From: Omar Khayyám’s Rubaiyat. A few of the quatrains untranslated by FitzGerald, literally rendered into the metre and according to the rhyme of the originals. M. Kerney.
In: The Cornhill Magazine, Dec. 1890. Pp. 627-8.
Potter 339

Omar Khayyám’s Rubaiyat
(Quatrain numbers refer to the originals in Nicolas, 1867)

99
Yazdan, chu gil wujud mara aràst.

When God created man from clay, He well
Foreknew what acts our nature would impel.
I sin but by His will: why then would He
Cast me, at Doomsday, in the fire of Hell?

101
Ya rabb, tu karimi va karimi karam ast.

Thou art gracious, Lord! – The Gracious by his grace is know
Why from Iram’s bower is he, whom sin abases thrown?
I obey, and Thou forgivest: grace is none therein.
I rebel, and Thou forgivest: thus Thy grace is shown!

346
Ya rabb, ba-dil asìr man rahmat kun.

Lord! to my heart trepanned, be merciful!
Lord! to my breast grief-spanned, be merciful!
– Pity, oh Lord, this tavern-haunting foot!
To this goblet-snatching hand, be merciful?

43
Khayyam, zi-bahri gunah in matùm chist.

Why mourn, Khayyam, for faults of thy begetting?
What good, or more or less, can come from fretting?
He who ne’er sins can never have forgiveness:
He is forgiven who sins – why then regretting?

111
Afsus kih nan-i pakhta khàman darand.

Raw clowns, alas! the best-baked pies belong to,
And Things, half-men, all things men prize belong to.
Bright Turki glances fill the heart with rapture –
Menials and slaves are they those eyes belong to!

138
Khush bash, kih ghussa bi-karàn kha’ahad bud.

Be gay! for grief all-boundless lies in time to come;
Stars still will gather amid the skies, in time to come;
Out of the bricks that from thy mould they fashion
A palace, for others built, will rise in time to come!

139
Khush bash, kih alami guzràn kha’ahad bud.

Be gay! for the world will onward plod in time to come;
The soul still cry for its fleshly pod, in time to come;
This skull thou seest so sprightly will be lying
Under the foot of the potter trod, in time to come!

47
Dunya didi u har chih dìdi kich ast.

Thou’st seen the world: what met thy sight is nothing
Whate’er on eye or ear smite is nothing.
Th’ horizoned vastness of thy flight is nothing.
The cell that cribs thy limbs at night is nothing.

44
Dar parda-i asrar kasi-ra ràh nist.

Through mystery’s veil we see no pathway tending,
And human soul knows nought of that inwending.
In the clay’s heart alone, man’s heart at rest is –
Ah! that this riddle had as short an ending!

304
Maksud zi-jumla-i afrìnish maaiam.

Creation’s perfect plan and master we are.
In the eye of Heaven, its pearl of lustre we are.
The world’s great orb is like a ring; and doubtless,
The graven gem of its bezelled cluster we are!