One evening Bodenstedt discovered his worthy teacher singing before a house on whose roof sat a graceful maiden, and from the man's whole manner then and thereafter concluded that in the long-faithful heart had been at last replaced the image of Zuléikha. And so it proved. On the very evening when he was returning home with softened heart after the recital of the joys and sorrows of his first love, Mirza-Schaffy's attention had been arrested by a lovely maiden who, as he pushed back his cap—solely, of course, to cool his heated brow—gave incontestable evidences of being smitten with him. When he went to his couch that night sleep refused to visit his eyelids, and as he restlessly tossed to and fro, the image of Zuléikha haunting him with reproachful mien, his thoughts turned ever to the peerless maiden who menaced further fidelity to the old love. Ere morning dawned he had resolved to break the spell, and for several days avoided the locality of the fair enticer. But the attraction became finally too strong to resist. He went, he saw the maiden, and she bestowed on him a glance which rendered him her slave for life;
A wond'rous glance hath met my eyes:
The magic of this moment rare
Worketh for aye a fresh surprise,
A miracle beyond compare.
A question, therefore, ask I thee—
Pay heed, sweet life whom I adore—
Was that fond glance bestowed on me?
A token give, then, I implore.
And round thee could my strong arm cling,