He heard not, still directing his fleet course To Bidasari's garden, though they sought His wishes to oppose. When they arrived Before the palisades, the _mantris_ cried: "Avaunt, ye cursed demons, and begone Into the thorns and briers." Then to the King: "If thou wilt prove the courage of thy men, Lead us behind the barriers, among The evil spirits. We will go with thee." "Nay. Let me go alone," the prince replied, "And very shortly I'll come forth again." They said: "O prince, to us thy will is law. To God most high do we commend thy soul." Alone the prince in Bidasari's home Set foot. He was astonished, for he saw the bath Had recently been used, and all the lamps Were trimmed and full of oil. Then opening The chests, he saw the traces of a meal, And glasses freshly drained. The chambers all He searched, and came to Bidasari's couch, And, lifting up the curtains, saw her there, Asleep beneath the 'broidered covering. "Tis certain that she lives," he said. "Perchance It is her lot to live at night, and die At dawn." Then came he nearer yet, and gazed Upon her beauty. Ling'ring tears he saw Bedewed her lashes long, and all his heart Was sad. Her face was beautiful. Her locks Framed * with curls most gracefully. He took Her in his arms and cried, with kisses warm: "Why hast thou suffered, apple of my eye?" He wept abundantly, and said: "My gold, My ruby, my carbuncle bright, thy face Is like Lila Seprara's, and thy birth Is pure and spotless. How could I not love A being fair as thou dost seem to me? Thy beauty is unspeakable; thou art Above all crowns, the glory of all lands. My soul adores thee. Lord am I no more Of my own heart. Without thee, love, I could No longer live; thou art my very soul. Hast thou no pity to bestow on me?" The more he looked the more he loved. He kissed Her ruby lips, and sang this low _pantoum_: SONG Within a vase there stands a china rose; Go buy a box of betel, dearest one. I love the beauty that thine eyes disclose; Of my existence, dear, thou art the sun. Go buy a box of betel, dearest one. Adorned with _sountings_ brave of sweet _campak_, Of my existence, dear, thou art the sun; Without thee, everything my life would lack. Adorned with _sountings_ fair of sweet _campak_, A carafe tall will hold the sherbet rare; Without thee, everything my heart would lack; Thou'rt like an angel come from heaven so fair. A carafe tall will hold the sherbet rare, Most excellent for woman's feeble frame. Thou'rt like an angel come from heaven so fair, Love's consolation, guardian of its flame.