The lion growled in tones of anger and of rage: “My ear it was bewrayed me; war my foes did wage. Compulsionists’ false wiles placed bandage on my eyes. Their wooden swords it was that stung my skin, like flies. Henceforward I’ll not list to such cajoleries,— Of elves and demons, in the wilderness, mere cries. Tear, rend them; O my heart, pay no regard to them. Strip off their skins; there’s naught beneath; mere stratagem.” 210 When words deceitful are employed as wraps for guile, They’re bubbles on the water, only last a while. Such words are merely shell; th’ intent their kernel is;— Or coloured portraiture of man; no life is his. A shell may often cover kernel of foul smell. A kernel sound can well afford to lose its shell. If mind be pen; if page be water, in thy hands; Be not surpris’d when all that’s written quick disbands. On water ’tis to write, t’ expect good faith from bail. Regret must follow. Shrug your shoulders. What avail! 215 Man with desires is oft puffed up, and wishes vain. Put out desire; you’ll find Jehovah’s endless reign. His messages are peace, and sweet to pious soul; For He alone’s eternal, free from change, and whole. Men’s prayers for kings and princes change full oft in tone. The prayers of saints and prophets call on God alone. Th’ existence of earth’s sovereign’s empty pomp and pride, The glories of a prophet in his God abide. The names of kings on coins are used a little while; The name of Ahmed there is ever seen to smile.[159] 220 That name of Ahmed covers all the prophets still;[160] As hundred, when ’tis said, ninety includes as well. Reflections such as these would never have an end. So turn we through our hare and lion’s tale to wend. The hare but slowly towards the lion took his way. Wiles in his brain he hatched; weighed what he had to say. Procrastination served him his design to fill; He’d secrets, one or two, the royal mind to still. How many worlds there are that hang on wisdom’s worth. How vast an ocean wisdom! Compasses the earth. 225 A shoreless ocean is the subtle mind of man A fearless diver sounds its depths; as who else can? Our bodies drift about in mind’s strong eddies still, Like basins on the water, at the stream’s sole will. Until they fill, they float like bowls, on ocean’s brink; And, like the bowls, when full, they cannot choose but sink. The wind’s invisible; a world without, we see. Our bodies are the waves or drops of that vast sea. Whatever means our bodies seek to grasp, anon, A billow drives it far; no sooner seen than gone. 230