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Once, jealous of the breeze that blew on thee, I was, Alas! on whom Fate falls, his eyes are veiled with night.
What boots the archer’s skill, if, when the foe draws near, His bow-string snap and leave him helpless in the fight?
So when afflictions press upon the noble mind, Where shall a man from Fate and Destiny take flight?
When the King heard this, he rose and followed the sound and found that it came from behind a curtain let down before the doorway of a sitting-chamber. So he raised the curtain and saw a young man seated upon a couch raised a cubit from the ground. He was a handsome well-shaped youth, with flower-white forehead and rosy cheeks and a black mole, like a grain of ambergris, on the table of his cheek, as says the poet:
The slender one! From his brow and the night of his jetty hair, The world in alternate gloom and splendour of day doth fare.
Blame not the mole on his cheek. Is an anemone’s cup Perfect, except in its midst an eyelet of black it wear?
He was clad in a robe of silk, laced with Egyptian gold, and had on his head a crown set with jewels, but his face bore traces of affliction. The King rejoiced when he saw him and saluted him; and the youth returned his salute in the most courteous wise, though without rising, and said to him, ‘O my lord, excuse me if I do not rise to thee, as is thy due; indeed, I am unable to do so.’ ‘I hold thee excused, O youth!’ answered the King. ‘I am thy guest and come to thee on a pressing errand, beseeching thee to expound to me the mystery of the lake and the fish and of this palace, and why thou sittest here alone and weeping.’ When the young man heard this, the tears ran down his cheeks and he wept sore, till his breast was drenched, and repeated the following verses:
Say unto those that grieve, at whom doth Fate her arrows cast, “How many an one hath she raised up but to lay low at last!
Lo, if ye sleep, the eye of God is never closed in sleep. For whom indeed is life serene, for whom is Fortune fast?”
