often likened by
Eastern poets to the waving cypress, a tree which we
associate with the grave-yard.--"Who is walking there?"
asks a Persian poet. "Thou, or a tall cypress?"

[119] "Nocturnal."

Now the season of pilgrimage to Mecca draws nigh, and it is thought that
a visit to the holy shrine and the waters of the Zemzem[120] might cure
his frenzy. Accordingly Majnъn, weak and helpless, is conveyed to Mecca
in a litter. Most fervently his sorrowing father prays in the Kaбba for
his recovery, but all in vain, and they return home. Again Majnъn
escapes to the desert, whence his love-plaints, expressed in eloquent
verse, find their way to Laylб, who contrives to reply to them, also in
verse, assuring her lover of her own despair, and of her constancy.

[120] The sacred well in the Kaбba at Mecca, which, according
to Muslim legends, miraculously sprang up when Hagar and
her son Ishmael were perishing in the desert from thirst.

One day a gallant young chief, Ibn Salбm, chances to pass near the
dwelling of Laylб, and, seeing the beauteous maiden among her
companions, falls in love with her, and straightway asks her in marriage
of her parents. Laylб's father does not reject the handsome and wealthy
suitor, who scatters his gold about as if it were mere sand, but desires
him to wait until his daughter is of proper age for wedlock, when the
nuptials should be duly celebrated; and with this promise Ibn Salбm
departs.

Meanwhile, Noufal, the chief in whose land Majnъn has taken up his
abode, while hunting one day comes upon the wretched lover, and, struck
with his appearance, inquires the cause of his distress. Noufal
conceives a warm friendship for Majnъn, and sends a messenger to Laylб's
father to demand her in marriage with his friend. But the damsel's
parent scornfully refused to comply, and Noufal then marches with his
followers against him. A battle ensues, in which Noufal is victorious.
The father of Laylб then comes to Noufal, and offers submission; but he
declares that rather than consent to his daughter's union with Majnъn he
would put her to death before his face. Seeing the old man thus
resolute, Noufal abandons his enterprise and returns to his own country.

And now Ibn Salбm, having waited the appointed time, comes with his
tribesmen to claim the hand of Laylб; and, spite of her tears and
protestations, she is married to the wealthy young chief. Years pass
on--weary years of wedded life to poor Laylб, whose heart is ever true
to her wandering lover. At length a stranger seeks out Majnъn, and tells
him that his beloved Laylб wishes to have a brief interview with him,
near her dwelling. At once the frantic lover speeds towards the
rendezvous; but when Laylб is informed of his arrival, her sense of duty
overcomes the passion of her life, and she resolves to forego the
dangerous meeting, and poor Majnъn departs without having seen his
darling. Henceforth he is a constant dweller in the desert, having for
his companions the beasts and birds of the wilderness--his clothes in
tatters, his hair matted, his body wasted to a shadow, his bare feet
lacerated with thorns. After the lapse of many more years the husband of
Laylб dies, and the beautiful widow passes the prescribed period of
separation (_'idda_),[121] after which Majnъn hastens to embrace his
beloved. Overpowered by the violence of their emotions, both are for a
space silent; at length Laylб addresses Majnъn in tender accents; but
when he finds voice to reply it is evident that the reaction has
completely extinguished the last spark of reason: Majnъn is now a
hopeless maniac, and he rushes from the arms of Laylб and seeks the
desert once more. Laylб never recovered from the shock occasioned by
this discovery. She pined away, and with her last breath desired her
mother to convey the tidings of her death to Majnъn, and to assure him
of her constant, unquenchable affection. When Majnъn hears of her death
he visits her tomb, and, exhausted with his journey and many privations,
he lays himself down on the turf that covered her remains, and dies--the
victim of pure, ever-during love.

[121] According to Muslim law, four months and ten days must
elapse before a widow can marry again.

