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it to Sitt el Milah,] whilst the Jew took his drink and sat by a window adjoining the other’s house, so he might hear the singing.
The damsel rejoiced, when the old man returned to her with the lute, and taking it from him, tuned its strings and sang the following verses:
After your loss, nor trace of me nor vestige would remain, Did not the hope of union some whit my strength sustain.
Ye’re gone and desolated by your absence is the world: Requital, ay, or substitute to seek for you ’twere vain.
Ye, of your strength, have burdened me, upon my weakliness, With burdens not to be endured of mountain nor of plain.
When from your land the breeze I scent that cometh, as I were A reveller bemused with wine, to lose my wits I’m fain.
Love no light matter is, O folk, nor are the woe and care And blame a little thing to brook that unto it pertain.
I wander seeking East and West for you, and every time Unto a camp I come, I’m told, “They’ve fared away again.”
My friends have not accustomed me to rigour; for, of old, When I forsook them, they to seek accord did not disdain.
When she had made an end of her song, she wept sore, till presently sleep overcame her and she slept.
On the morrow, she said to the old man, “Get thee to the money-changer and fetch me the ordinary.” So he repaired to the money-changer and delivered him the message, whereupon he made ready meat and drink, as of his wont, [with which the old man returned to the damsel and they ate till they had enough. When she
