Now mark this strange, eventful history
Of Kujárán, a city on the sea
Of Párs, told by a rustic bard for he
Hath dealt at large with Persian legendry.
There was a city strait but full of men,
Who all must work to eat, and many girls
Therein were poor and earned their bread withal.
On one side was a mountain near at hand
Whereto the damsels all were wont to fare,
Each with her distaff-case of poplar-wood,
And with her weighed-out stint of unspun cotton.
They used to gather at the city-gate

Before they started and to club whatever
They brought of provand, but their talk ne'er ran
On resting or on eating; their concern
Was cotton which at night they brought back spun.
There dwelt within that city, one Haftwád,
Who was so named because he had seven sons,*

A man of cheerful turn but indigent.
He had too one dear daughter and no more,
But daughters he esteemed of no account.
One day it happened that the troop of girls
Sat at their spinning on the mountain-side.
They clubbed together all the food they had,
And during meal-time laid their distaffs by.
'Twas then it happened that this lucky girl
Beheld a windfall lying on the path,
An apple which she picked up hastily.
Now list to this strange tale. When that fair maid
Had bitten the fruit she saw a worm inside.
She picked it from the apple and then gently
Transferred it to her distaff-case, and said,
As she resumed her spinning: “In the name
Of God who hath no partner and no peer,
I'll show you wondrous spinning done to-day
All through the good luck of an apple-worm!”
The girls grew merry and began to laugh,
Grew blithe of blee and showed their silver teeth.
That day she spun a double quantity,
And marked the sum thereof upon the ground,
Then hurried home like smoke and showed her mother
The yarn. Her mother praised her fondly, saying:—
“Thou hast done well, thou Moon with sunlike face!”
Next morning, having measured off the twist,
She took a double stint, and all agog,
Heart, soul, and body, on her spinning, joined
That busy band and told those fair-famed girls:—
“Ye moon-faced and well favoured by the stars!
By this worm's fortune I have spun so much
That never I shall want!”

She spun that stint,

And might have dealt with more. She carried home
What she had spun, whereat her mother's heart
Became like jocund Paradise. Each morning
The pretty damsel gave the worm some apple,
And spun off all the cotton howsoever
The tale might be increased, the little witch!
One day the parents asked their worthy daughter:—
“Hast thou obtained a fairy for thy sister
That thou dost spin so much, thou goodly one?”

Forthwith the fair maid told her mother all
About the apple with the little worm
Concealed therein, and showed the glorious creature
To both her parents who rejoiced the more.
Haftwád, who took it for an augury,
Gave up his work; he talked of nothing save
The luck of the Worm. His fortune which had aged
Grew young. Thus time passed and his prospects
brightened.
They did not slight the Worm but fed it well.
It grew in size and strength, its head and back
Were beautifully hued, and it outgrew
The distaff-case. Its coat, which turned as dark
As musk, had saffron spots throughout. Haftwád
Prepared a goodly, sable cabinet,
And lodged the creature there. It came to pass
That in that city everybody looked
For counsel and for justice to Haftwád,
Who grew in honour, consequence, and wealth,
And all his seven sons were rich as well.
The city had a governor—a man
With rank, renown, and soldiery—who sought
Occasion to deprive Haftwád, the base-born,
Of his dínárs, but many of the nobles
Took sides with him and his seven warlike sons.
The trumpet-call was heard in Kujárán:
They marched out with their spears, and swords, and
arrows,
Led by Haftwád who played the man in fight,
Seized on the city, slew the governor,
And captured all his jewels and his treasures.
A crowd of folk assembled round Haftwád.
He went from Kujárán toward the mountain,
Upon whose top he built a hold whereto
The citizens migrated in a mass.
He fitted up the hold with iron gates;
'Twas serviceable both in peace and war.
Upon the mountain-top there was a spring,
Which by good fortune rose amidst the hold;
Around he built a wall of viewless height.
Now when the Worm outgrew its cabinet
They made a tank of masonry*

and, when
The air had dried it, tenderly disposed
The Worm within. Each day at dawn its keeper
Would hurry from Haftwád to dress its food—
A cauldronful of rice. The growing Worm
Consumed it all. Years passed; its neck and limbs

Grew large as elephant's, and then Haftwád
Surnamed the hold Kirmán,*

his own bright daughter
Became the guardian of the Worm, and he
The leader of its troops. Wazír and scribe
Attended it; it fed on rice, milk, honey,
While at its door Haftwád, the chieftain, stood
To answer for it both in bad and good.*