One day, as he sat at wine, according to his wont,
with his favourites before him, he bade them be seated in their
places and made Shemsennehar sit by his side. (Now her patience
was exhausted and her disorder redoubled upon her.) Then he bade
one of the damsels sing: so she took a lute and tuning it,
preluded and sang the following verses:
One sought me of lore and I yielded and gave him that which he
sought. And my tears write the tale of my transport in
furrows upon my cheek.
Meseemeth as if the teardrops were ware, indeed, of our case And
hide what I'd fain discover and tell what to hide I seek.
How can I hope to be secret and hide the love that I feel, Whenas
the stress of my longing my passion for thee doth speak?
Death, since the loss of my loved ones, is sweet to me: would I
knew What unto them is pleasant, now that they've lost me
eke!
When Shemsennehar heard these verses, she could not keep her
seat, but fell down in a swoon, whereupon the Khalif threw the
cup from his hand and drew her to him, crying out. The damsels
clamoured and he turned her over and shook her, and behold, she
was dead. The Khalif grieved sore for her death and bade break
all the vessels and lutes and other instruments of mirth and
music in the place; then carrying her body to his closet, he
abode with her the rest of the night.
Pages:
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153