The King now standing on the glistening sand,
Beholds the beauteous Mua where she stands,
With hands outstretched in welcome to the King,
“O thou sweet spirit, with thy snowy wing,
Oh, where is Khasisadra in this land? 
I seek the aid of his immortal hand.” 
“Great Sar,” said Mua, “hadst thou not a seer,
That thou shouldst come to seek my father here?”

“’Tis true, my daughter dear, a seer had I,
Whom I have lost,—­a dire calamity;
By his advice and love I undertake
This journey.  But alas! for mine own sake
He fell by perils on this lengthened way;
He was not strong, and feared that he should lay
Himself to rest amid the mountains wild. 
He was a warrior, with him I killed
Khumbaba, Elam’s king who safely dwelt
Within a forest vast of pines, and dealt
Destruction o’er the plains.  We razed his walls—­
My friend at last before me dying falls.

“Alas! why did my seer attempt to slay
The dragons that we met upon the way,
He slew his foe, and like a lion died. 
Ah, me! the cause, when I the gods defied,
And brought upon us all this awful woe;
In sorrow o’er his death, my life must flow! 
For this I came to find the ancient seer,
Lead me to him, I pray, if he lives here.”

Then Mua leads him through the glorious land
Of matchless splendor, on the border grand
Of those wide Happy Fields that spread afar
O’er beaming hills and vales, where ambient air
With sweetest zephyrs sweeps a grand estrade,
Where softest odors from each flowering glade
Lull every sense aswoon that breathes not bliss
And harmony with World of Blessedness. 
’Neath trees of luring fruits she leads the way,
Through paths of flowers where night hath fled away,
A wilderness of varied crystal flowers,
Where fragrance rests o’er clustering, shining bowers. 
Each gleaming cup its nectared wine distils,
For spirit lips each chalice ever fills.

Beyond the groves a lucent palace shone
In grandest splendor near an inner zone;
In amethyst and gold divinely rose,
With glories scintillant the palace glows. 
A dazzling halo crowns its lofty domes,
And spreading from its summit softly comes
With grateful rays, and floods the balustrades
And golden statues ’neath the high arcades;
A holy palace built by magic hand
With wondrous architecture, portals grand,
And aurine turrets piled to dizzy heights,
Oh, how its glory Izdubar delights!

Beneath majestic arcades carved, they pass,
Up golden steps that shine like polished glass,
Through noble corridors with sculptured walls,
By lofty columns, archways to the halls
Of glories, the bright harbinger of fanes
Of greater splendor of the Heavenly plains. 
Beneath an arch of gems the King espies
A form immortal, he who death defies. 
Advancing forth the sage his welcome gives,