‘View the earth’s sphere and the revolving skies, This sinks by rest, and those by motion rise; Travel, man’s tutor is, and glory’s gate, On travel, treasure and instruction wait, From place to place had trees the power to move, No saw nor ax could wrong the stately grove.’” To this his gentle mate replied, “My beloved, when thou removest thy heart from the society of thine own, thou dost sever the cord of unity; thou mayest unite with new comrades, but never wilt thou find them so loyal, as those which long years of trial have shown to be true. Remember the precept of the wise man, and ‘Do not an old and well tried friend forego For new allies, for this will end in woe,’ Thou mayest transgress, and what impression will my word have upon thee then? Remember that ‘He shall his foeman’s fondest wish fulfill, Who to well wishing friends bends not his will.’” Bāzindah, however tore his heart away from his loving mate, and set forth upon the wing, exulting in his liberty and freedom from her gentle admonitions. With great curiosity, and perfect pleasure, he traveled for a while through the blue air, and passed over the bright hills and gardens of roses and lilies. After a time he came to a mountain, and at its feet lay a beautiful meadow; its green surface was delightful as the gardens of heaven, and the northern breeze swept down from the cool hills, laden with the perfume of a thousand flowers. “There countless roses their pavilions kept, The grass moved wakeful, while the waters slept, The roses painted with a thousand hues, Their heavenly fragrance each a league diffuse.” The setting sun was bathing the hills with its glory when the weary pigeon reached the lovely spot, and he nestled gratefully down amidst the green grass and fragrant flowers to spend the night in peace and happiness; with his head tucked under his wing, he did not see that a shadow had darkened the fair sunset; he did not see that its glory was shaded by an angry storm-cloud. But soon the restless wind was tossing the canopy of clouds into the high court of the air, and Bāzindah’s heart was quaking with terror as the fiery lightnings flashed around him, consuming the hearts of the tulips beside him; the pitiless hail dashed the bright narcissus to the earth, while the thunderbolts seemed to tear the very heart of the mountain. “In pieces was the mountain’s breast, by the lightning’s arrows riven, And earth to its foundations shook, at the fearful voice of heaven.” Bāzindah had no shelter from the storm—no refuge from the pitiless hail and searching wind; in vain he tried to hide beneath some friendly branch or amidst the leaves and grass, still the cruel hail pelted him like some remorseless foe, and the cold rain still poured upon him.