sequins for my trouble in going and coming and I took it and returned to the palace, where I found the Sultan come home from the chase; so I got my pension of him and fared back to Baghdad. And when next year came, I repaired to Bassorah, as usual, to seek my pension, and the Sultan paid it to me; but, as I was about to return to Baghdad, I bethought me of the Lady Budur and said to myself, 'By Allah, I must needs go to her and see what hath befallen between her and her lover!' So I went to her house and finding the street before her door swept and sprinkled and eunuchs and servants and pages standing before the entrance, said to myself, 'Most like grief hath broken the lady's heart and she is dead, and some Emir or other hath taken up his abode in her house.' So I left it and went on to the house of Jubayr, son of Umayr the Shaybani, where I found the benches of the porch broken down and ne'er a page at the door, as of wont and said to myself, 'Haply he too is dead.' Then I stood still before the door of his house and with my eyes running over with tears, bemoaned it in these couplets,
'O Lords of me, who fared but whom my heart e'er followeth, *
Return and so my festal-days with you shall be renewed!
I stand before the home of you, bewailing your abode; * Quiver
mine eyelids and my eyes with tears are ever dewed:
I ask the house and its remains that seem to weep and wail, *
'Where is the man who whilom wont to lavish goods and
good?"
It saith, 'Go, wend thy way; those friends like travellers have
fared * From Springtide-camp, and buried lie of earth and
worms the food!'
Allah ne'er desolate us so we lose their virtues' light * In
length and breadth, but ever be the light in spirit viewed!'
As I, O Prince of True Believers, was thus keening over the folk of the house,[1] behold, out came a black slave therefrom and said to me, 'Hold thy peace, O Shaykh! May thy mother be reft of thee! Why do I see thee bemoaning the house in this wise?' Quoth I, 'I frequented it of yore, when it belonged to a good friend of mine.' Asked the slave, 'What was his name?'; and I answered, 'Jubayr bin Umayr the Shaybani.' Rejoined he, And what hath befallen him? Praised be Allah, he is yet here with us in the enjoyment of property and rank and prosperity, except
- ↑ This wailing over the Past is one of the common-places of Badawi poetry. The traveller cannot fail, I repeat, to notice the chronic melancholy of peoples dwelling under the brightest skies.
