No water near his thirst to slake
Beneath that glowing sultry sky.
Her maiden fears now 'gin to wake,
as were some threatening danger nigh.
Her palfrey rears and ere a groan
Escapes her, a stout arm is thrown
Around her. As she calls aloud
The Genii stands half-fiend, half-cloud.
Then whisking her high up in air,
The fiend in voice of thunder cried,
"Behold thy lover in his lair;
Thou'st torn for ever from his side.
Nought can avert his destiny,
For ever through eternity
Within yon cleft he must abide.
I claim thee now to be my bride."
"Oh, Allah!" cried she, "hear my prayer:
Help me this Genii to defy.
If Selim's bride I may be ne'er,
Take back my soul and let me die!"
Her prayer is heard; her gentle soul
Now wanders towards a higher goal,
And in those realms of endless light
The angels greet a sister sprite.
Then Selim, gazing high in air,
Beholds his loved one, hears her pray.
He cries aloud in wild despair,
The Genii clasps a thing of clay;
Relaxing then his giant force,
To Earth he hurls her lily corse.
Now lie for ever side by side
Th' undying chief and his dead bride.
Zuleika's palfrey wanders home,
Alas! without its gentle freight.
El Amin hath set out to roam
For tidings of his daughter's fate.
Ne'er more to see her was his lot;
The Genii guards that haunted spot,
And close where his Zuleika lay,
The chieftain lingers to this day.
Scarce had the last word of the song died in the echo, than unbounded applause once more shook the old panelled walls of the "Headless Lady." After which Mr. Oldstone, rising and seizing the young poet by the hand, poured forth so warm an eulogium on his poetical talent as to make that young gentleman blush up to the roots of his hair.
The laurel crown was even hinted at again. This, however, Mr. Parnassus modestly but firmly refused, saying that he could not sit crowned in the midst of such a talented assembly merely because his weak endeavours to entertain the company were given out in rhyme instead of in prose; besides which, he added, that he had merely paid the forfeit agreed upon for losing at chess, and that he was entitled to no thanks or marks of honour for merely discharging his debt.
The laurel tree outside was therefore suffered to continue its growth until some future occasion, and after various comments on our friend Parnassus' poem, and much pleasant conversation, the company broke up for the night, and each lighting his candle, retired to his own chamber.