And the youth answered, ‘She is, O Vizier, that she is!’

But the Vizier cried, ‘Nay, by Allah! she is that she will be.’  And the Vizier said, ’’Tis she that is my daughter; tell me thy thought of her, as thou thinkest it.’

And Shibli Bagarag replied, ’O Vizier, my thought of her is, she seemeth indeed as Bhanavar the Beautiful—­no other.’

Then the Vizier and the Eclipser of Reason exclaimed together, ’How of Bhanavar and her story, O youth?  We listen!’

So Shibli Bagarag leaned slightly on a cushion of a couch, and narrated as followeth.

AND THIS IS THE STORY OF BHANAVAR THE BEAUTIFUL

Know that at the foot of a lofty mountain of the Caucasus there lieth a deep blue lake; near to this lake a nest of serpents, wise and ancient.  Now, it was the habit of a damsel to pass by the lake early at morn, on her way from the tents of her tribe to the pastures of the flocks.  As she pressed the white arch of her feet on the soft green-mossed grasses by the shore of the lake she would let loose her hair, looking over into the water, and bind the braid again round her temples and behind her ears, as it had been in a lucent mirror:  so doing she would laugh.  Her laughter was like the falls of water at moonrise; her loveliness like the very moonrise; and she was stately as a palm-tree standing before the moon.

This was Bhanavar the Beautiful.

Now, the damsel was betrothed to the son of a neighbouring Emir, a youth comely, well-fashioned, skilled with the bow, apt in all exercises; one that sat his mare firm as the trained falcon that fixeth on the plunging bull of the plains; fair and terrible in combat as the lightning that strideth the rolling storm; and it is sung by the poet: 

     When on his desert mare I see
        My prince of men,
        I think him then
     As high above humanity
     As he shines radiant over me.

     Lo! like a torrent he doth bound,
        Breasting the shock
        From rock to rock: 
     A pillar of storm, he shakes the ground,

     His turban on his temples wound.

     Match me for worth to be adored
        A youth like him
        In heart and limb! 
     Swift as his anger is his sword;
     Softer than woman his true word.

Now, the love of this youth for the damsel Bhanavar was a consuming passion, and the father of the damsel and the father of the youth looked fairly on the prospect of their union, which was near, and was plighted as the union of the two tribes.  So they met, and there was no voice against their meeting, and all the love that was in them they were free to pour forth far from the hearing of men, even where they would.  Before the rising of the sun, and ere his setting, the youth rode swiftly from the green tents of the Emir his father, to waylay her by the waters of the