Within a vase there stands a china rose;
Go buy a box of betel, dearest one.
I love the beauty that thine eyes disclose;
Of my existence, dear, thou art the sun.
Go buy a box of betel, dearest one.
Adorned with _sountings_ brave of sweet _campak_,
Of my existence, dear, thou art the sun;
Without thee, everything my life would lack.
Adorned with _sountings_ fair of sweet _campak_,
A carafe tall will hold the sherbet rare;
Without thee, everything my heart would lack;
Thou'rt like an angel come from heaven so fair.
A carafe tall will hold the sherbet rare,
Most excellent for woman's feeble frame.
Thou'rt like an angel come from heaven so fair,
Love's consolation, guardian of its flame.
At the approach of night the _mantris_ said,
"What doth the King so long away from us?"
They were disturbed, the prince seemed so unlike
Himself and filled with such unrestfulness.
"I fear me much," then said a _mantri_ there,
"That some mishap hath overwhelmed the King.
Perhaps by some bad spirit he's possessed,
That he to this weird spot should fain return."
One went and cried: "Come hither, O our King!
The day declines; we've waited here since dawn."
The King responded to the call, and came
With smiling face, though pale, unto the gate:
"Come here, my uncle; come and talk with me,
Thy King. No evil thing hath come to pass."
"O lord supreme, most worthy prince, return.
If harm should come to thee, we all should die."
"Be calm, my uncle, I will not this night
Return, but he may stay with me who wills."
"O King, with spirits what hast thou to do?
Thy face is pale and worn, and tells of care."
The King but sighed, and said: "My heart is full
Of trouble, but the will of God is good.
Here yesterday a fair celestial form
With angel face I saw. 'Twas here alone."
And so the King told all that had occurred.
"Go back," he added. "Leave me here with her.
Say to the Queen I've lingered still a day
For my amusement, with my retinue."
Then half the escort stayed, and half repaired
Back to the palace to acquaint the Queen
The King would stay another day and hunt.
When all was dark, sweet Bidasari waked
And saw the King, and tried to flee away.
He seized and kissed her. "Ruby, gold," he said,
"My soul, my life, oh, say, where wouldst thou go?
I've been alone with thee for two whole days,
And all the day thou wrapped in sleep didst lie.
Where wouldst thou go, my dove?" The gentle girl
Was much afraid and trembled, and she thought:
"Is it a spirit come to find me here?
Avaunt thee and begone, O spectre dread,"
She said, amid her tears. "No phantom I,"
Replied the King; "be not afraid. I wish
To marry thee." Then Bidasari strove
Again to flee. Then sang the King a song
That told of love and happiness. Its words
Astonished Bidasari, and she cried:
"Art thou a pirate? Why dost thou come here?
Speak not such things to me. If thou shouldst be
Discovered by my father, he would cut
Thee into pieces. Thou shouldst go alone
To death, and find no pardon in his heart.
Take all my gems and hasten forth at once."
The King replied: "'Tis not thy gems I want,
But thee. I am a pirate, but thy heart
Is all I want to steal. Should spectres come
In thousands, I would fear them not at all.
No tears, my love, bright glory of my crown.
Where wouldst thou go? Hast thou no pity, sweet,
For me? I am a powerful prince. Who dares
Oppose my will? Pure gold, all virginal,
Where wouldst thou go?" So spake the King, and fair
Young Bidasari trembled more and more.
"Approach me not," she cried, "but let me bathe
My face." "I'll bathe it for thee, dear," he said.
But Bidasari threw the water pure
Into his face. "Not that way, child," he laughed;
"My vesture thou hast wet. But I shall stay
And meet thy parents here. Oh, hearken, love.
I followed far the chase, and wandered here.
I sought a pretty fawn to take the Queen;
But now thy face I've seen, no more I wish
To go away. Oh, have no fear, my child;
I would not harm thee. When thy parents come,
I'll ask them for thy hand. I trust they'll grant
My prayer. I'll lead thee forth from this fair spot
Unto my palace. Thou shalt sit beside
The Queen, and live in happiness complete."
Sweet Bidasari bowed her head and wept,
All red with modesty. Unto herself she said:
"I never thought it was a king. How rude
I was! I hope the King will not be vexed."
He calmed her fears with tender words of love.
"Branch of my heart," he said, "light of my eyes,
Have no more fear. Soon as thy parents fond
Have given their consent, I'll lead thee forth.
My palace is not far. A single day
Will take us there. It is not difficult
To go and come." Then Bidasari knew
It was the King of that same land. With fright
She nearly swooned at thought of all the woe
The Queen had caused her. "O my lord," she said,
"I'm but a subject humble. Give me not
The throne. I have my parents, and with them
Must stay." The King was overjoyed. "My dear,"
He said, "by what names are thy parents known?"
With low, sweet voice the tender girl replied:
"Lila Djouhara is my father's name.
He dwelleth in Pesara." "Dearest one,
Tell me the truth. Why have they treated thee
In such a fashion--why abandoned thee
In solitude? Thy father is not poor
A merchant rich is he, of birth, who hath
A host of slaves and servants. For what cause
Hath he his daughter left in this far spot?
He is renowned among the merchants all,
Both good and honest. What hath forced him here
Within this lonely wood to hide thee, dear?
Oh, tell me all; let nothing be concealed."
She thought: "It was the fault of his own Queen.
