“My heaven!” was the laconic ejaculation of the great soldier who, leaping to his feet, embraced her rapturously, pressing her to his heart.
As if in hymeneal sympathy with love’s delicious union, the bulbul poured forth a stream of soul-stirring song, the sweet cadence calling forth responsive notes from the thick of sylvan recesses. Tears flowed from the eyes of Arzemia and fell on the face of her lover, who raised her like an infant in his mighty arms, covering her cheeks with passionate kisses.
“Thy tears of bliss will make the angels weep in paradise, sweet goddess,” whispered Persia’s world-renowned hero.
“The bulbul!—I never heard the bulbul sing so sad, so sweet, so prophetic; ah! it seems to sigh and weep and speak to my heart of things words cannot express! Some spirit moves it to move our hearts,” breathed Arzemia with emotion.
“Thou art creation’s sympathetic harp, responsive to spiritual harmonies lower natures fail to realize; the bird’s melody is to me an unmeaning song, but in thy voice I hear Mazda’s music which moves the heavenly spheres,” said Shahrbaraz softly.
“It is bliss to receive tribute from the lip of love; but what a thing am I, compared with thee, Iran’s pride, who smote the Roman and took his holy city! Who has done a greater deed? If the armies of Chosroes were thine, wouldst thou not conquer the world?”
“I have conquered earth and heaven, star of my felicity; thou being mine, what remains in all the worlds to wish for? To smite the Roman and take his holy city was less an achievement than to come near to thee, the pearl of beauty, reached at greater hazard than he faces who dives into the ocean’s abyss in quest of treasure,” affirmed the general.
“Alas, thou art right! O, gods!—Thy life, thy dear life—shouldst thou be found at this hour with me at this place! Dearest, what power enabled thee to pass the guards, whose heads would answer for thy presence where the king alone has right?—Go hence, O, my soul’s adorer, my heart’s adored, go hence, lest the devas thwart our happiness! I hear the friendly spirits whisper—depart,” urged Arzemia, awaking to the danger that beset her lover under the circumstances.
“Thy prayer, child of light, that bade the walls to bend and the watchmen to be deaf,—yea, and love, whom Orpheus followed to the world of shades, have leveled my pathway hither, fearless of fate. They who enter heaven laugh death to scorn. Thy presence renders me invulnerable to mortal steel. Ah! waste no second, cherub, in the thought of death or danger,” cried Shahrbaraz ardently.
“Forbid it, Ahura-Mazda, that Iran’s glory be smitten by a treacherous hand!—Yet play not with the envious fates, lest they grow jealous of Arzemia’s bliss, who would no heaven take for what is here on earth,” cried the girl appealingly.