Up into the sky, like two bright balls tossed by jugglers, the two Genii shot; and, watching them, Noorna bin Noorka said, 'My life, there is a third wanting, Ravejoura; and with aid of the three, earth could have planted no obstruction to thy stroke; but thou wert tempted by the third temptation in Aklis, and left not the Hall in triumph, the Hall of the Duping Brides!' He answered, 'That is so, my soul; and the penalty is mine, by which I am made to employ deceits ere I strike.' And she said, ''Tis to the generosity of Gulrevaz thou owest Karavejis and Veejravoosh; and I think she was generous, seeing thee true to me in love, she that hath sorrows!' So he said, 'What of the sorrows of Gulrevaz? Tell me of them.' But she said, 'Nay, O my betrothed! wouldst thou have this tongue blistered, and a consuming spark shot against this bosom?' Then he: 'Make it clear to me.' She put her mouth to his ear, saying, 'There is a curse on whoso telleth of things in Aklis, and to tattle of the Seven and their sister forerunneth wretchedness.' Surely, he stooped to that fair creature, and folded her to his heart, his whole soul heaving to her; and he cried again and again, 'Shall harm hap to thee through me? by Allah, no!' And he closed the privileged arm of the bridegroom round her waist, that had the yieldingness of the willow-branchlet, the flowingness of the summer sea-wave, and seemed as 'twere melting honey-like at the first gentle pressure; she leaning her head shyly on his shoulder, yet confiding in his faithfulness; it was that she was shy of the great bliss in her bosom, and was made timid by the fervour of her affection; as is sung: Deeper than the source of blushes Is the power that makes them start; Up in floods the red stream rushes, At one whisper of the heart. And it is sung in words present to the youth as he surveyed her: O beauty of the bride! O beauty of the bride! Her bashful joys like serpents sting her tenderness to tears: Her hopes are sleeping eagles in the shining of the spheres; O beauty of the bride! O beauty of the bride! And she's a lapping antelope that from her image flees; And she's a dove caught in two hands, to pant as she shall please; O beauty of the bride! O beauty of the bride! Like torrents over Paradise her lengthy tresses roll: She moves as doth a swaying rose, and chides her hasty soul; The thing she will, that will she not, yet can no will control O beauty, beauty, beauty of the bride! They were thus together, Abarak leaning under one wing of Koorookh for shade up the slope of the hill, and Shibli Bagarag called to him, 'Ho, Abarak! look if there be aught impending over the City.'