“Love’s votaries I ceased not to oppose, *
     Till doomed to taste Love’s bitter and Love’s sweet: 
I drained his rigour-cup to very dregs, *
     Self humbled at its slaves’ and freemen’s feet: 
Fortune had sworn to part the loves of us; *
     She kept her word how truly, well I weet!”

And when he ended his verse, he wiped away his tears and bade his troops make ready for a march and prepare for a long expedition.  So they all mounted and set forth, headed by the Sultan, whose heart burnt with grief and was fired with anxiety for his son Kamar al-Zaman; and they advanced by forced marches.  Now the King divided his host into six divisions, a right wing and a left wing, a vanguard and a rear guard;[FN#322] and bade them rendezvous for the morrow at the cross-roads.  Accordingly they separated and scoured the country all the rest of that day till night, and they marched through the night and at noon of the ensuing day they joined company at the place where four roads met.  But they knew not which the Prince followed, till they saw the sign of torn clothes and sighted shreds of flesh and beheld blood still sprinkled by the way and they noted every piece of the clothes and fragment of mangled flesh scattered on all sides.  Now when King Shahriman saw this, he cried from his heart-core a loud cry, saying, “Alas, my son!”; and buffeted his face and plucks his beard and rent his raiment, doubting not but his son was dead.  Then he gave himself up to excessive weeping and wailing, and the troops also wept for his weeping, all being assured that Prince Kamar al-Zaman had perished.  They threw dust on their heads, and the night surprised them shedding tears and lamenting till they were like to die.  Then the King with a heart on fire and with burning sighs spake these couplets,

“Chide not the mourner for bemourning woe; *
     Enough is yearning every Ill to show: 
He weeps for stress of sorrow and of pain, *
     And these to thee best evidence his lowe: 
Happy![FN#323] of whom Love sickness swore that ne’er *
     Should cease his eye lids loving tears to flow: 
He mourns the loss of fairest, fullest Moon, *
     Shining o’er all his peers in glorious glow: 
But death made drink a brimming cup, what day *
     He fared from natal country fain to go: 
His home left he and went from us to grief; *
     Nor to his brethren could he say adieu: 
Yea, his loss wounded me with parting pangs, *
     And separation cost me many a throe: 
He fared farewelling, as he fared, our eyes; *
     Whenas his Lord vouch-safed him Paradise.”

And when King Shahriman had ended his verses, he returned with the troops to his capital,—­And Shahrazad perceived the dawn of day and ceased saying her permitted say.

         When it was the Two Hundred and Twelfth Night,