Now when it was the Hundred-and-fourteenth Night,
She said, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that the youth pursued to Taj al-Muluk:—And when the two days were past she said to me, "Be of good cheer and clear thine eyes of tears and take courage to dress thyself and go to her, according to thy tryst." Then she rose and changed my clothes and perfumed me with incense-smoke. So I braced myself up and heartened my heart and went out and walked on till I came to the by-street, where I sat down on the bench awhile. And behold, the wicket suddenly opened and I looked up and seeing her, fell down in a swoon. When I revived, I called up resolution and took courage and gazed again at her and again became insensible to the world around me. Then I came to myself and looking at her, saw that she held in hand a mirror and a red kerchief. Now when she caught my glance, she bared her fore-arms and opened her five fingers and smote her breast with palm and digits; and after this she raised her hands and, holding the mirror outside the wicket, she took the red kerchief and retired into the room with it, but presently returned and putting out her hand with the kerchief, let it down towards the lane three several times, dipping it and raising it as often. Then she wrung it out and folded it in her hands, bending down her head the while; after which she drew it in from the lattice and, shutting the wicket-shutter, went away without a single word; nay, she left me confounded and knowing not what signified her signs.[489] I tarried sitting there till supper-time and did not return home till near midnight; and there I found the daughter of my uncle with her cheek propt in her hand and her eyelids pouring forth tears; and she was repeating these couplets:—
Woe's me! why should the blamer gar thee blaming trow? ✿ How be consoled for thee that art so tender bough? Bright being! on my vitals dost thou prey, and drive ✿ My heart before platonic passion's[490] force to bow. Thy Turk-like[491] glances havoc deal in core of me, ✿ As furbished sword thin-ground at curve could never show: Thou weigh'st me down with weight of care, while I have not ✿ Strength e'en to bear my shift, so weakness lays me low: Indeed I weep blood-tears to hear the blamer say:—✿ "The lashes of thy lover's eyne shall pierce thee through!" Thou hast, my prince of loveliness! an Overseer,[492] ✿ Who wrongs me, and a Groom[493] who beats me down with brow. He foully lies who says all loveliness belonged ✿ To Joseph, in thy loveliness is many a Joe: I force myself to turn from thee, in deadly fright ✿ Of spies; and what the force that turns away my sight!