"Ye are the wish, the aim of me *And when, O Love, thy sight I see[FN#177] The heavenly mansion openeth;[FN#178] * But Hell I see when lost thy sight. From thee comes madness; nor the less * Comes highest joy, comes ecstasy: Nor in my love for thee I fear * Or shame and blame, or hate and spite. When Love was throned within my heart * I rent the veil of modesty; And stints not Love to rend that veil * Garring disgrace on grace to alight; The robe of sickness then I donned * But rent to rags was secrecy: Wherefore my love and longing heart * Proclaim your high supremest might; The tear drop railing adown my cheek * Telleth my tale of ignomy: And all the hid was seen by all * And all my riddle ree'd aright. Heal then my malady, for thou * Art malady and remedy! But she whose cure is in thy hand * Shall ne'er be free of bane and blight; Burn me those eyne that radiance rain * Slay me the swords of phantasy; How many hath the sword of Love * Laid low, their high degree despite? Yet will I never cease to pine * Nor to oblivion will I flee. Love is my health, my faith, my joy * Public and private, wrong or right. O happy eyes that sight thy charms * That gaze upon thee at their gree! Yea, of my purest wish and will * The slave of Love I'll aye be hight." When the damsel heard this elegy in quatrains she cried out "Alas! Alas!" and rent her raiment, and fell to the ground fainting; and the Caliph saw scars of the palm rod[FN#179] on her back and welts of the whip; and marvelled with exceeding wonder. Then the portress arose and sprinkled water on her and brought her a fresh and very fine dress and put it on her. But when the company beheld these doings their minds were troubled, for they had no inkling of the case nor knew the story thereof; so the Caliph said to Ja'afar, "Didst thou not see the scars upon the damsel's body? I cannot keep silence or be at rest till I learn the truth of her condition and the story of this other maiden and the secret of the two black bitches." But Ja'afar answered, "O our lord, they made it a condition with us that we speak not of what concerneth us not, lest we come to hear what pleaseth us not." Then said the portress "By Allah, O my sister, come to me and complete this service for me." Replied the procuratrix, "With joy and goodly gree;" so she took the lute; and leaned it against her breasts and swept the strings with her finger tips, and began singing:—