The following Assembly, remarkable for the poetical beauty of its language, and the delicacy of its versification, describes an adventure in which Abû Zayd obtains a sum of money from a company of generous scholars. Ḥârith is engaged with some friends in a night conversation at Kufa, one of the chief seats of Arabian learning, when a stranger knocks at the door, and addresses the inmates in verses describing his want and weariness, his excellent disposition, and his gratitude for the favours he may receive. Struck with his poetical powers the company admit him, and give him a supper. The lamp being brought, Ḥârith discovers that the guest is Abû Zayd, and informs the company of his merits. They then ask him for a story, and he relates that he had that evening met with a long lost son, whom he would be glad to take charge of, did not his poverty hinder him. As he had taken care to mention in the narrative that he was of the royal race of Ghassân, the company are moved by his misfortunes, and at once raise a large sum of money to enable him to support his boy. Abû Zayd delights them with his conversation, but as soon as daylight appears he calls away Ḥârith, to assist him in cashing the cheques or orders which he had received. The simple Ḥârith, who had been delighted with the verses which the father had put into the mouth of his son, desires to see so eloquent a youth; upon which Abû Zayd laughs heartily, tells his friend, in some exquisite verses, that such a desire is the following of a mirage, that he, Abû Zayd, had neither wife nor son, and that the story was only a trick to obtain money. He then departs, leaving Ḥârith mortified at the adventure.

Al Ḥârith, son of Hammâm, related: I was convers­ing at Kufa, in a night whose complexion was of a two­fold hue, whose moon was as an amulet of silver—With companions who had been nourished on the milk of eloquence, who might draw the train of oblivion over Saḥbân.—Each was a man to remember from, and not to guard against; each was one whom his friend would incline to, and not avoid.—And the night talk fascinated us until the moon had set, and the watching overcame us.—Now when night’s unmingled dark had spread its awning, and there was nought but nodding among us—We heard from the gate the faint sound of a way­farer, rousing the dogs; then followed the knock of one bidding to open.—We said, “Who is it that comes in the dark night?” Then the traveller answered:—

O people of the mansion, be ye guarded from ill!

Meet not harm as long as ye live!

Lo! the night which glooms has driven

To your abode one dishevelled, dust laden,

A brother of journeying, that has been lengthened, extended,

Till he has become bent and yellow

Like the new moon of the horizon when it smiles.

And now he approaches your court-yard, begging boldly,

And repairs to you before all people else,

To seek from you food and a lodging.

Ye have in him a guest contented, ingenuous,

One pleased with all, whether sweet or bitter,

One who will withdraw from you, publishing your bounty.

Said Al Ḥârith, son of Hammâm: Now when we were caught by the sweetness of his utterance, and knew what was behind his lightning,—We hastened to open the gate, and met him with welcome;—And said to the boy “Quick, quick! bring what is ready!”—Then said our guest, “Now, by Him who has set me down at your abode, I will not roll my tongue over your food,—Unless ye pledge me that ye will not make me a burden, that ye will not, for my sake, task yourselves with a meal.—For sometimes a morsel aches the eater, and forbids him his repasts.—And the worst of guests is he who imposes trouble and annoys his host,—And especially with a harm that affects the body and tends to sickness.—For, by that proverb, which is widely current, ‘The best suppers are those that are clearly seen.’—Is only meant that supper-time should be hastened, and eating by night, which dims the sight, avoided.—Unless, by Allah, the fire of hunger kindle and stand in the way of sleep.” —Said Al Ḥârith: Now it was as though he had got sight of our desire, and so had shot with the bow of our conviction.—Accordingly we gratified him by agreeing to the condition, and commended him for his easy temper.—And when the boy brought what was to be had, and lighted the candle in the midst of us, I looked close at him, and lo! it was Abû Zayd.—So I said to my company, “Joy to you of the guest who has come! Nay, but the spoil is lightly won!—For if the moon of Sirius has gone down, truly the moon of poetry has risen:— Or if the full moon of the Lion has waned, the full moon of eloquence shines forth.”—Then ran through them the wine-glow of joy, and sleep flew away from their eye-corners.—And they refused the rest which they had purposed, and returned to the spreading out of plea­santry, after they had folded it.—But Abû Zayd kept intent upon plying his hands; however, when what was before him might be removed—I said to him, “Present us with one of the rare stories from thy night talkings, or some wonder from among the wonders of thy jour­neys.”—He said, “Of wonders I have met with such as no seers have seen, no tellers have told.—But among the most wondrous was that which I beheld to-night, a little before my visit to you and my coming to your gate.”— Then we bade him tell us of this new thing which he had seen in the field of his night-faring.—He said, Truly the hurlings of exile have thrown me to this land:—And I was in hunger and distress, with a scrip like the heart of the mother of Moses.—Now, as soon as the dark had settled, I arose, in spite of all my footsore­ness, to seek a host or to gain a loaf.—Then the driver hunger, and Fate, which is bye-named the Father of Wonders, urged me on, till I stood at the door of a house, and spoke, improvising:—

Hail people of this dwelling,

May ye live in the ease of a plenteous life!

