He was immediately perfumed with musk and rose-water, and refreshments of every kind were set before him; musicians played their sweetest airs, and dark-eyed damsels waited upon him. The walls of the tent were gorgeously adorned with amber, and gold, and rubies; and the sparkling old wine was drunk out of crystal goblets. The feast of joy lasted three nights and three days, Byzun and Maníjeh enjoying the precious moments with unspeakable rapture. Overcome with wine and the felicity of the scene, he at length sunk into repose, and on the fourth day came the time of departure; but the princess, unable to relinquish the society of her lover, ordered a narcotic draught to be administered to him, and whilst he continued in a state of slumber and insensibility, he was conveyed secretly and in disguise into Túrán. He was taken even to the palace of Afrásiyáb, unknown to all but to the emissaries and domestics of the princess, and there he awoke from the trance into which he had been thrown, and found himself clasped in the arms of his idol. Considering, on coming to his senses, that he had been betrayed by some witchery, he made an attempt to get out of the seclusion: above all, he was apprehensive of a fatal termination to the adventure; but Maníjeh's blandishments induced him to remain, and for some time he was contented to be immersed in continual enjoyment--such pleasure as arises from the social banquet and the attractions of a fascinating woman. "Grieve not my love--be not so sad, 'Tis now the season to be glad; There is a time for war and strife, A time to soothe the ills of life. Drink of the cup which yields delight, The ruby glitters in thy sight; Steep not thy heart in fruitless care, But in the wine-flask sparkling there." At length, however, the love of the princess for a Persian youth was discovered, and the keepers and guards of the palace were in the greatest terror, expecting the most signal punishment for their neglect or treachery. Dreadful indeed was the rage of the king when he was first told the tidings; he trembled like a reed in the wind, and the color fled from his cheeks. Groaning, he exclaimed:-- "A daughter, even from a royal stock, Is ever a misfortune--hast thou one? The grave will be thy fittest son-in-law! Rejoice not in the wisdom of a daughter; Who ever finds a daughter good and virtuous? Who ever looks on woman-kind for aught Save wickedness and folly? Hence how few Ever enjoy the bliss of Paradise: Such the sad destiny of erring woman!"