This parody is an American elegy for the death of… alcohol… due to prohibition.
The Rubaiyat of Ohow Dryyam
I
Wail! For the Law has scattered into flight Those Drinks that were our sometime dear delight; And still the Morals-tinkers plot and plan New, sterner, stricter Statues to indite.
Quatrain from original Rubaiyat
WAKE! For the Sun, who scatter’d into flight The Stars before him from the Field of Night, Drives Night along with them from Heav’n and strikes The Sultan’s Turret with a Shaft of Light.
II
After the phantom of our Freedom died Methought a Voice within the Tavern cried: “Drink coffee, Lads, for that is all that’s left Since our Land of the Free is washed---and dried.”
Quatrain from original Rubaiyat
Before the phantom of False morning died, Methought a Voice within the Tavern cried, “When all the Temple is prepared within, “Why nods the drowsy Worshipper outside?”
III
The Haigs indeed are gone, and on the Nose That bourgeoned once with color of the rose A deathly Pallor sits, while down the lane Where once strode Johnny Walker---Water goes.
Quatrain from original Rubaiyat
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.
IV
Come, fill the Cup, and in the Coffee-house We’ll learn a new and temperate Carouse--- The Bird of Time flies with a steadier wing But roosts with sleepless Eye---a Coffee Souse!
Quatrain from original Rubaiyat
You know, my Friends, with what a brave Carouse I made a Second marriage in my house; Divorced old barren Reason from my Bed, And took the Daughter of the Vine to Spouse.
V
Each morn a thousand Recipes, you say--- Yes, but where match the beer of Yesterday? And those Spring Months that used to bring the Bock Seem very long ago and far away.
Quatrain from original Rubaiyat
Each Morn a thousand Roses brings, you say; Yes, but where leaves the Rose of Yesterday? And this first Summer month that brings the Rose Shall take Jamshyd and Kaikobad away.
VI
A Book of Blue Laws underneath the Bough, A pot of Tea, a piece of Toast,---and Thou Beside me sighing in the Wilderness--- Wilderness? It’s Desert, Sister, now.
Quatrain from original Rubaiyat
A Book of Verses underneath the Bough, A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread---and Thou Beside me singing in the Wilderness--- Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!
(note: enow means enough)
VII
Some for a Sunday without Taint, and Some Sigh for Inebriate Paradise to come, While Moonshine takes the Cash (no Credit goes) And real old Stuff demands a Premium.
Quatrain from original Rubaiyat
Some for the Glories of This World; and some Sigh for the Prophet’s Paradise to come; Ah, take the Cash, and let the Credit go, Nor heed the rumble of a distant Drum!
VIII
The Scanty Stock we set our hearts upon Still dwindles and declines until anon, Like Snow upon the Desert’s dusty Face, It lights us for an hour and then---is gone.
Quatrain from original Rubaiyat
The Worldly Hope men set their Hearts upon Turns Ashes---or it prospers; and anon, Like Snow upon the Desert’s dusty Face, Lighting a little hour or two---is gone.
IX
Ah, my Beloved, fill the Cup that clears TODAY of past Regrets and future Fears--- Tomorrow!---Why, Tomorrow I may be In Canada or Scotland or Algiers!
Quatrain from original Rubaiyat
Ah, my Beloved, fill the Cup that clears TO-DAY of past Regrets and future Fears: To-morrow---Why, To-morow I may be Myself with Yesterday’s Sev’n thousand years.
X
Yes, make the most of what we still may spend; The last Drop’s lingering Taste may yet transcend Anticipation’s Bliss---though we are left Sans Wine, Sans Song, Sans Singer, and---Sans End.
Quatrain from original Rubaiyat
Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend, Before we too into the Dust descend; Dust into Dust, and under Dust to lie, Sans Wine, sans Song, Sans Singer, and---sans End!
XI
Alike for those who for the Drouth prepared And those who, like myself, more poorly fared, Fond Memory weaves Roseate Shrouds to dress Departed Spirits we have loved---and shared.
Quatrain from original Rubaiyat
Alike for those who for TO-DAY prepare, And those that after some TO-MORROW stare, A Muezzin from the TOWER of DARKNESS cries, “Fools! Your Reward is neither Here nor There.”
XII
Myself when young did eagerly frequent The gilded Bar, and all my Lucre spent For bottled Joyousness, but evermore Came out less steadily than in I went.
Quatrain from original Rubaiyat
Myself when young did eagerly frequent Doctor and Saint, and heard great argument About it and about; but evermore Came out by the same door where in I went.
XIII
The legal Finger writes; and having writ, Moves on---and neither Thirst nor Wit Has lured it back to cancel half a line To give a Man excuse for being lit.
Quatrain from original Rubaiyat
The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ, Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line, Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it.
XIV
And Bill the Bootlegger---the Infidel!--- When He takes my last Cent for just a Smell Of Hooch, I wonder what Bootleggers buy One half so precious as the Stuff they sell.
Quatrain from original Rubaiyat
And much as Wine has play’d the Infidel, And robb’d me of my Robe of Honor---Well, I wonder often what the Vintners buy One half so precious as the stuff they sell.
XV
Oh Bill, Who dost with White Mule and with Gin Beset the Road I am to Wander in, If I am garnered of the Law, wilt Thou, All piously, Impute my Fall to Sin?
Quatrain from original Rubaiyat
Oh Thou who didst with Pitfall and with Gin Beset the Road I was to wander in, Thou wilt not with Predestination round Enmesh me, and impute my Fall to Sin
(note: gin means trap or snare)
XVI
Yon rising Moon that looks for us again--- How oft hereafter will she wax and wane; But, Oh, how oft before we have beheld Six Moons arise—who now seek Two in vain.
Quatrain from original Rubaiyat
Ah, Moon of my Delight who know’st no wane, The Moon of Heav’n is rising once again: How oft hereafter rising shall she look Through this same Garden after me---in vain!
XVII
And when Thyself at last shall come to trip Down that dim Dock where Charon loads his Ship, I’ll meet Thee on the other Wharf if Thou Wilt promise to have Something on thy Hip.
Quatrain from original Rubaiyat
So when that Angel of the darker Drink At last shall find you by the river-brink, And, offering his Cup, invite your Soul Forth to your Lips to quaff---you shall not shrink.