What have ye for a son of the road, one crushed to the sand,

Worn with journeys, stumbling in the night-dark night,

Aching in entrails, which inclose nought but hunger?

For two days he has not tasted the savour of a meal:

In your land there is no refuge for him.

And already the van of the drooping darkness has gloomed;

And through bewilderment he is in restlessness.

Now in this abode is there any one, sweet of spring,

Who will say to me, “Throw away thy staff and enter:

Rejoice in a cheerful welcome and a ready meal?”

Then came forth to me a lad in a tunic, and an­swered:—

Now by the sanctity of the Shaykh who ordained hospitality,

And founded the House of Pilgrimage in the Mother of cities,

We have nought for the night-farer when he visits us

But conversation and a lodging in our hall.

For how should he entertain whom hinders from sleepfulness

Hunger which peels his bones when it assails him?

Now what thinkest thou of my tale? what thinkest thou?

I said, “What shall I do with an empty house, and a host the ally of penury?—But tell me, youth, what is thy name, for thy understanding has charmed me.”—He said, “My name is Zayd, and my birth-place Fayd: and I came to this city yesterday with my mother’s kindred of the Benû ‘Abs.”—I said to him, “Show me further, so mayest thou live and be raised when thou fallest!”— He said, “My mother Barrah told me (and she is like her name, ‘pious’) that she married in the year of the foray on Mâwân a man of the nobles of Serûj and Ghassân;—But when he was aware of her pregnancy (for he was a crafty bird, it is said) he made off from her by stealth, and away he has stayed,—Nor is it known whether he is alive and to be looked for, or whether he has been laid in the lonely tomb.”—Said Abû Zayd, “Now I knew by sure signs that he was my child; but the emptiness of my hand turned me from making known to him,—So I parted from him with heart crushed and tears unsealed.—And now, ye men of un­derstanding, have ye heard aught more wondrous than this wonder?”—We said, “No, by Him who has know­ledge of the Book.”—He said, “Record it among the wonders of chance; bid it abide for ever in the hearts of scrolls; for nothing like it has been told abroad in the world.”—Then we bade bring the ink-flask, and its snake-like reeds, and we wrote the story elegantly as he worded it; — After which we sought to draw from him his wish about receiving his boy.—He said, “If my purse were heavy, then to take charge of my son would be light.”—We said, “If a niṣâb of money would suffice thee, we will collect it for thee at once.”—He said, “And how should a niṣâb not content me? would any but a madman despise such a sum?”—Said the narrator, Then each of us undertook a share of it, and wrote for him an order for it.—Whereupon he gave thanks for the kindness, and exhausted the plenteousness of praise; until we thought his speech long, or our merit little.— And then he spread out such a bright mantle of talk as might shame the stuffs of Yemen,—Until the dawn ap­peared and the light-bearing morn went forth.—So we spent a night of which the mixed hues had departed, until its hind-locks grew gray in the dawn;—And whose lucky stars were sovereign until its branch budded into light.—But when the limb of the sun peeped forth, he leaped up as leaps the gazelle,—And said, “Rise up, that we may take hold on the gifts and draw payment of the cheques:—For the clefts of my heart are widen­ing through yearning after my child.”—So I went with him, hand in hand, to make easy his success.—But as soon as he had secured the coin in his purse the marks of his joy flashed forth,—And he said, “Be thou re­warded for the steps of thy feet! be God my substitute towards thee!”—I said, “I wish to follow thee that I may behold thy noble child, and speak with him that he may answer eloquently.”—Then looked he at me as looks the deceiver on the deceived, and laughed till his eye­balls gushed with tears; and he recited:—

O thou who didst fancy the mirage to be water when I quoted to thee what I quoted!

I thought not that my guile would be hidden, or that it would be doubtful what I meant.

By Allah, I have no Barrah for a spouse; I have no son from whom to take a bye-name.

Nothing is mine but divers kinds of magic, in which I am original and copy no one:

They are such as Al Aṣma‘î tells not of in what he has told; such as Al Komayt never wove.

These I use when I will to reach whatever my hand would pluck:

And were I to abandon them, changed would be my state, nor should I gain what I now gain.

So allow my excuse; nay, pardon me, if I have done wrong or crime.

Then he took leave of me and passed away, and set coals of the ghaḍa in my breast.