! the Hunter of the East has caught
The Sultan's Turret in a Noose of Light.

II.

Dreaming when Dawn's Left Hand was in the Sky,
I heard a Voice within the Tavern cry,
"Awake, my Little ones, and fill the Cup
Before Life's Liquor in its Cup be dry."

III.

And, as the Cock crew, those who stood before
The Tavern shouted--"Open then the Door!
You know how little while we have to stay,
And, once departed, may return no more."

IV.

Now the New Year reviving old Desires,
The thoughtful Soul to Solitude retires,
Where the White Hand of Moses on the Bough
Puts out, and Jesus from the Ground suspires.

V.

Iram indeed is gone with all its Rose,
And Jamshyd's Sev'n-ring'd Cup where no one knows:
But still the Vine her ancient Ruby yields,
And still a Garden by the Water blows.

VI.

And David's Lips are lockt; but in divine
High-piping Pehlevi, with "Wine! Wine! Wine!
_Red_ Wine!"--the Nightingale cries to the Rose
That yellow Ch