To Guje-Zare the same dream befell

On the same night. Then Sia-Manto rose

Long before dawn, and, mounting on his steed—

Red, spirited, a horse of lightning—rode

Swift as an eagle to his sweetheart’s tribe.

An aged dame received him in her tent.

Lo! drums were beating, trumpets sounding loud.

“Why is this mirth, and whose the festival?”

He asked of his good hostess, the old dame.

“’Tis Guje-Zare’s wedding, O my son,”