“When Ra’ûnah saw that she could not get to her lover, and that each moment was carrying him farther away, she cried to him to return, and bursting into sobs, she bemoaned her abandonment, and told her tale of love in words of endearment and despair that passed into a song, which to this day is known as Ra’ûnah’s Lament.
“Yes, I can remember the verses, and will repeat them if it does not weary you. The Nakhôdah never returned.
“‘Oh, shelter! my dear shelter! the palm stands in the plain. The fruit of the nutmeg falls to the ground and lies there. Thine is thy sister, small but comely, Thy diamond! the light of Permâtang Guntong.
Oh, my shelter! I hear the measured splash of the oars; I see the drift-weed caught in the rudder. Thou art above, my protecting shelter; I am beneath, in lowly worship.
Oh, my shelter! ’twas the hour of evening prayer when thou settest sail; The oars are straining and the boat reels along. God’s mercy is great, His promise sure; By His blessing we shall meet in the Garden of Paradise.
Oh, my shelter! the breeze is blowing in fitful gusts; Be careful not to pull the sail to the left. In three months and ten days, Thou wilt return, my brother!
Oh, my shelter! make for the island, Sri Rama; For there are two marabouts and a fish-weir. Though thou leavest me, be not long absent; In two, at most in three, months, return again.
Oh, my shelter! the waters of the sea are calm, Yet do not hug the shore. Have no fear of my betrothed; Was not thy sword but lately sharpened?
Oh, my shelter! thou camest to Teluk Bâtu, And the peace of my heart has gone. Satan delights in my undoing, For my heart cleaves to thine.
Oh, my shelter! take good thought, The passions war with the soul. Do not waste the gold in thy hand, Lest scoffers have cause to mock thee.
Oh, my Nakhôdah! when the mattress is spread, who will lie on it? Who shall be covered by the folded coverlet? Who will sit upon the embroidered mat, Or lean against the great round pillow?
Oh, my Nakhôdah! the feast is waiting, but who will eat it? The water is cool, but who will drink it? The napkin is there, whose mouth can it wipe? The sireh is ready, but who will use it? Thy Sister is cold, who will fondle her? Ah-hu! ah-hu! come death, deliver me.’