Sikandar, summoning his prudent chiefs,
Marched cheerly thence his host and reached a city
Whereto he saw no middle and no end,
And having all things needful in abundance.
'Twas full of garths, parks, halls, and palaces.
There he dismounted and at dawn next day
Went forward unattended toward the Source
Which in his story of the hero's fortunes
The rustic minstrel calleth that of Life.
He tarried there until the sun, grown pale,
Sank in that fount of lapis-lazuli.
He saw the wonder wrought by holy God—
The Bright One's disappearance from the world—
Returned to camp, and pondered much. That night

He prayed to God, mused on the Fount of Life,
First chose the most enduring of his troops,
Took with him food for forty days and more,
And went forth eagerly to look on wonders.
He camped his other troops within the city,
And sought and found a guide. Khisr, who was chief
Among the nobles of that folk, advised him.
Sikandar did as Khisr enjoined, surrendered
Both heart and soul to his allegiance,
And said: “Shrewd-hearted man! be diligent
Herein, and if we shall obtain the Water
Of Life then we will pass much time in prayer.
He will not die who nurtureth thus his soul,
And in his wisdom refugeth with God.
I have two signets that in sight of water
Shine out at night like suns. Take one, lead on,
And tender well thy person and thy life;
The other one shall light me on my way.
I go amid the Darkness with mine escort,
And we will see what God omnipotent
Preserveth hidden where so much is seen.
Thou art my leader, and He is my refuge,
And showeth me the Water and the Way.”
Now when the troops marched toward the Fount of
Life
A shout rose from the desert: “God is great!”*

Khisr left that station and all food behind him,
And fared thus for two days and nights while none
Bestirred his lips to eat. Upon the third
Two ways showed mid the Darkness, and the Sháh
Lost trace of Khisr. What while the prophet went
Toward the Fount of Life, exalting thus
His living head to Saturn, bathed his body
And head in that bright Water, sought no guard
Save God, drank, rested, and returned apace,
More instant ever both in prayer and praise,
Sikandar reached the light and saw a mountain
Both high and bright, and on its top four columns
Of aloe-wood uplifted to the clouds.
On every column was a mighty nest,
And in each nest there sat a huge, green bird,
Which, speaking loudly in the Rúman tongue,
Hailed the victorious master of the world,
Who hurried to them when he heard. One said:—
“O votary of toil! what seekest thou
Within this Wayside Inn, for though thou raisest
Thy head to heaven above it will dismiss thee

In grief at last? But now that thou hast come,
Hast seen aught built of reeds or reed-baked bricks?”
He answered: “Both: our dwellings are directly
Or indirectly made with reeds.”

The bird,

On hearing this reply, perched lower down,
Astonying that worshipper of God,
And asked him: “Hast thou heard within the world
The sounds of harp, of reveller, and song?”
He made this answer: “One, whose lot it is
To have no share in joy, the glad account not
Although for them he pour out heart and soul.”
From that tall column of lign-aloe-wood
The bird flew to the ground; its musky perch
Was void. The bird inquired: “Do understanding
And right prevail or do defect and guile?”
The Sháh made answer: “He that seeketh know-ledge
Is eminent in every company.”
Back from dark ground to column went the bird
And, having cleaned its talons with its beak,
Inquired of Cæsar: “Why do devotees
Dwell on the mountains?”

“The devout,” he said,

“Find not another place so good for worship.”
The bird ran up the column to its nest.
The monarch was delighted with that fowl,
Which with its talons sharpened up its bill
In full security. Then it instructed
Sikandar to ascend the topmost peak,
Afoot and unescorted, there to see
That which would cause the merriest to weep.
On hearing this he went toward the mountain
Alone to view the sight upon its summit,
And there saw Isráfíl, with trump in hand
And head uplifted, standing at his post,
Wind on his lips and moisture in his eye,
Till God shall bid him blow. On seeing Sikandar
He roared like thunder: “O thou slave of greed!
Toil not so much, because some day a Call
Will reach thine ears. Be less concerned for crown
And throne. Make ready to depart and bind
The baggage on.”

“It is my lot from fortune,”

The Sháh replied, “for save by stir and roaming
I may not look on sight and mystery.”
He then descended, wailing and imploring
The Giver of all good, and, with a guide
Preceding him, advanced along that route,
Involved in gloom, which when the army entered
A cry ascended from the darksome heights:—
“He that shall take a stone up from the road
Will grieve for what he beareth in his hand,

And if he taketh none he will repent,
And heartily in each case seek a cure.”
The soldiers all gave ear, and every one
Grew thoughtful at that cry since, whether they
Took stones or no, must they not count on ills?
One said: “It is the punishment of guilt
To bear repentance and the stones as well.”
Another said: “We should take some; perchance
We may not have to savour pain and toil.”
One man took of the stones; another left them;
A third through indolence took little ones.
When from the region of the Fount of Life
They reached the plain, emerging from the Gloom,
Each sought the truth and then perceived the trick.
One had his bosom full of jewels cut,
Another his with jewels in the rough,
And both regretted that they had so few;
Why had they passed by emeralds as vile?
But sorrier still was he that picked up none
At leaving precious gems as he had done.