The Kadisah of Haji Abdu El-Yezdi | Page 5

Arab foul with sweat,
the drainer of the camel’s dug,
“Gorged with his leek-green lizard’s
meat,
clad in his filthy rag and rug,
“Bore his fierce Allah o’er his sands
and broke, like lava-burst upon
“The realms where reigned
pre-Adamite Kings,
where rose the Grand Kayânian throne.*
0. Kayâni—of the race of Cyrus; old Guebre heroes.
“Who now of ancient Kayomurs,
of Zâl or Rustam cares to sing,
“Whelmed by the tempest of the tribes
that called the Camel-driver King?
“Where are the crown of Kay Khusraw,
the sceptre of Anûshirwân,
“The holy grail of high Jamshîd,
Afrâsiyab’s hall?—Canst tell me, man?
“Gone, gone, where I and thou must go,
borne by the winnowing wings of Death,
“The Horror brooding over
life,

and nearer brought with every breath:
“Their fame hath filled the Seven Climes,
they rose and reigned, they fought and fell,
“As swells and swoons
across the wold
the tinkling of the Camel’s bell.”
V
There is no Good, there is no Bad;
these be the whims of mortal will:
What works me weal that call I
‘good,’
what harms and hurts I hold as ‘ill:’
They change with place, they shift with race;
and, in the veriest span of Time,
Each Vice has worn a Virtue’s
crown;
all Good was banned as Sin or Crime:
Like ravelled skeins they cross and twine,
while this with that connects and blends;
And only Khizr* his eye
shall see
where one begins, where other ends:
0. Supposed to be the Prophet Elijah.
What mortal shall consort with Khizr,
when Musâ turned in fear to flee?
What man foresees the flow’er or
fruit
whom Fate compels to plant the tree?

For Man’s Free-will immortal Law,
Anagkê, Kismet, Des’tiny read
That was, that is, that aye shall be,
Star, Fortune, Fate, Urd, Norn or Need.
“Man’s nat’ural state is God’s design;”
such is the silly sage’s theme;
“Man’s primal Age was Age of Gold;”
such is the Poet’s waking dream:
Delusion, Ign’orance! Long ere Man
drew upon Earth his earliest breath
The world was one contin’uous
scene
of anguish, torture, prey and Death;
Where hideous Theria of the wild
rended their fellows limb by limb;
Where horrid Saurians of the sea
in waves of blood were wont to swim:
The “fair young Earth” was only fit
to spawn her frightful monster-brood;
Now fiery hot, now icy frore,
now reeking wet with steamy flood.
Yon glorious Sun, the greater light,
the “Bridegroom” of the royal Lyre,
A flaming, boiling, bursting
mine;
a grim black orb of whirling fire:
That gentle Moon, the lesser light,

the Lover’s lamp, the Swain’s delight,
A ruined world, a globe burnt
out,
a corpse upon the road of night.
What reckt he, say, of Good or Ill
who in the hill-hole made his lair,
The blood-fed rav’ening Beast of
prey,
wilder than wildest wolf or bear?
How long in Man’s pre-Ad’amite days
to feed and swill, to sleep and breed,
Were the Brute-biped’s only
life,
a perfect life sans Code or Creed?
His choicest garb a shaggy fell,
his choicest tool a flake of stone;
His best of orn’aments tattoo’d skin
and holes to hang his bits of bone;
Who fought for female as for food
when Mays awoke to warm desire;
And such the Lust that grew to
Love
when Fancy lent a purer fire.
Where then “Th’ Eternal nature-law
by God engraved on human heart?”
Behold his simiad sconce and
own
the Thing could play no higher part.

Yet, as long ages rolled, he learnt
from Beaver, Ape and Ant to build
Shelter for sire and dam and
brood,
from blast and blaze that hurt and killed;
And last came Fire; when scrap of stone
cast on the flame that lit his den,
Gave out the shining ore, and made
the Lord of beasts a Lord of men.
The “moral sense,” your Zâhid-phrase,
is but the gift of latest years;
Conscience was born when man had
shed
his fur, his tail, his pointed ears.
What conscience has the murd’erous Moor,
who slays his guest with felon blow,
Save sorrow he can slay no
more,
what prick of pen’itence can he know?
You cry the “Cruelty of Things”
is myst’ery to your purblind eye,
Which fixed upon a point in space
the general project passes by:
For see! the Mammoth went his ways,
became a mem’ory and a name;
While the half-reasoner with the
hand*
survives his rank and place to claim.

0. The Elephant.
Earthquake and plague, storm, fight and fray,
portents and curses man must deem
Since he regards his self alone,
nor cares to trace the scope, the scheme;
The Quake that comes in eyelid’s beat
to ruin, level, ’gulf and kill,
Builds up a world for better use,
to general Good bends special Ill:
The dreadest sound man’s ear can hear,
the war and rush of stormy Wind
Depures the stuff of human life,
breeds health and strength for humankind:
What call ye them or Goods or Ills,
ill-goods,