and wine.  But Ibn at-Ta’awizi was a literary person, and in Arabic the names of all these objects begin with the same letter.  Abu’l-Ala was more inclined to celebrate the wilderness.  He has portrayed (quatrain 93) a journey in the desert where a caravan, in order to secure itself against surprises, is accustomed to send on a spy, who scours the country from the summit of a hill or rock.  Should he perceive a sign of danger, he will wave his hand in warning.  From Lebid’s picture of another journey—­which the pre-Islamic poet undertook to the coast lands of Hajar on the Persian Gulf—­we learn that when they entered a village he and his party were greeted by the crowing of cocks and the shaking of wooden rattles (quatrain 95), which in the Eastern Christian Churches are substituted for bells. . . .  And the mediaeval leper, in his grey gown, was obliged to hold a similar object, waving it about and crying as he went:  “Unclean! unclean!”

An ambitious man desired, regardless of expense, to hand down his name to posterity (quatrain 99).  “Write your name in a prayer,” said Epictetus, “and it will remain after you.”  “But I would have a crown of gold,” was the reply.  “If you have quite made up your mind to have a crown,” said Epictetus, “take a crown of roses, for it is more beautiful.”  In the words of Heredia: 

  Deja le Temps brandit l’arme fatale.  As-tu
  L’espoir d’eterniser le bruit de ta vertu? 
  Un vil lierre suffit a disjoindre un trophee;

  Et seul, aux blocs epars des marbres triomphaux
  Ou ta gloire en ruine est par l’herbe etouffee,
  Quelque faucheur Samnite ebrechera sa faulx.

Would we write our names so that they endure for ever?  There was in certain Arab circles a heresy which held that the letters of the alphabet (quatrain 101) are metamorphoses of men.  And Magaira, who founded a sect, maintained that the letters of the alphabet are like limbs of God.  According to him, when God wished to create the world, He wrote with His own hands the deeds of men, both the good and the bad; but, at sight of the sins which men were going to commit, He entered into such a fury that He sweated, and from His sweat two seas were formed, the one of salt water and the other of sweet water.  From the first one the infidels were formed, and from the second the Shi’ites.  But to this view of the everlasting question you may possibly prefer what is advanced (quatrains 103-7) and paraphrased as an episode:  Whatever be the wisdom of the worms, we bow before the silence of the rose.  As for Abu’l-Ala, we leave him now prostrated (quatrain 108) before the silence of the rolling world.  It is a splendour that was seen by Alfred de Vigny: 

  Je roule avec dedain, sans voir et sans entendre,
  A cote des fourmis les populations;
  Je ne distingue pas leur terrier de leur cendre. 
  J’ignore en les portant les noms des nations. 
  On me dit une mere et je suis une tombe. 
  Mon hiver prend vos morts comme son hecatombe,
  Mon printemps n’entend pas vos adorations.