"My soul for loss of lover sped I sight; * Nor life enjoying neither life's delight: My case is one whose cure is all unknown; * Can any cure the sick but doctor wight? O who hast reft my sleep-joys, leaving me * To ask the breeze that blew from that fair site,-- Blew from my lover's land (the land that owns * Those charms so sore a grief in soul excite), 'O breeze, that visitest her land, perhaps * Breathing her scent, thou mayst revive my sprite!'"
And when he ended his verse he gave a great cry and fell down in a fainting-fit. The Princesses sat round him, weeping over him, till he recovered and repeated these two couplets,
"Haply and happily may Fortune bend her rein * Bringing my love, for Time's a freke of jealous strain;[FN#103] Fortune may prosper me, supply mine every want, * And bring a blessing where before were ban and bane."
Then he wept till he fainted again, and presently coming to himself recited the two following couplets,
"My wish, mine illness, mine unease! by Allah, own * Art thou content? then I in love contented wone! Dost thou forsake me thus sans crime or sin * Meet me in ruth, I pray, and be our parting gone."
Then he wept till he swooned away once more and when he revived he repeated these couplets,
"Sleep fled me, by my side wake ever shows * And hoard of tear-drops from these eyne aye flows; For love they weep with beads cornelian-like * And growth of distance greater dolence grows: Lit up my longing, O my love, in me * Flames burning 'neath my ribs with fiery throes! Remembering thee a tear I never shed * But in it thunder roars and leven glows."
Then he wept till he fainted away a fourth time, and presently recovering, recited these couplets,
"Ah! for lowe of love and longing suffer ye as suffer we? * Say, as pine we and as yearn we for you are pining ye? Allah do the death of Love, what a bitter draught is his! * Would I wot of Love what plans and what projects nurseth he! Your faces radiant-fair though afar from me they shine, * Are mirrored in our eyes whatsoever the distance be; My heart must ever dwell on the memories of your tribe; * And the turtle-dove reneweth all as oft as moaneth she: Ho thou dove, who passest night-tide in calling on thy fere, * Thou doublest my repine, bringing grief for company; And leavest thou mine eyelids with weeping unfulfilled * For the dearlings who departed, whom we never more may see: I melt for the thought of you at every time and hour, * And I long for you when Night showeth cheek of blackest blee."