When in this Plight The Shah Salámán saw, His Soul was struck with Anguish, and the Vein Of Life within was strangled—what to do He knew not. Then he turn'd him to The Sage— "On Altar of the World, to whom Mankind Directs the Face of Prayer in Weal or Woe, Nothing but Wisdom can untie the Knot; And art not Thou the Wisdom of the World, The Master-Key of all its Difficulties? Absál is perisht; and, because of Her, Salámán dedicates his Life to Sorrow; I cannot bring back Her, nor comfort Him. Lo, I have said! My Sorrow is before Thee; From thy far-reaching Wisdom help Thou Me Fast in the Hand of Sorrow! Help Thou Me, For I am very wretched!" Then The Sage— "Oh Thou that err'st not from the Road of Right, If but Salámán have not broke my Bond, Nor lies beyond the Noose of my Firmán, He quickly shall unload his Heart to me, And I will find a Remedy for all." XXVI. Then The Sage counsell'd, and Salámán heard, And drew the Wisdom down into his Heart; And, sitting in the Shadow of the Perfect, His Soul found Quiet under; sweet it seem'd, Sweeping the Chaff and Litter from his own, To be the very Dust of Wisdom's Door, Slave of the Firmán of the Lord of Life, Then The Sage marvell'd at his Towardness, And wrought in Miracle in his behalf. He pour'd the Wine of Wisdom in his Cup, He laid the Dew of Peace upon his lips; And when Old Love return'd to Memory, And broke in Passion from his Lips, The Sage Under whose waxing Will Existence rose Responsive, and, relaxing, waned again, Raising a Fantom Image of Absál Set it awhile before Salámán's Eyes, Till, having sow'd the Seed of Quiet there, It went again down to Annihilation. But ever, for the Sum of his Discourse, The Sage would tell of a Celestial Love; "Zuhrah," he said, "the Lustre of the Stars— 'Fore whom the Beauty of the Brightest wanes; Who were she to reveal her perfect Beauty, The Sun and Moon would craze; Zuhrah," he said, "The Sweetness of the Banquet—none in Song Like Her—her Harp filling the Ear of Heaven, That Dervish-dances at her Harmony." Salámán listen'd, and inclin'd—again Repeated, Inclination ever grew; Until The Sage beholding in his Soul The Spirit quicken, so effectually With Zuhrah wrought, that she reveal'd herself In her pure Beauty to Salámán's Soul, And washing Absál's Image from his Breast, There reign'd instead. Celestial Beauty seen, He left the Earthly; and, once come to know Eternal Love, he let the Mortal go. XXVII. The Crown of Empire how supreme a Lot! The Throne of the Sultán how high!—But not For All—None but the Heaven-ward Foot may dare To mount—The Head that touches Heaven to wear!—