To return to King Shehriman. When Kemerezzeman and Merzewan returned not at the appointed time, he passed the night without sleep, restless and consumed with anxiety. The night was long upon him and he thought the day would never dawn. He passed the forenoon of the ensuing day in expectation of his son's coming, but he came not; whereat his heart forebode separation and he was distraught with fears for Kemerezzeman. He wept till his clothes were drenched, crying out, 'Alas, my son!' and repeating the following verses from an aching heart:
Unto the votaries of love I still was contrary, Till of its bitter and its sweet myself perforce must taste. I quaffed its cup of rigours out, yea, even to the dregs, And to its freemen and its slaves myself therein abased. Fortune aforetime made a vow to separate our loves; Now hath she kept her vow, alack! and made my life a waste.
Then he wiped away his tears and bade his troops make ready for a long journey. So they all mounted and set forth, headed by the Sultan, whose heart burnt with grief and anxiety for his son. He divided the troops into six bodies, whom he despatched in as many directions, giving them rendezvous for the morrow at the cross-roads. Accordingly they scoured the country diligently all that day and night, till at noon of the ensuing day they joined company at the cross-roads. Here four roads met and they knew not which the prince had followed, till they came to the torn clothes and found shreds of flesh and blood scattered by the way on all sides. When the King saw this, he cried out from his inmost heart, saying, 'Alas, my son!' and buffeted his face and tore his beard and rent his clothes, doubting not but his son was dead. Then he gave himself up to weeping and wailing, and the troops also wept for his weeping, being assured that the prince had perished. They wept and lamented and threw dust on their heads till they were nigh upon death, and the night surprised them whilst they were thus engaged. Then the King repeated the following verses, with a heart on fire for the torment of his despair:
Blame not the mourner for the grief to which he is a prey, For yearning sure sufficeth him, with all its drear dismay. He weeps for dreariment and grief and stress of longing pain, And eke his transport doth the fires, that rage in him, bewray. Alas, his fortune who's Love's slave, whom languishment hath bound Never to let his eyelids stint from weeping night and day! He mourns the loss of one was like a bright and brilliant moon, That shone out over all his peers in glorious array. But Death did proffer to his lips a brimming cup to drink, What time he left his native land, and now he's far away. He left his home and went from us unto calamity; Nor to his brethren was it given to him farewell to say. Indeed, his loss hath stricken me with anguish and with woe; Yea, for estrangement from his sight my wits are gone astray. Whenas the Lord of all vouchsafed to him His Paradise, Upon his journey forth he fared and passed from us for aye.