And when the tomb of Lailī meets his view, Prostrate he falls, the ground his tears bedew; ‘Alas!’ he cries, ‘no more shall I behold That angel face, that form of heavenly mould, For thou hast quitted this contentious life, This scene of endless treachery and strife; And I, like thee, shall soon my fetters burst, And quench, in draughts of heavenly love, my thirst. There where angelic bliss can never cloy, We soon shall meet in everlasting joy; The taper of our souls, more clear and bright, Will then be lustrous with immortal light.’” The troubled day was closing fast in night, and though he received the kindly ministry of his friends, only a few more weeks had passed away, when the stricken lover was found with his head resting lovingly upon her tomb, while upon his loyal brow there rested the peaceful touch of death. His weary heart had found rest at last, rest beyond the fevered dream of life, with all its anxious hopes and fears. Reverent hands opened Lailī’s tomb, and they laid the stilled heart beside her own. “One promise bound their faithful hearts—one bed Of cold, cold earth united them when dead. Severed in life, how cruel was their doom! Ne’er to be joined but in the silent tomb!” THE VISION OF ZYD. No heart more loyal was left behind than that of the faithful page who so long had done the lady’s bidding. He often pondered on the faith and devotion of the lovers, and one night he slept alone beneath the desert sky, when the canopy of heaven seemed to roll away. A new morning seemed to dawn in glory upon the waiting earth, and touch the distant mountain peaks with crowns of light. Beneath the radiance of its coming, the secrets of the earth, which had been written in the roll-call of the ages, were read by the waiting millions, for the age of recompense had come. The desert sands gave way to vistas of golden fruit and blooming roses; the white lilies gleamed amidst the green verdure, and the almond blossoms waved in silvery sprays upon the passing breeze. The nightingale sang in fadeless bowers, and the low, sweet voices of the ring-doves were heard among the feathery plumes of the palms. The desert voices gave way to the rich melodies from harp and shell. The fronded palms pressed upward, and a royal throne, with gems and gold, stood beneath their protecting shade. “Upon that throne, in blissful state, The long divided lovers sate, Resplendent with seraphic light, They held a cup with diamonds bright.” This cup was filled with the nectar of immortality, and, quaffing its rich contents, they wandered away, hand in hand, through the long aisles of unfading flowers.