the acquaintanceship ceasing entirely at sunrise next morning.
Every evening thereafter, when the purple twilight fell upon Baghdad, Abu-I-Hasan would walk in the ways of the city, saluting none, but at last waylaying a stranger, upon whom he would press an invitation to good food and wine and entertainment at his house. What stranger could refuse? With the guest in the place of honour Abu-I-Hasan drank deep with him till morning, when the guest departed with the understanding that if they ever met again they were not to recognise each other.
This went on night after night for a whole year, until one night an illustrious stranger accepted Abu-I-Hasan's invitation. It was none other than Harun-er-Rashid himself, who had wandered forth in disguise to amuse himself, as was his wont at times. Little dreaming that he was entertaining the Khalifeh unawares, Abu-I-Hasan led his guest into his saloon—a most luxurious apartment where every comfort was provided: streams of water murmuring through silver channels; golden fountains playing in cool grottoes, and, over all, an amber light shed by a wonderful lamp, subduing the richness of the place to a vague and dreaming glamour.
Here they reclined, and Abu-I-Hasan summoned a slave girl, lissom as the willow tendril, and bade her sing to the music of her lute. Sweetly then she sang these verses, inspired by the soft languor of the night:—
Oh! Love, thy footsteps stray in lands afar,
But here within my heart thou dost abide.
E'en though thou dwelt in yonder distant star
No depths of space our spirits could divide.
Thou art my Love! Thro' all eternity
Thou art my soul, and nothing is but thee.
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