he deepest abysses of pleasure, finds in the
love-song of the nightingale the voice of God, and in the bright eyes of
women and the beaker brimming with crimson wine the choicest sacraments
of life, the holiest and the most sublime intermediaries between divine
and human life.

It is this that makes Hafiz almost the only poet of unadulterated
gladsomeness that the world has ever known. There is no shadow in his
sky, no discord in his music, no bitterness in his cup. He passes
through life like a happy pilgrim, singing all the way, mounting in his
own way from strength to strength, sure of a welcome when he reaches the
goal, contented with himself, because every manifestation of life of
which he is conscious must be the stirrings within him of that divinity
of which he is a portion. When we have thus spoken of Hafiz we have said
almost all that is known of the Persian lyric poet, for to know Hafiz we
must read his verses, whose magic charm is as great for Europeans as for
Asiatics. The endless variety of his expressions, the deep earnestness
of his convictions, the persistent gayety of his tone, are qualities of
irresistible attractiveness. Even to this day his tomb is visited as the
Mecca of literary pilgrims, and his numbers are cherished in the memory
and uttered on the tongue of all educated Persians. The particulars of
his life may be briefly epitomized as follows: He was born at Shiraz in
the early part of the fourteenth century, dying in the year 1388. The
name Hafiz means, literally, the man who remembers, and was applied to
himself by Hafiz from the fact that he became a professor of the
Mohammedan scriptures, and for this purpose had committed to memory the
text of the Koran. His manner of life was not approved of by the
dervishes of the monastic college in which he taught, and he satirizes
his colleagues in revenge for their animadversions. The whole Mohammedan
world hailed with delight the lyrics which Hafiz published to the world,
and kings and rulers vied with each other in making offers to him of
honors and hospitality. At one time he started for India on the
invitation of a great Southern Prince, who sent a vessel to meet him on
the way, but the hardships of the sea were too severe for him, and he
made his way back to Shiraz without finishing his journey.

His out-and-out pantheism, as well as his manner of life, caused him at
his death to be denied burial in consecrated ground. The ecclesiastical
author