And, oh, how grows my love!  A slave I’d be,
  Obedient to a man despised.  Perhaps
  That which is far removed, the nearest comes. 
  And if the moment comes, thou know’st it well
  Who knoweth all the proverbs!  He that’s well
  Shall perish, and the invalid be cured. 
  Where is thy cure, O Taleb?  Tell me where. 
  Thy remedy is lost, my good Lord Taleb.

And then the Taleb answered him and said: 
“Thou’rt taken in the snares of Qeys—­thou know’st. 
He laid strong siege to Leyla’s heart and then
Awaited trembling at the trysting-place. 
Thou now hast wooed thy love for two long years
And she will not relent, nor speak to thee. 
God bless us both!”

                          The Lord is generous. 
  He sees.  If trouble comes, he’ll make it pass. 
  My lot is sad and I am full of fear. 
  The mountains tall would melt and turn to sand
  If I to them my sorrows should relate. 
  Where is thy cure, O Taleb?  Tell me where. 
  Thy remedy is lost, O good Lord Taleb.

O Taleb, should I tell my tale of grief
Unto a sabre of the Ind, ’twould melt
On hearing my laments.  My heart cannot
Endure these tortures, and my breast’s on fire.

  My tale is finished, here I end my song,
  And publish forth my name along with it;
  It is Ben Sahla.  I do not conceal
  How I am called, and in my black despair
  I do not cease my lamentations loud.

  O ye who have experienced the stings
  Of love, excuse me now and blame me not
  In this affair.  I know that I shall die,
  O’ercome by woe.  The doctor of my heart
  Protracts my suffering.  He cures me not,
  Nor yet cuts short the thread of my sad life. 
  Where is thy cure, O Taleb?  Tell me where. 
  Thy remedy is lost, O good Lord Taleb.

THE CITY GIRL AND THE COUNTRY GIRL

  O thou who hearest me, I will recite
  One of these stories I am master of—­
  A tale that’s true.  By these I move the hearts
  Of lovers like to thee, and I divert
  Their minds with pleasant stories.  As I hear,
  So I relate them, and they please my friends,
  By flow of wit and eloquence of thought. 
  I tell of beauties’ battle.  And my song
  Is written in perfection, straight and clear.

  Thinking of naught I walked along one day
  When I had gone to see some beauties fair
  Whose like I ne’er have seen in city nor
  In country yet.  I should have said
  That they were sun and moon, and that the girls
  Of that time were bright stars surpassing far
  The Pleiades.  The stars are envious
  In their far firmaments, each of
  The other.  That’s the reason why we see
  Eclipses of the sun and moon.

                               My tale
  Is true.  The women, like unto the stars,
  Are jealous also.  Two young virgins met
  The day I saw them, a sad day for them,
  For one was jealous of the other one.