And Izdubar turned from the Halls and goes
Toward a fountain in the park, whence flows
A merry stream toward the wood.  He finds
An axe beside the fount, and thoughtful winds,
Through groves of sandal-wood and mastic-trees
And algum, umritgana.  Now he sees
The sig-a-ri and ummakana, pines,
With babuaku; and ri-wood brightly shines
Among the azuhu; all precious woods
That man esteems are grown around, each buds
Continuous in the softened, balmy air. 
He stops beneath a musrilkanna where
The pine-trees spread toward the glowing sea,
Wild mingled with the surman, sa-u-ri.

The King, now seated, with himself communes,
Heeds not the warbling of the birds, and tunes
Of gorgeous songsters in the trees around,
But sadly sighing gazes on the ground: 
“And I a ship must build; alas!  I know
Not how I shall return, if I thus go. 
The awful Flood of Death awaits me there,
Wide-stretching from this shore—­I know not where.” 
He rests his chin upon his hand in thought,
Full weary of a life that woe had brought;
He says:  “When I remember Siduri,
Whose heart with fondest love would comfort me
Within these Happy Halls, why should I go
To pain and anguish, death, mayhap, and woe? 
But will I thus desert my kingdom, throne? 
For one I know not!  What! my fame alone! 
Mine honor should preserve! and royal state! 
Alas! this Fame is but a dream of—­Fate!

“A longing after that which does not cheer
The heart.  Applause of men, or thoughtless sneer,
Is naught to me, I am alone! alone! 
This Immortality cannot atone
For my hard fate that wrings mine aching heart. 
I long for peace and rest, and I must start
And find it, leave these luring bright abodes,—­
I seek the immortality of gods. 
This Fame of man is not what it doth seem,
It sleeps with all the past, a vanished dream. 
My duty calls me to my kingdom, throne! 
To Khasisadra go, whose aid alone
Can save my people from an awful fate
That hangs above them, born of Fiends of hate. 
And I shall there return without my seer! 
I live; and he is dead.  Why did I hear
His words advising me to come?  Alas! 
I sadly all my weary days shall pass;
No one shall love me as my seer, my friend.

“But what said Siduri?—­There comes an end
At last to sorrow, joy will hopeful spring
On wings of Light!  Oh, how my heart will sing! 
I bless ye all, ye holy spirits here! 
Your songs will linger with me, my heart cheer;
Upon my way I turn with joy again! 
How true your joyful song! your memory then
Will keep me hopeful through yon darkened way;
How bright this land doth look beside the sea!”