But if I tell him all--he never saw
Me there, within the palace--should he not
Believe, I'll be a liar in his eyes."
She feared to speak and tell him of the Queen.
She thought, "So cruel was the Queen to me
When she but feared a rival, what would come
If I should sit beside her on the throne?"
Then in her sweet voice Bidasari said:
"My glorious King, I am afraid to speak.
I am not suited to a royal throne.
But since thou lovest me, how dare I lie?
If thou dost favor me, the Queen will vex
Her heart. My parents fear her. 'Tis the cause
Why hither they have brought me. Three long months
Ago I came, for terror of the Queen."
She thought on all the horror of those days,
And choked with sobs, and could no longer talk.
Then tenderly the King spake to the girl:
"Ah, well, my darling love, confide in me
The secret thy dear heart conceals. Fear naught;
The Queen is good and wise, and knoweth how
To win all hearts. Why should she render thee
Unhappy? Speak not thus, my pretty one;
The Queen could never do an evil deed.
When thou art near her, thou shalt see, my dear,
Whether she loves or hates thee."
At these words
Young Bidasari knew the King esteemed
The Queen, and felt her heart sink in her breast.
"My words are true," she said, "but still perchance
My prince cannot believe. But was I not
Within thy palace six or seven nights?
The sweat of pain became my couch, so great
Was my desire to see my parents dear.
They sent me dainties, but all the _dyangs_
Were kept as prisoners by the princess there.
She said she'd take me back herself. One day
I was, indeed, sent home, but scarce alive."
She told him everything that came to pass.
He listened stupefied, and said: "How could
It be that thou wert in the palace hid,
And I not see thee there? Why was it thou
Wert not beside the Queen? I've never left
The palace for a single day. Where wert
Thou hid? Thy strange words I believe, my dear.
Speak without fear and let me know the whole."
Urged by the King, young Bidasari told
Him all. And when the conduct of the Queen
He learned, the King was wonder-struck. A rage
Most terrible possessed him. But his love
For Bidasari mounted higher still
And his compassion. "So the Queen thus wrought!
I never thought hypocrisy could be
So great! I never in the princess saw
Such bent for evil. But be not, my dear,
Disconsolate. It is a lucky thing
Thou didst not quite succumb. No longer speak
Of that bad woman's ways. Thank God we've met!
So weep no more, my love. I'll give to thee
A throne more beautiful than hers, and be
Thy dear companion until death." "O King,"
She said: "I have no beauty fit to grace
A throne. Oh, let me stay a simple maid,
And think of me no more." The King replied:
"I will not give thee up. But I must still
Return, and meditate how I may win
Thee back to life complete." With kisses warm
He covered her fair face. She bowed her head,
And silence kept; and when the morning dawned
She swooned anew. It was a proof to him
That she had told the truth. A mortal hate
Then filled the prince's heart against the Queen.
Touched with deep pity for the maiden young,
He kissed her once again, and left her there,
So white and still, as if she lay in death.
What of the _mantris_? They awaited long
The King, in silence. Then the oldest said:
"O sovereign lord, O caliph great, wilt thou
Not now return?" "I'll come again, dear heart,"
He said, and sought the city. Straight he went
Into the palace, to the Queen, who asked:
"What bringest thou from hunting?" He replied
In murmurs: "I have taken naught at all.
For my own pleasure I remained all night."
"'Tis nothing, lord, provided no harm came
To thee. But say what thou didst seek, to stay
So long? I always have prepared for thee
The food for thy great hunts, but never yet
Have I received a recompense?" The King
To this replied with smiles: "Prepare afresh,
For I to-morrow shall depart again.
If I take nothing, I'll return at once."
As he caressed the Queen, upon her breast
He felt the little magic fish of gold
All safe. Then gave he quick commands to all.
"I'll hunt to-morrow, and shall surely bring
Some wondrous game." Now when the princess fell
Asleep he found upon her heart no more
The little fish. "'Tis as the maiden said,"
He thought. "The princess hath a wicked soul.
With such a heart I cannot go with her
Through life." Through all the night he could not sleep,
But thought upon the girl. He was as sad
As though he heard a touching song. At dawn
The royal couple rose and went to bathe.
The King into the palace came again
And sat upon the throne adorned with gems.
He donned the royal robe to wear before
The dear young girl. A vestment 'twas of silk,
All gold embroidered, with a tunic bright,
Of orange hue. His mien was most superb,
As doth become a mighty king. He bore
A quiver of Ceylon, most deftly wrought.
When all the _mantris_ had assembled there,
The King within the palace once more went
And met the Queen. Caressing her he took
The little fish that lay upon her breast.
The princess wept, and at the door she cried:
"Why takest thou my little ornament?"
The great King gave no heed, and went away,
At dawn's glad hour, when birds begin to sing.
Swords gleamed and lances shone, and through the wood
They hastened on, with quivers and blow-guns,
And seemed a walking city.
Now again
To Bidasari let us turn. When dawn
Appeared, she rose and sat in loneliness,
Her face grew still more beautiful. Her state
Astonished her. "Perhaps it is the King
Who hath this wonder wrought. How happy I
To be no longer dead!" She washed her face
And felt still sad, but with her pensiveness
A certain joy was mingled, for her pain
Was passed. Her grief the "talking bird" allayed
With songs about the mighty King and love.