How many a weal trips on the heels of ill, * Causing the mourner’s heart with joy to thrill!”[FN#278] But the old man, O my lady, ceased not from his swoon till near sunset, when he came to himself and, looking upon his dead son, he recalled what had happened, and how what he had dreaded had come to pass; and he beat his face and head and recited these couplets:— “Racked is my heart by parting fro’ my friends * And two rills ever fro’ my eyelids flow: With them[FN#279] went forth my hopes, Ah, well away! * What shift remaineth me to say or do? Would I had never looked upon their sight, * What shift, fair sirs, when paths e’er strainer grow? What charm shall calm my pangs when this wise burn * Longings of love which in my vitals glow? Would I had trod with them the road of Death! * Ne’er had befel us twain this parting blow: Allah: I pray the Truthful show me Roth * And mix our lives nor part them evermo’e! How blest were we as ‘death one roof we dwelt * Conjoined in joys nor recking aught of woe; Till Fortune shot us pith the severance shaft; * Ah who shall patient bear such parting throe? And dart of Death struck down amid the tribe * The age’s pearl that Morn saw brightest show: I cried the while his case took speech and said:—* Would Heaven, my son, Death mote his doom foreslow! Which be the readiest road wi’ thee to meet * My Son! for whom I would my soul bestow?