A FOURTH companion having caused the pleasing-tongued parrot of speech to diffuse the sweets of eloquence, said, The acquainted with the secrets of the records of time have thus delivered down, that there was a monarch in the island of Serendib,* who had placed the steps of his throne on the loftiest battle­ment of the heavens, and the points of his crown touched the summit of the Fukuddein. He had two viziers, one named Dustoor Yemeen,* and the other Dustoor Yessar.* Unexpectedly, the prince of some islands, who had always submitted his head to the dominion of Serendib, from pride in his dignity, state, and numbers of his dependants and troops, having strayed into the path of unworthy design, exalted the standard of error in the plain of rebellion, and having encroached on the frontier of the king­dom, extended the hand of oppression upon the property and honour of the inhabitants.

The monarch of Serendib, at the call of expedience, appointed Dustoor Yemeen, with an army anxious for revenge, in order that, having hastened to the frontier, he might extinguish the world-scorching flames of rebellion by the water of the sword, and with the hand of correction rub the ears of the crooked minded enemy like parchment. The lady of the vizier, in the absence of her husband, daily, from the pain of separation and chagrin of solitude, was embosomed with regret, and became the companion of sorrow. In thousands of sighs and lamentations, her time, night and day, she passed. At length, one of her faithful attendants, attentive to the rules of fidelity and regard, sympatheti­cally said, “What reason can there be for the queen of the world, notwith­standing her plenitude of riches and possessions, and abundant goods and enjoyments, to be imprisoned in the hand of gloom and melancholy? and what cause is there to diminish like the moon the sun-envied beauty with the Mahauk* of sorrow. This world is not a place in which you should employ precious but uncertain life in melancholy and regret, or let the smiling rose of your pleasures wither and fade in the sun of grief and despair. In this city is a goldsmith’s son of exceeding comeliness and beauty, and all air and grace, before whose radiant face the gold of the sun would sink lower in value than brass. The rose, from envy of his delicate mouth, would wish that it again might shrink into the bud. The rumour of his beauty, like the fame of eloquence, has gone to the quarters of the globe, and envy of his perfections in the colours of day has reached all nations.

The lady, on hearing this melody, like the nightingale, having expanded the wings of curiosity in search of this flower of the garden of beauty, drew the veil of purity from the face of her condition, and deviating from the centre of innocence, ran heedless into the four quarters of guilt. In order to attain the means of gratifying her wishes, she requested help from the favourite attendants on the carpet of her confidence. As this affair, on account of the negligence of agents, did not receive speedy conclu­sion, and the season of desire was extended to intolerable length, the fire of love (having blazed from the grate of her heart,) charmed her, like the moth,* into the flame of impatience. One day, there­fore, when deprived of reason, as is sometimes the case with fanciful ladies resembling angels, having turned her thoughts to the adornment of her person, she put on her most costly robes, and graced her neck and ears with ornaments of pearl.

Under the guidance of her wicked attendant, like the rosebud, having covered the robe of her own chastity and the honour of her husband, she went to the Bazar, and having come to the skilful goldsmith, delivered him some valuable jewels, and desired that as soon as possible he would set them into a tasteful bracelet for the arm. In the course of conversation, as if by chance, throwing aside the veil from the face of the sun, she cast one inviting look upon him. The goldsmith instantly, on viewing such a beautiful object, burnt with the fire of astonishment. Carried away by the flood of distraction in the raging waves, he became insensible to himself and his friends. After a long time, emerging from the depth of stupefaction, he reached the shore of recovered sense. With ardent desire, once more a piercing look the arch-browed charmer glanced. He beheld a beauty formed for love, that would rend the veil of a world’s purity, and exclaimed:

“Ah! destroyer of the peace of peries and of men, now that the wealth of my heart has become the prey of thy cruel looks, and the reins of my power have fallen into the controul of thy keen piercing eye­lashes; for God’s sake, be not unmindful of the duties of compassion, nor exercise coyness; but tell me what is thy heart-alluring name, and where is thy soul-delighting abode?

