Her march is music, and my soul obeys
       Each motion, as a lute to cunning fingers
     I see the earth throb for her as she sways
       Wave-like in air, and like a great flower lingers
     Heavily over all, as loath to leave
     What loves her so, and for her loss would grieve.

     But oh, what other hand than heaven’s can paint
       Her eyes, and that black bow from which their lightning
     Pierces afar! long lustrous eyes, that faint
       In languor, or with stormy passion brightening: 
     Within them world in world lights up from sleep,
     And gives a glimpse of the eternal deep.

     Sigh round her, odorous winds; and, envious rose,
       So vainly envious, with such blushes gifted,
     Bow to her; die, strangled with jealous throes,
       O Bulbul! when she sings with brow uplifted;
     Gather her, happy youth, and for thy gain
     Thank Him who could such loveliness ordain.

Surely the Master of the Event advanced to her in the glory of a Sultan, and seated her beside him in majesty, and their contract of marriage was read aloud in the Hall, and witnessed, and sealed:  joyful was he!  Then commenced that festival which lasted forty days, and is termed the Festival of the honours of hospitality to the Sons of Aldis, wherein the head-cook of the palace, Uruish, performed wonders in his science, and menaced the renown of Zrmack, the head-cook of King Shamshureen.  Even so the confectioner, Dob, excelled himself in devices and inventions, and his genius urged him to depict in sugars and pastes the entire adventures of Shibli Bagarag in search of the Sword.  Honour we Uruish and Do-b! as the poet sayeth: 

          Divide not this fraternal twain;
          One are they, and one should for ever remain: 
          As to sweet close in fine music we look,
          So the Confectioner follows the Cook.

And one of the Sons of Aklis, Zaragal, beholding this masterpiece of Dob, which was served to the guests in the Great Hall on the fortieth evening, was fair to exclaim in extemporaneous verse: 

               Have I been wafted to a rise
               Of banquet spread in Paradise,
               Dower’d with consuming powers divine;—­
               That I, who have not fail’d to dine,
                              And greatly,
               Fall thus upon the cater and wine
                              Sedately?

So there was feasting in the Hall, and in the City, and over Earth; great pledging the Sovereign of Barbers, who had mastered an Event, and become the benefactor of his craft and of his kind.  ’Tis certain the race of the Bagarags endured for many centuries, and his seed were the rulers of men, and the seal of their empire stamped on mighty wax the Tackle of Barbers.