The bridegroom, joyous, rose to see The bride equipp'd as bride should be: But what avails the tenderest care, The fondest love, when dark despair And utter hatred fill the breast Of her to whom that fondness is address'd? 1380 Quickly her sharp disdain the bridegroom feels, And from her scornful presence shrinks and reels: A solemn oath she takes, and cries, With frenzy flashing from her eyes,— 66 Hop'st thou I ever shall be thine? It is my father's will, not mine! A heart foredoom'd to endless pain; A bleeding heart, which scorns thy love!" 1390 When Ibn Salám her frenzied look beheld, 1399 And heard her vows, his cherish'd hopes were quell'd. XII. The Arab poets who rehearse Their legends in imperishable verse, Raving through wood and mountain glen; Flying still more the haunts of men. 1410 Sudden a perfume, grateful to the soul, He thought from Laili's fragrant couch it came, He sank upon the ground, beneath the shade A stranger, quickly passing by, Observed the love-lorn wanderer lie Sleeping, or dead, and check'd his camel's pace To mark the features of his face. Loud roaring, like a demon, he awoke The maniac from his trance, and gaily spoke : 66 Up, up, thou sluggard! up and see, What thy heart's-ease has done for thee! Better drive feeling from thy mind, Since there's no faith in womankind: 1420 Better be idle, than employ'd In fruitless toil; better avoid 1430 A mistress, though of form divine, If she be fair and false as thine! They've given her charms to one as young- Close, side by side, from morn till night, Kissing and dalliance their delight; With unrequited love art dying. One in a thousand may be true: pen which writes, as if it knew A woman's promise, splits in two. While in another's warm embrace, No witness to thy own disgrace, Woman's desire is more intense Than man's-more exquisite her sense; But, never blinded by her flame, A woman's love is selfish all; A contradiction is her life; Without, all peace; within, all strife; 1440 1450 A dangerous friend, a fatal foe, When deep in sorrow, she is glad. 1460 Such is the life a woman leads, And in her sorcery still succeeds." These words confused the lover's brain; Fire ran through every swelling vein: Frantic he dash'd his forehead on the ground, And blood flow'd trickling from the ghastly wound. "What added curse is this?" he groaning said,— "Another tempest, roaring round my head!" Whenever did a bleeding heart Betray no sign of blighted reason? 1470 Can the most skilful gardener's art Still keep his flowers or fruit in season? Who guides the faithful Moslem here. Love sanctifies the erring thought, 1479 And Heaven forgives the deed by frenzy wrought. "A rose, a lovely rose, I found, With thorns and briers encompass'd round; Alas! none hear, nor mark my moan; Upon the foul betrayer's head? The gardener, in his lust for gold, That rose-the boast of Irem-sold. "Poor wretch! if worlds of wealth were mine, Full willingly I'd make them thine; But not a dirhem for that rose, 1490 1500 |