And no relief—a prison room
Being now the lonely sufferer’s doom.”
Amidst all the heartaches of humanity the slow movement of sun and stars still goes on, and the bare horizon of the desert is illumined by the lamps of heaven. Night with her coolness and dews, comes down upon the burning sands with the restful touch of peace. Her primeval fountains of light have gathered for all time around the desert steppes, watching their silent mysteries, and touching with glory the far-away crowns of their palms.
Lailī sat in her prison tower, looking out upon the peaceful beauty of the night, and its soft repose crept into her troubled heart, bringing with it a message of hope. For days and years she had lived within that guarded tower, shut like a gem within its stony bed, surrounded by the dragon watch which her husband still supplied. But hark! there is an unusual sound beneath her casement; there are flickering lamps and wailing cries; confused voices are bearing messages to and fro; there is a death-note in the wild chant which is ringing out upon the night.
“Beneath her casement rings a wild lament,
Death-notes disturb the night; the air is rent
With clamorous voices; every hope is fled,
He breathes no longer—Ibn Salām is dead!
The fever’s rage had nipp’d him in his bloom;
He sank unloved, unpitied, to the tomb.”