Thy cypress tree o’erthrown, the leaves are sear;
The moon has fallen from her lucid sphere;
Lailī is dead.’
His sad duty was done, and the bereaved lover lay unconscious at his feet. With gentle ministry the stricken man was roused from his swoon, and then he started toward the loved one’s grave.
“Now he threads
The mazes of the shadowy wood, which spreads
Perpetual gloom, and now emerges where
No bower nor grove obstructs the fiery air;
Climbs the mountain’s brow, o’er hill and plain
Urged quicker onward by his burning brain,