2. Or rest a-while on tree or flow'r
And dream but on-ly for an hour.
3. Back to the dust and dirt I fly
Where un-sub-stan-tial shad-ows lie.
The quavers ceased, and there was silence from the darkness; but Babar's boyish voice rose cheerful as ever.
"'Tis good, cousin, and, in a measure, true. Yet need it not be so, surely. Thou hast no lack of parts. Who is more accomplished, of more pleasant disposition or more charming manners?"
"I came not hitherto to be catalogued for sale," interrupted Baisanghâr curtly. "Of a truth I am admirable. I sing, I dance, I paint--yea! I paint uncommon--I could paint one fair lady's portrait could I but see her--"
Still there was silence from the shadows, and a frown came to the laughter-loving face. "But I waste time," he continued, "and I have much to say, for thine ear alone."
He spoke to the darkness, and he waited, his face softening while a whispering sound as of light departing feet rose for a space then died away in the distance.
It was a good half hour afterwards that Mirza Baisanghâr, who knew his way well about the palace at Andijân, came with buoyant step down the spiral stairs which ended in a narrow vaulted passage that led to the sally-port.
His cousin, from whom he had parted most affectionately, had given him the pass-word, so, secure from molestation, he was carelessly humming the refrain of his own ode ...
"Back to the dirt and dust I fly
Where unsubstantial shadows lie."