I find no medicine that cureth love, In vain I search. Sweet Fatima's the cause Of all my woes, with _khelkal_ tinted blue. My heart endureth passion's pangs, my grief Continues. Where's thy remedy, O Taleb? Thy remedy is lost, my good Lord Taleb. Pray God for me, O Taleb, I implore. But how to cure the malady of love? There is no remedy, and all is lost. I die for lack of strength to bear my trials. It is to thee that I intrust myself, The healer who must bring rest to my heart; For now a living brand burns in my breast. If thou art skilful, find a cure for me. [1] This elegy is the work of a celebrated sheik of Tlemcen, Mahomet-Ben-Sahla, whose period was the first half of the eighteenth century. He left a son, Ben Medien, a poet, too, and his descendants still live, near Tlemcen, in a village called Feddan-es-Seba. Look in thy book and calculate for me If thou canst quench the burning brand within. I will become thy slave, and thou may'st keep Me or at auction sell. Where is thy cure! Thy remedy is lost, my good Lord Taleb. The Taleb looked at me and said: "Take heart, O lover, courage! Thou hast sipped, I see, The cup of death already, and thou hast Not long to live. But hear my counsel now. Have patience! Tis the only thing that will Sustain thee. Thou shalt thus obtain the gifts Of Him who only knows thy future days. Thy fate shall be unrolled according to The will of God, the sovereign Lord most high. "Turn to thy God. Beseech him constantly. He hears with mercy and he knows all souls. He turns away no one who comes to him. He sees the bottom of their hearts, and lists. Bear his decrees with patience camels show. They walk from land to land and hope to lose At last their burdens." Where's thy cure, O Taleb? Thy remedy is lost, my good Lord Taleb. O Taleb, search within thy book and find The letters that give birth to friendship sweet. Write them for me, and skilful be, I pray, So God may give me happiness by them, And cause my dear gazelle to pardon me, And drive nay bitter sorrows all away. My punishment too long has lasted. I Am tired of waiting. Never was adventure More strange than mine. My cares continue, and I am fatigued with efforts obstinate. The trouble that I've taken to deserve That pretty one, has been for me like that Of daring merchant who doth undertake A venture and gets nothing back but loss And weariness. Where is thy cure, O Taleb? Thy remedy is lost, my good Lord Taleb. The Taleb answered unto me and said: "Support her rigors. Listen now to me, And I will give thee counsel sound and good. Turn thy true heart aside from memory. Forget thy love as she's forgotten thee. Courage! Her loss now wastes and makes thee pale. For her thou hast neglected everything. And sacrificed a good part of thy days.