* * * * *

Possibly, readers of a sentimental turn--oft inclined to the "melting"
mood--may experience a kind of pleasing sadness in perusing a rhythmical
prose translation of the passage in Nizбmн's poem in which


_Majnъn bewails the Death of Laylб._

When Zayd,[122] with heart afflicted, heard that in the silent tomb that
moon[123] had set, he wept and mourned, and sadly flowed his tears. Who
in this world is free from grief and tears? Then, clothed in sable
garments, like one oppressed who seeks redress, he, agitated, and
weeping like a vernal cloud, hastened to the grave of Laylб; but, as he
o'er it hung, ask not how swelled his soul with grief; while from his
eyes the tears of blood incessant flowed, and from his sight and groans
the people fled. Sometimes he mourned with grief so deep and sad that
from his woe the sky became obscure. Then from the tomb of that fair
flower he to the desert took his way. There sought the wanderer from the
paths of man him whose night was now in darkness veiled, as that bright
lamp was gone; and, seated near him, weeping and sighing, he beat his
breast and struck upon the earth his head. When Majnъn saw him thus
afflicted he said: "What has befallen thee, my brother, that thy soul is
thus overpowered? and why so pale that cheek? and why these sable
robes?" He thus replied: "Because that fortune now has changed: a sable
stream has issued from the earth, and even death has burst its iron
gates; a storm of hail has on the garden poured, and not a leaf of all
our rose-bower now remains. The moon has fallen from the firmament, and
prostrate on the mead that waving cypress lies! Laylб was, but from the
world has now departed; and from the wound thy love had caused she
died."

[122] An attendant, who had always befriended Majnъn.

[123] "The moon," to wit, the unhappy Laylб. See the note,
p. 284.

Scarce had these accents reached his listening ear e'er, senseless,
Majnъn fell as one by lightning struck. A short time, fainting, thus he
lay; recovered, then he raised his head to heaven and thus exclaimed: "O
merciless! what fate severe is this on one so helpless? Why such wrath?
Why blast a blade of grass with lightning, and on the ant [i.e. himself]
thy power exert? One ant and a thousand pains of hell, when one single
spark would be enough! Why thus with blood the goblet crown, and all my
hopes deceive? I burned with flames that by that lamp were fed; and by
that breath which quenched its light I too expire." Thus, like Asra, did
he complain, and, like Wamik, traversed on every side the desert,[124]
his heart broken, and his garments rent; while, as the beasts gazed on
him, his tears so constant flowed, that in their eyes the tear-drop
stood; and like a shadow Zayd his footsteps still pursued. When, weeping
and mourning, Majnъn thus o'er many a hill and many a vale had passed,
as grief his path directed, he wished to view the tomb of all he loved;
and then inquired of Zayd where was the spot that held her grave, and
where the turf that o'er it grew.

[124] See Note on 'Wamik and Asra' at the end of this paper.

But soon as to the tomb he came, struck with its view, his senses fled.
Recovering, then he thus exclaimed: "O Heaven! what shall I do, or what
resource attempt, as like a lamp I waste away? Alas! that heart-enslaver
was all that in this world I prized: and now, alas! in wrath, dire Fate
with ruthless blow has snatched her from me. In my hand I held a lovely
flower; the wind came and scattered all its leaves. I chose a cypress
that in the garden graceful grew; but soon the wind of fate destroyed
it. Spring bade a blossom bloom; but Fortune would not guard the flower.
A group of lilies I preserved, pure as the thoughts that in my bosom
rose; but one unjust purloined them. I sowed, but he the harvest
reaped."

Then, resting within the tomb his head, he mourning wept, and said: "O
lovely floweret, struck by autumn's blast, and from this world departed
ere thou knewest it! A garden once in bloom, but now laid waste! O fruit
matured, but not enjoyed! To earth's mortality can such as thou be
subject, and such as thou within the darkness of the tomb repose? And
where is now that mole which seemed a grain of musk?[125] And where
those eyes soft as the gazelle's? Where those ruby lips? And where those
curling ringlets? In what bright hues is now thy form adorned? And
through the love of whom does now thy lamp consume? To whose fond eyes
are now thy charms displayed? And whom to captivate do now thy tresses
wave? Beside the margin of what stream is now that cypress seen? And in
what bower is now the banquet spread? Ah, can such as thou have felt the
pangs of death, and be reclined within this narrow cave?[126] But o'er
thy cell I mourn, as thou wast all I loved; and ere my grief shall
cease, the grave shall be my friend. Thou wast agitated like the sand of
the desert; but now thou reposest as the water of the lake. Thou, like
the moon, hast disappeared; but, though unseen, the moon is still the
same; and now, although thy form from me is hid, still in my breast
remains the loved remembrance. Though far removed beyond my aching
sight, still is thy image in my heart beheld. Thy form is now departed,
but grief eternal fills its place. On thee my soul was fixed, and never
will thy memory be forgot. Thou art gone, and from this wilderness
escaped, and now reposest in the bowers of Paradise. I, too, after some
little time will shake off these bonds, and there rejoin thee. Till
then, faithful to the