" Quoth Zoulmekan, "Needs must I
recite somewhat of verse, so haply it may allay the fire of my
heart." "God on thee," cried the stoker, "leave this lamentation,
till thou come to thine own country; then do what thou wilt, and
I will be with thee, wherever thou art." "By Allah," replied
Zoulmekan, "I cannot forbear from this!" Then he set his face
towards Baghdad and began to repeat verses. Now the moon was
shining brightly and shedding her light on the place, and Nuzhet
ez Zeman could not sleep that night, but was wakeful and called
to mind her brother and wept. Presently, she heard Zoulmekan
weeping and repeating the following verses:
The southern lightning gleams in the air And rouses in me the old
despair,
The grief for a dear one, loved and lost, Who filled me the cup
of joy whilere.
It minds me of her who fled away And left me friendless and sick
and bare.
O soft-shining lightnings, tell me true, Are the days of
happiness past fore'er?
Chide not, O blamer of me, for God Hath cursed me with two things
hard to bear,
A friend who left me to pine alone, And a fortune whose smile was
but a snare.
The sweet of my life was gone for aye, When fortune against me
did declare;
She brimmed me a cup of grief unmixed, And I must drink it and
never spare.
Or ever our meeting 'tide, sweetheart, Methinks I shall die of
sheer despair,
I prithee, fortune, bring back the days When we were a happy
childish pair;
The days, when we from the shafts of fate, That since have
pierced us, in safety were!
Ah, who shall succour the exiled wretch, Who passes the night in
dread and care,
And the day in mourning for her whose name, Delight of the
Age[FN#62], bespoke her fair?
The hands of the baseborn sons of shame Have doomed us the wede
of woe to wear.
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