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woods, a maiden dressed in a black mantle[1] came forth to the door of the cave, she wept aloud, her tears uniting with the sea[2]; the knight dismounted, with his arms he embraced her neck.
218a. The knight said: "Sister Asmat'h,[3] our bridges are fallen into the sea (i.e., we are lost); we shall never, timely, come upon the track of her for whom fires burn us." Thus he spoke and beat his hands upon his breast; the tears rained down. The maiden swooned, he embraced her; they wiped each other's tears of blood.[4]
219. The forest[5] became thicker from the tearing of their hair; each embraced the other, the youth the maid, and the maid the youth; they wailed, they lamented, the rocks re-echoed their voices; Avt'handil gazed in wonder on their behaviour.
220. That maid composed her soul, she endured the wound of her heart, she led the steed into the cave, she took off its trappings, she unbuckled the knight, she ungirded his armour. They went in. That day passed to its close.
221. Avt'handil was surprised. "How am I to know this story?" said he. Day dawned. The maiden came forth clad in the same colour; she put the bridle on the black (horse), she furbished it (the bridle) with the end of her veil; she saddled it, she carries the armour quietly, with no clattering.
222. It was the custom, it seems, with that knight[6] never to tarry longer. The maiden wept and beat her breast, she tore her thick[7] hair; they embraced each other, he kissed her and mounted his horse. Asmat'h, already gloomy, became still more gloomy.[8]
223. Avt'handil once more saw near him the face of that man, his moustaches had hardly grown,[9] he was without
