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W. B. Yeats's "The Tables of the Law; & The Adoration of the Magi" intricately weaves together themes of mystical philosophy and the human quest for spiritual understanding. In this compelling work, Yeats employs a blend of rich symbolism and lyrical language, drawing upon his deep fascination with occult traditions and the esoteric philosophies that permeated late 19th and early 20th-century literary contexts. The juxtaposition of law and divine adoration serves as a critique of societal norms while exploring the breadth of spiritual awakening. Yeats'Äôs unique integration of myth and metaphysics resonates profoundly with readers seeking meaning beyond the mundane. W. B. Yeats, a central figure in the Irish Literary Revival and a Nobel laureate, was deeply influenced by the theosophical movements of his time and his own lifelong engagement with metaphysical inquiry. His experiences and philosophical explorations propelled him to articulate complex ideas about existence and divinity, as exemplified in this collection. The interplay of his personal beliefs and the broader cultural currents of his era profoundly informed his distinctive poetic voice. Readers interested in the intersections of poetry, spirituality, and cultural critique will find "The Tables of the Law; & The Adoration of the Magi" a richly rewarding exploration. Yeats'Äôs masterful command of language and profound philosophical insights invite contemplation, making this work an essential read for anyone seeking to understand the poetic reflection of spiritual journeys.
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Five hundred and ten copies printed; type distributed.No. 311
THE TABLES OF THE LAW; & THE ADORATION OF THE MAGI
BY WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS
THE SHAKESPEARE HEAD PRESS STRATFORD-UPON-AVON MCMXIV
THE TABLES OF THE LAW
'Will you permit me, Aherne,' I said, 'to ask you a question, which I have wanted to ask you for years, and have not asked because we have grown nearly strangers? Why did you refuse the berretta, and almost at the last moment? When you and I lived together, you cared neither for wine, women, nor money, and had thoughts for nothing but theology and mysticism.' I had watched through dinner for a moment to put my question, and ventured now, because he had thrown off a little of the reserve and indifference which, ever since his last return from Italy, had taken the place of our once close friendship. He had just questioned me, too, about certain private and almost sacred things, and my frankness had earned, I thought, a like frankness from him.
When I began to speak he was lifting to his lips a glass of that old wine which he could choose so well and valued so little; and while I spoke, he set it slowly and meditatively upon the table and held it there, its deep red light dyeing his long delicate fingers. The impression of his face and form, as they were then, is still vivid with me, and is inseparable from another and fanciful impression: the impression of a man holding a flame in his naked hand. He was to me, at that moment, the supreme type of our race, which, when it has risen above, or is sunken below, the formalisms of half-education and the rationalisms of conventional affirmation and denial, turns away, unless my hopes for the world and for the Church have made me blind, from practicable desires and intuitions towards desires so unbounded that no human vessel can contain them, intuitions so immaterial that their sudden and far-off fire leaves heavy darkness about hand and foot. He had the nature, which is half monk, half soldier of fortune, and must needs turn action into dreaming, and dreaming into action; and for such there is no order, no finality, no contentment in this world. When he and I had been students in Paris, we had belonged to a little group which devoted itself to speculations about alchemy and mysticism. More orthodox in most of his beliefs than Michael Robartes, he had surpassed him in a fanciful hatred of all life, and this hatred had found expression in the curious paradox—half borrowed from some fanatical monk, half invented by himself—that the beautiful arts were sent into the world to overthrow nations, and finally life herself, by sowing everywhere unlimited desires, like torches thrown into a burning city. This idea was not at the time, I believe, more than a paradox, a plume of the pride of youth; and it was only after his return to Ireland that he endured the fermentation of belief which is coming upon our people with the reawakening of their imaginative life.