Now when his sister heard these words and saw his condition and how he lay fainting on the floor, she screamed and beat her face and the other Princesses hearing her scream came out and learning his misfortune and the transport of love and longing and the passion and distraction that possessed him they questioned him of his case. He wept and told them what had befallen in his absence and how his wife had taken flight with her children, wherefore they grieved for him and asked him what she said at leave-taking. Answered he, "O my sisters, she said to my mother, 'Tell thy son, whenas he cometh to thee and the nights of severance upon him longsome shall be and he craveth reunion and meeting to see, and whenas the winds of love and longing shake him dolefully, let him fare in the Islands of Wak to me." When they heard his words they signed one to other with their eyes and shook their heads, and each looked at her sister, whilst Hasan looked at them all. Then they bowed their heads groundwards and bethought themselves awhile; after which they raised their heads and said, "There is no Majesty and there is no Might save in Allah, the Glorious, the Great!"; presently adding, "Put forth thy hand to heaven and when thou reach thither, then shalt thou win to thy wife.—And Shahrazad perceived the dawn of day and ceased saying her permitted say. When it was the Seven Hundred and Ninety-ninth Night, She resumed, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that when the Princesses said to Hasan, "Put forth thy hand to Heaven and when thou reach thither, then shalt thou win to wife and children," thereat the tears ran down his cheeks like rain and wet his clothes, and he recited these couplets, "Pink cheeks and eyes enpupil'd black have dealt me sore despight; * And whenas wake overpowered sleep my patience fled in fright: The fair and sleek-limbed maidens hard of heart withal laid waste * My very bones till not a breath is left for man to sight: Houris, who fare with gait of grace as roes o'er sandy-mound: * Did Allah's saints behold their charms they'd doat thereon forthright; Faring as fares the garden breeze that bloweth in the dawn. * For love of them a sore unrest and troubles rack my sprite: I hung my hopes upon a maid, a loveling fair of them, * For whom my heart still burns with lowe in Lazá-hell they light;— A dearling soft of sides and haught and graceful in her gait, * Her grace is white as morning, but her hair is black as night: She stirreth me! But ah, how many heroes have her cheeks * Upstirred for love, and eke her eyes that mingle black and white."