The lady, playfully smiling, and imitating the deceptions of Samri,* took a small mirror from under her arm, and having soiled the face of it with black paint, placed it for an instant before the heartless lover; then scattering some leaves of the tar tree on water, said; “My abode is a strong fortress, and a citadel lofty as the highest heaven, in soaring to which the eagle would lose his power of flight, and the Sim­ourgh* shed the wings of strength half-way in the attempt. Do not, then, vainly rush on death, or place thy foot rashly in the jaws of the crocodile. Measure not imprudently the path of madness, and, like Muj­jenou, rush not into the desert of pub­lic exposure. The atom cannot touch the stirrup tassels of the sun, or the moth fly to the battlements of the heavens.” Thus she spoke, and took the road to her own dwelling.

The goldsmith, in whose heart the soul-wounding dart of love for that moon-attracting sorceress, had pierced to the shaft, sunk down on the ground of impatience, and, in the excess of anxiety, throwing aside his implements, he hastened to his house, and prepared anew, in the market of reproach, the shop of insanity. His wife, when she beheld his face, which was wont to appear as the resplendent sun, or the blossoming rose, now become pale as gold leaf unburnished; and perceived the reins of his senses fallen from the hand of prudence; from her quick penetration, guessed that the dart of love from some ogler had reached the heart of the young man, and that the curved eyebrows of some beauty had cast her simple husband into distress.

Love is a precious gem, which, like the rays of the sun, to shut up in the obscurity of secrecy, is out of the circle of possibility. On every heart, on which a beam of the light of its beauty shines, the mirror of sense it deprives of the reflection of understanding. The company of it (love) leads to distress and wild­ness; and knowledge of it is associated with solitude and wandering. Its parox­ysms sometimes will drive a man into ignorance of himself, and sometimes with the beasts of the desart cast the lot of acquaintance. The vessel of its ban­quet, except of the salt liquid of tears, gives no juice to the bowl. Its rose-bush receives nurture from the seven-branched fountain of the eye, and its breeze causes flowers upon flowers to blossom in the culture of the heart.*

The artful wife, from the manner of her simple husband, guessing the truth of his situation, by wheedling and coax­ing, prevailed upon him to remove the cover from the jar of secrecy, and poured the wine of his inmost thoughts into the cup of relation. He declared his love for that cruel moon of beauty, Sameri-minded, and disclosed the account of her enig­matical conversation. The cunning wife, by her keen penetration, solving this riddle into a favourable meaning, asked the heartless man, saying, “Hast thou formed any idea what the soul-enticing damsel meant by the strange actions which, under the obscurity of mysteriousness, she made use of?” The goldsmith replied, “The hand of my comprehension has not in the least reached the stirrup of its design.” The wife exclaimed, “Ah! wanderer in the maze of folly, the mirror meant the light of day, and the soiling it with blacking signified night, which is the concealer of lovers. Scattering the leaves of the tar* on water, shewed that in the area before that cun­ning Peri’s house is a stream of water, on the margin of which grows the tar. While it is day, then, search for the habitation of thy mistress, and find out the spot. Under the veil of ‘night, who is the giver of light to the enjoyments of lovers, con­vey thyself to the mansion of thy beloved.”

The goldsmith, by direction of his wife, having hastened into the path of search, after much fatigue reached the wished-for spot; and on his arrival it appeared, that it was the palace of the vizier. When this became clear to him, he began to ruminate, saying to himself, “For me of mean note to hope attain­ment of my desires in such a splendid mansion, can in no way accord with reason, nor is it in any way possible. Undoubtedly it must have been an impostor, who, having ensnared my heart and faith, has led me fainting on the road of desire, aside from the path of hope, and betrayed me into the vapoury mist of error.”

Returning from the place in the utmost despair, he came to his own house, and related the result of his search to his wife. She, who in wisdom and knowledge was superior to her husband, exclaimed, “Ah! heartless, simple man, it may chance that the goblet of thy wishes may in that palace be crowned with the wine of enjoyment, because the dignity of love is too great to be confined, like rank-consulting policy, within rules, or to run in search thro’ by-ways after propriety or equality of condition. In the sovereignly potent court of love, the crown of the monarch and the cap of the beggar bear the same price. He makes no dis­tinction between the robe of Khooss­roo, and the hempen vest of Ferahad. With him ancestry is of no conse­quence, and there no distinction pre­vails. Your best measure is, that to-night again, sitting on the ground in thy beloved’s path, you wait in expectance until from the unknown world the success of thy undertaking shall take place, and the dark night of despair be changed to the shining morning of hope.”